electric mist

brilliant ideas

Every once-in-a-while, I surpass even myself with my brilliance, at which point the world really does stop on its axis and pay tribute. (What? You didn't get the memo?) Ahem.

One of the more clear and shining moments of this brilliance occurred right after I had given birth to my youngest son and the oldest, Luke, was almost four. The event in question was Halloween Trick-or-Treat, something I dreaded every year. I didn't so much mind the Treating (there was never any tricking from our household), nor did I so much mind the sugar high for the next couple of days, partially because I was busy filching the best of the chocolates anyway and barely noticed if I had to pull the child off the ceiling.

I dreaded the costume decision.

I had no idea a four-year-old could be as grumpy and bossy as an 80-year-old CEO, but he managed it, and became particularly difficult when having to decide upon a costume.

He was creative. His ideas changed daily. And given that we really had zero extra money for purchasing anything he might have wanted, it really boiled down to my non-sewing imagination to pull off something resembling whatever it was he wanted to be.

The year before, I had managed to con him into being a Karate guy (my brother teaches Karate, so it was easy), and he was quite pleased. I sensed from the daily ponderings that I was not going to have a nice repeat.

The entire time I was giving birth and then recuperating at home, Luke was plotting what he would be that year, and none of it sounded easy. I tried to convince him of several more "do-able" things (why don't kids want to be ghosts anymore? why? Cut two holes in a ratty white sheet and voila, done. But noooooooo.)

The day loomed, my post partem recuperation was inching along, thankfully Jake slept enough so that I wasn't entirely homicidal, and Luke still hadn't made up his mind. Then he decided the day before that he didn't want to go trick-or-treating. He wanted to stay home and give out the candy.

I knew there was no way in hell that kid was going to let me off that easily.

I kept suggesting other costume ideas that he might like... cowboy... a puppy (we had ears from a school costume)... a fisherman (hey, I was desperate and we had rods and tackle). Nada.

The day of trick-or-treat loomed, and we went to my mother-in-law's house to help her give out the candy. And about ten minutes before the actual trick-or-treating started, Luke was completely broken-hearted. He wanted to go. Of course, we had no costume and we weren't even at our house where I knew what resources we had to make something.

It was then that I had my most brilliant idea.

He could go as the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz. I found a funnel and wrapped it in aluminum foil and then turned to Luke and started wrapping him.

Yes, I wrapped my child in aluminum foil.

I plead post partem hormones.

Once I had him wrapped, thoroughly (with Carl in the background trying to say ever-so-diplomatically that maybe that wasn't such a great idea, only to freeze immediately when I gave him the death glare because that kid was going to have a costume, by god, if I had to kill people to do it)(I may have not been feeling well)... and then we realized, as tightly as I had wrapped him... he couldn't walk.

Do you know how much fun it is to take a four-year-old trick-or-treating when he can't walk and can't move because every time he moved, the aluminum foil... tore. Yes, I was brilliant. I forgot how easily the damned foil ripped from the tube. So every time Luke bent, lifted a leg, anything, he ripped. And what did I do? Did I say to myself, "Self, maybe this isn't such a wonderful idea. Maybe if we'd have had silver spray paint and old clothes, that might have worked, but this? Not so much. Think of something else."

No. No I did not. I discovered that my mother-in-law had a couple of brand-spanking-new tubes of aluminum foil in her kitchen and I grabbed them and shoved Luke out of the front door, Carl followed carrying the baby, and I made him go up to every door and trick-or-treat. When he looked like he was going to start crying, I reminded him that the Tin Man rusted and he dried right up. Every time he came back with the candy, I wrapped and patched that damned aluminum foil (without taking the previous layer off) until Luke was this five-foot-square block of silver walking to the doors. Half of the people couldn't hear the "trick-or-treat" from the rustle of the aluminum foil.

At some point, Carl realized I was eyeing the last of the first tube and about to open the second one when he simply picked Luke up and started carrying him to the door. We maybe did a few more houses at that point and went home.

I thought it was quite successful. (Post partem delusions.)(That's my story and I'm sticking to it.)

To this day, Luke will not use aluminum foil for anything. He was here rummaging around in the cabinets looking for something to cover some left-over birthday cake and I suggested the aluminum foil and he started shaking, kinda scary, and said, "NO!" rather loudly and I think he may have even started twitching.

Other than that, he's quite normal.

(Well, except that if you tiptoe up behind him and crinkle aluminum foil and say "Boo!" he will hit the ceiling and stay there.)

(Not that I've ever done that.)

Every year afterward? He picked out a costume waaaaaaaaaaay ahead of time and it was always something we could easily pull together. Imagine that.

Posted by toni at October 30, 2004 01:54 PM