A Devil Of A Problem

Sometimes things happen in my life that just instantly insinuate a blog entry. It used to happen a lot more often than it has lately, but tonight such an instance did occur, and I had to take the time to document it for Kirby...and for me.

The boys have been dying to go pick out Halloween costumes and this evening, Stephen offered to take them. In our house, I am not exactly known as the "Queen of Halloween". You might even say I'm the anti-Halloween. For this girl who still has yet to view more than 5 minutes of a horror movie and makes her husband change the channel during scary movie commercials, Halloween is just one long nightmare waiting to happen. It was no secret that if Husband took the boys to pick out their costumes, they would probably have more fun and might even get to pick out something that I might not approve of (I've been accused of trying to make Halloween too "cute" around our house).

The boys were gone for about 2 hours and came bounding through the door clutching their little Wal-Mart bags and smiling. Connor was first. "Mommy!" he said. "Look at me! Look at my costume...it's so scary!" I had to laugh as I saw him in his jumbo-sized ghost mask. He was thrilled with his costume. Kirby waited patiently, all smiles, with the package holding his costume turned around so that I couldn't see the picture.

"Mommy! Guess what mine is!" He said through his very proud grin.

"Hmmm..." I said, catching a glimpse of what looked like a gold plastic key. "A pirate?"

"No!"

"A knight?" I asked, thinking to myself "How many costumes have gold plastic keys?"

"No!"

"Okay Kirby, I think you're going to have to show me. I can't imagine what else it could be!" 

"It's...the Gatekeeper!" he announced proudly.

Instantly, a thought passed through my mind, and while it only took .2 seconds for me to think it, I knew that this was not going to be a costume I approved of. I mean, how many "Gatekeepers" do you know of? I can think of two, and they are: Saint Peter, keeper of the Pearly Gates, and Lucifer, keeper of the Gates of Hell. Now, I don't know about you, but I haven't seen a lot of Saint Peter costumes around my neighborhood over the past couple of years.

One look at the package confirmed my suspicions. It took me a minute to get my bearings and make sure that I didn't react too strongly. What I saw before my eyes was this:

Now, I realize that this picture makes the costume look rather benign. It's not so much the bloody skeleton in the midsection, or the red scales coming up out of the shoulder pads. The key itself disturbs me a little, but that's not even the worst part. The mask was SO MUCH WORSE than this picture makes it look. Having not taken it out of the package in the store, Husband was shocked at how completely diabolical it looked (although, I have to mention here that how someone can be shocked at a diabolical mask coming out of a costume package that is in fact, for El Diablo is beyond me). It really looks like a cross between Darth Moll and Skeletor, with blood red horns sticking out of the sides and the top. One look at Husband's face and I could see that he knew they blew it.

"Oh, that's a scary looking costume! Very scary. Demonic, actually." I was the epitome of cool.

Kirby was all grins. You see, it's common sport in our house to tease Mommy about her dislike of Halloween and scary things. That's what he thought was going on here. 


"Kirby," I began, "I would like to take you to the store to pick out a costume that's more appropriate for someone your age."

"That's appropriate Mom!" he replied hotly.

"No Kirby. We cannot take you to the Assumption Catholic School Halloween party dressed as Satan. It just doesn't work."

About 10 minutes of heated discussion ensued wherein Husband and I tried to explain to him that the costume was not only designed for older kids, but that even if he was older, it is not exactly the kind of thing you would wear around Father Peter. More specifically, it's not the kind of thing we're trying to promote by sending our kids to Catholic school. The fact that Husband was immediately with me on this one told me that the costume was indeed, really bad. We offered to let Kirby wear the body of the costume and we'll paint his face and he can call himself a "monster". That didn't seem to fly.

Crushed, Kirby stomped up the stairs and got ready for bed, crying the whole while.

"I guess I'd better go up there." Husband said.

"Yes. I think so. I'll give you a couple minutes, and then I'll head up."

Lying in bed, crying the broken-hearted sobs that only a 7 year-old with dashed dreams can cry, Kirby said to me, "It's the best costume I've ever had in my life and you guys won't let me have the mask!"

Coming back downstairs I couldn't help but ask Husband what the H-E-double-hockey-sticks he was thinking letting our 2nd grader pick out a costume like that. His response?

"I had to go to the bathroom REALLY badly and I needed to get out of there! I didn't think it looked that bad!"

What do you do with that? Anyone?