The Cute & The Creepy - Your Child's Changing Costume Choices

"Oh! How cute!" said a lady pushing her grocery cart past ours. "Hi!" I answered for my busy child. "Well, I've never seen Superman in Vons before!" she spoke again. "Is this where he shops?" My son, dressed in Superman pajamas, cape and all, looked at the floor for two shy seconds, then leaped into the air to form a Justice League-ish type pose that only three-year-old boys are capable of imitating.

"Oh...." The lady said to my son, Ty, "I'm quite impressed." "Yes. We're practicing for Halloween." I smiled, ignoring the fact that it was January. Now, three years later, Ty still loves dressing up, but has moved onto things that would scare me if I saw them hanging in a closet.

Somehow, the mail order catalog Gods discovered I have children of the "costume buying stage" and have bombarded me with catalogues as soon as summer was ending. Quickly and quietly, I'd immediately try to bury them deep into the garbage where my son routinely checked for toys and various things Mom loves to throw away.

"Mom! What are you doing?! I NEED this!" Ty yelled, pulling out the crumpled pizza sauce stained Lillian Vernon catalog Busted and embarrassed, I simply responded, "We don't need that. You're going to be a Pirate of the Caribbean again this year."

Ty glared at me like a teenager who'd just been told he'll never get taller. "Mom...I wore that costume last year! You can't wear a costume two years in a row! Everyone will be like, "Oh, that's just Ty, he wore that same thing last year - boring!!!" Who taught my little kid to talk like this? I decided not to suggest we tye-dye his pirate outfit green or purple but instead asked him how he intended on paying for this year's costume. Ty's response was like an unwavering trial lawyer, not about to lose. "Mom, I'm a kid. Kids get a new costume every year, that's just how Halloween works."

I stared at the child I bore, still less than my size, and knew I couldn't argue back. When I was a kid, even though we were poor, my Mom always made sure we had a brand new costume each and every year. How could I deny my own such a small pleasure?

Together we looked at the catalogue's gruesome creatures with pins and needles coming out of holes in their heads and faces.

"Why can't you just be a doctor?" I tried again. Ty ignored me, shaking his head, sighing as he flipped the pages of the fantasy catalogue.

"Mom! That's it! That's what I want to be!" Ty was pointing at a one-eyed, one-piece, head-to-toe glow-in-the-dark skeleton costume.

I analyzed the photo, "What is it?"

"Who cares? He's cool!" Ty gazed lovingly at the monster in the photo. "What will you tell people when they ask what you are?" Ty looked at the grotesque photo he'd fallen for and said, "I won't have to talk. There's no mouth on this costume, I'll just moan and scare people."

It was then I got it. Three-year-olds want to be Mommy's hero. Six-year-olds want to be Mommy's nemesis. My innocent Superman was gone, replaced by an obnoxious kid who loves to hear Mom scream by sneaking fake rubbery cockroaches into her purse, shoes and cell phone. It's another stage I'm once again not ready for, but face proudly, even when I find a huge plastic bug floating in my cereal and a small laughing child rolling on the carpet.