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.
“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.
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.