Super Sally and Stupid Mommy to the Rescue

Next week is spirit week at Sally’s school. You know, beach day, hat day, stuff like that. Sally is beside herself with happiness. She’s been waiting for pajama day since she was born. But after a brief dance party in celebration, she looked at the day after pajama day.

Superhero Day.

“Well…I want to be a nice superhero, like maybe Word Girl.” Cool beans. Word Girl is a PBS show about a girl who has super vocabulary powers. I can dig it. AND I can get the costume for $24.99. So WHY I opened my huge, obnoxious, idiotic (yet cavity-free) mouth, I will never understand.

“Sure, Word Girl would be great. But you know, you could also be your own superhero, like Super Sally or something.”

“YYYEEEESSSSS!” Oh my goodness, veins are popping out of her neck. “I want to be Super Sally! YEAH! Can I design my costume?”

“Um. Sure, go for it.” Stupid, idiotic, rookie mom!

After she explained that those things on the sleeves are “details,” she gave me a sad stare. “Mommy. How are YOU going to make this? Can we have E’s mommy make it?” E’s mommy is a professional costume designer, so my suckage level is astronomical next to her. Unfortunately, E’s mommy also recently had the nerve to move halfway around the world. So Sally is stuck with me, a woman who gets  excited when she can cut a piece of fleece into a square.

But I am nothing if not a confident faker, so I boldly announced this would be simple, and got supplies (which, it should be noted, cost twice what the Word Girls costume would have). The hard part, I figured, would be the cape, since I’d need to actually make it. I was informed that there exists a magical substance that allows you to iron seams rather than sew them. WHAT?! Where has this been all my life? I’ll tell you where: blowing smoke up someone’s keester. I’d have better success melting some legos and using them to glue the seams.  I announced to the Embee tribe: “It doesn’t work. I’m going to have to sew it.”

They stared at me with that special blank look that is reserved for times when the Mom of the house is about to do something that everyone else in the house knows will lead to World War III.

And to them I say, EAT DIRT! I have produced a superhero costume reasonably close to Sally’s design, with a HAND-SEWN cape (someday I’ll grasp how a sewing machine even works…), sequin stripe on the leggings and sparkly “S” emblazoned on the Old Navy shirt. And if you stand back 10 feet and squint, it looks pretty rockin’. But the best part is that when Sally puts it on, she actually becomes Super Sally–who, FYI, “flies, fights crime and helps people.” I’m constantly crying for Super Sally to help me spell a word or tell me which utensil to use for pasta. I don’t know how we ever survived before we had a superhero in the family.

Materials: $50, Labor: three nights of indigestion, Seeing your mom way too proud of herself: Priceless

I wish I could be nonchalant, like Batman’s Alfred, but I can’t. I’m awesome! Right? I’ve created a Superhero, for Pete’s sake! I might need to call other parents after Superhero Day to give them the opportunity to tell me how fantastic I am my kid’s costume was. Oh, and Sally says it is perfect. And this superhero is not known for her sugar-coating powers.

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The Costume Catalogs

I thought about titling this post something about kids and porn, but then realized that might attract the wrong audience.

I Guess It Could Be Worse: Michael Costume

The Halloween catalogs have started arriving. You know, because we should start planning 90 days in advance. These catalogs have a special effect on children. Men have actual porn; women have Pottery Barn; and Sally? Sally has the Costume Express mailer.

This flimsy, 20-some page catalog has everything in it a kid could want. It’s dress-up nirvana. Specifically, it has costumes for every character Sally loves, no matter how obscure I once thought those characters to be. Strawberry Shortcake? Check. Daphne from Scooby Doo and the gang? Check. Seriously. A VIDIA FAIRY costume — where the heck was that when I needed it?!

So naturally, with all these options, Sally picks the one character I really don’t want her to be: Princess Peach from the Mario Bros. video games. Whom she has viewed on the television for a total of about 90 seconds.

Now, I’m not totally innocent here: I have allowed Sally and her dad to play the whole freaking game a bit of Super Mario Galaxy together, and much to my dismay in this regard, she is her father’s daughter. She loves it. She mostly watches him and gives him gaming advice. Pretty decent gaming advice. They call it father/daughter bonding time. I call it lazy but it does allow me to get laundry done . . . Still, I never thought our little secret would seep through to one of the most public displays of family life — the Halloween costume choice. The costume choice says a lot. One year my three siblings and I were all characters from Alice in Wonderland. Handmade by our mom. Adorable. Thematic. And a display of fine parenting. The toddlers who show up to trick-or-treat in blood-soaked gore costumes? I don’t like that. Nor do I like video game characters. I’m a costume elitist. There, I said it.

I’m pained about this partly because the Princess Peach costume is the lamest of the princess dresses, and partly because I can barely brush my teeth with my own hands, let alone make a costume, so whatever Sally has will be store-bought. But really I’m mostly disturbed because we live in a no-nitrates-hotdog-eating, no-TV-watching portion of the country and I’m going to get egged if people around here find out my preschooler plays video games! And let’s face it, this really is all about me.

I can see it now: “Why yes, I let my child rot her brain. I found she was requiring a lot of my time, and the video games keep her quiet. With any luck we’ll have her in full, obese gaming form by age 6! Hey, is that spit you just spit on me? I do hope it’s organic.”

So, though I feel a little guilty about it, I’m pressuring her to pick another costume. Like Jessie from Toy Story. She LOVES Jessie. Jessie is assertive, yet G-rated. It sends the right message. Sally’s a determined little sucker, though, and she won’t be easily swayed. May the best woman win. In the meantime, she’ll happily take her daily browse through “her magazine,” ooh-ing and ahh-ing at all the marvelous costume options.  It’s outright pornography, I tell you.

Career Aspirations

Some days, Sally wants to be an astronaut. Other days, she wants to be the guy who dresses up as a sandwich and waves to people on the street. Today was a sandwich guy day. So naturally, being mom of the year, I nurtured her dreams. Behold:

Sally's idol and mentor. Photo: Lefty91/flickr

Officially making us the crazy family on the street.

That's my kid. On the corner. Waving to cars.