"...Smell My Feet..."

A-Girl Note: It has been pointed out to me, by a very dear friend, that what follows sounds a lot like an anxiety disorder.Yipes. Well, information is power, right? (Yeah, that sounds a lot stronger than I feel :) )

Halloween is one of my hubby's favorite holidays. (Christmas is first but Halloween is clipping it's heels in second place.) The kids are finally at that fun age where they "get it" about holidays so, what with the infectious energies of all my guys about Halloween, we bought costumes a long time ago. And, have been anxiously awaiting THE DAY.

"I want to smell my costume."

We've been visiting the costumes, hung in the hall closet, for weeks now. 

K-Man heard about this neighborhood-Briers North - on the radio. It has the kind of Halloween that we all dreamed of as kids (well, not me but that's coming) -  it's so big that it has it's own website and it's own police for the event. It's also about half an hour into the city of Atlanta from my house if traffic cooperates. 

Okay, I'm game.

Well, I WANT to be game. I really do.

Buuuuuuuutttttt...

I have sensory perception "issues."   

The sounds, the smells, the lights, (it all comes flying at me -  too fast and too much to process) the costumes, the people EVERYWHERE, the unfamiliar territory, trying to keep up with a 3 yo and a 4yo (in costume, "is that my Power Ranger, or is that my Power Ranger?") with a husband who does not have these issues and therefore does not keep the kids as tightly under control as I'd like. Huh, to be fair to him, a straight jacket might not have been as "tightly under control" as I would have liked. 

And then, it got dark.

It was a nightmare.

You can see it on my face, in my body language, in every picture, in every video. I am STRUGGLING. Struggling to maintain composure in the face of panic.

<Deep breath> <Put on "nice voice">  

"Here ya go, Honey, here's your pumpkin. Say, 'Trick or Treat!' Wasn't that fun? Okay, let's go to the next house. Oops! 

Don't run away from Mommy! 

Wild Child, I can't see you. 

Wild Child, GET BACK HERE!"

They are having a ball. I am not. And, working very hard not to ruin their good time.
At what point do their needs and mine intersect? At what point can I say,

"I'm done. Take me home?"

We did leave within a reasonable amount of time, before I blew a gasket.
Okay, Honesty-Time: not quite before I blew a gasket. 

We're headed out, "Just please pick them up and let's go."
Still working that "nice voice," still trying to maintain my sanity without ruining their "happy."

Now, it's well past dark-thirty and we're headed against the people-traffic, all the way out of the neighborhood, all the way down the street and down the street (3 feet away is traffic whizzing by) and down the street to the church parking lot where we're parked. There's a cop car with HIS LIGHTS FLASHING at the end of this nightmarish tunnel of people. The closer we get the more I'm struggling. (Seriously, don't they know that flashing lights cause epileptic seizures in some people?? Oh, god. Not me, tonight. Please!)

Finally we get to the truck-by now, I'm hyper-ventilating - throw the kids in their seats, <nice voice> " Did you have fun? <breathe> I'm so glad you had fun. <breathe> What piece of candy would you like? You can pick some candy, which ones do you want? <breathe> Chocolate? Chocolate's good. <Tear the paper> Here ya go." 

Slam truck door. 

Lean against truck. 

It's coming, I can feel it. 

I burst into tears. 

My poor hubby is completely bumfuzzled.
(And, just how long can I hide this from my kids? They're - at 4 and 3 -  a little oblivious to this now but soon...)

"It's just a physical reaction to the stimuli, I'll be okay. Give me a minute."

OH, GOOD GOOGLY-MOOGLY! I don't want to be this person!

I want to be Fun Mom.

I DO NOT want to be "Sits at Home 'Cause She's No Fun to Take Anywhere" Mom and I'm afraid that I am quickly becoming that one.

Humph! Who am I kidding? I have ALWAYS been that one. No one knew it. But, I was and I am. No one knew it because I was always trying to be someone else - someone who loved all that crazy loud stuff. I was always internalizing my stress and pretending to be "OK," when I was anything but OK. I still don't like to admit it, I'm a little shocked that I'm writing about it, now.

I will find a way to stop doing this - not quit having the reactions that I do, those are part of me and I'm tired of pretending that they're not. It would be as nuts to expect my hubby NOT to really enjoy this stuff as it would be to expect me to suddenly think it's grand. I can't  "buck up," I can't try harder (seriously, I'm trying about as hard as is humanly possible, already here,) I can't smile and have a better attitude.

I can't be something that I'm not. 

I will figure out something that works for everybody. Me included. The kids should be able to have fun, I should NOT have a break-down when it's over (and it takes days to get over, I'm still sorta in "stuck" mode, emotionally.) My needs should be just as important as theirs are.

(Maybe next year, I'll hang out with the kids around our decidedly slower-paced neighborhood for a few houses and then K-Man can take them, by himself, to "Nightmare Alley."
hahahahahaha
I'm serious. :) )

That's cool! I am figuring myself into the equation, now. Score!!!

Getting old ain't so bad if you're learning to treat yourself as well as you do other people, if you're finally learning to cut yourself some slack, if you're learning to become your own best friend.

Wild Child as Red Power Ranger. 

Middle Child as Stormtrooper.

  

We put this costume on him, he rubbed the front and said, 
"I have boobies!"

The kid "shotted" everything in site. We got "stuck" at one house while he and a couple of Iron Men duked it out. I'm not sure who won but our Red Power Ranger did get in on the action. Eventually, everyone got back to grabbing candy and life returned to normal in the city. Crisis averted. Shew.

 Wild Child was so busy looking at Darth Vader 
that we couldn't get a picture. 
"Look this way, Wild Child!"

My little Stormtrooper just could not get up the guts to "meet" his boss, Darth Vader. (He was probably afraid Darth Vader would make him into an Admiral - we all know what happens to Vader's Admirals.) 


Now, if only I could find that photo of me circa 1977, dressed in a home-sewn white smock and with my LONG hair rolled into Princess Leah "ears."  Thanks, Mom! :)  My favorite Halloween costume, EVER!