Bewitched

Every Halloween is a great fun for the kids as they pick out and create their latest and greatest costumes. At some point in the last few years though we have apparently started a tradition where the kids pick out our customs. This was not an adequately thought-out plan on our part. When it comes to mommy and daddy, the kids have definite ideas and methodically start planning it months in advance.

My poor husband never knows from year to year what publicly humiliating costume the kids will pick for him. The worst year (so far) was when the kids turned him into an overly-made-up lady. I realized, as I looked at the finished product, that should my husband decide to change gender, there would have to be much plastic surgery in his future. He was very entertaining though as we watched his balloon boobs roll around under his dress and eventually wind up as love handles.

My costume from year to year never changes and must be the way my children get back at me for making them do homework, wash all their body parts, eat their vegetables and go to bed on time. Every year I am a witch. Not your pretty, sexy witch, no that would never satisfy my kids… their interpretation of a witch must have a hefty dose of ugly in it.

This year my children have decided that my husband will be an 80’s rock star. Considering my kids aren’t old enough to know what an 80’s rock star is, I’m assuming they were attracted to the package because of the wildly spiky hair, spandex pants and zebra-striped t-shirt. Regardless of their reason, I’ll be curious to see if my husband even knows how to put on a pair of spandex pants.

As for me, I’ll be dragging the old witch costume out of the closet once again. At least Scott gets to be Bon Jovi. I have to be Margaret Hamilton.

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