In a blink of an eye, somehow it’s end the of October and Halloween is upon us all. No longer is it just a small celebration compared to our American friends across the pond who go large or go home for Halloween shenanigans.
Otherwise known as ‘All Hallows Evening’.
Which became ‘Hallowe’en.’
And now, as we commonly know it, Halloween.
No wonder they simplified it. People can’t even get their apostrophes right at the best of times, especially when high on sugar.
Some believe that Halloween ends the harvest season, which, spookily coupled with the fact that it occurs at the same time the clocks go back, it does seem to make sense. If you’re in this blog for some big facts about where it all originated from, then The Telegraph link gives some pretty interesting viewpoints, including the fact that people used to carve turnips, not pumpkins.
Without wanting to sound like a misery (which would be a totally apt costume), Halloween doesn’t sit well with me.
This nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that it is a Pagan festival. (Room for all beliefs on this blog).
It’s just because I like getting value for money with things and I’m a big punter for cost-per-wear when buying clothing. So, try as I might to get my kids to recycle something from ‘the dressing up box’, they’re not having it.
“What about a fairy princess zombie?” I ask.
(raised eyebrow from daughter #1)
“How about a rainbow unicorn devil?” I say cheerfully.
(raised eyebrow from daughter #2, although very, very hard to tell as she is super blonde and the eybrows will definitely require future tinting.)
“Maybe a mermaid monster?” I suggest helpfully.
(They both leave the room at this point.)
I summon up all the determination I have remaining after a two week half term stint and suggest a fun option for the youngest.
“How about bloodying up the fabulous pink tafetta ballgown that your sister wore in the school concert last year?” (Ebay £12.99)
Eldest throws a tantrum and refuses to give up the dress that she will never wear again and which no longer fits, simply that she loves it as ‘a memory’.
My turn to raise an eyebrow, which doesn’t go un-noticed by eldest.
“Mummy, can I customise your wedding dress then? It doesn’t fit you and you’re never going to wear it again….”
Fair point, well made.
But no. My dress shall sit in the loft, in all its tissue paper and boxed glory, until I can re-eneact the scene from ‘Pretty in Pink’, thus living out all of my John Hughes 80s fantasies.
With a heavy heart I drag myself to the computer and thank and berate in equal amounts, those clever people at Amazon for inventing Prime.
My girls hear the keyboard click and come rushing in…
“That one! That one! ‘Zombie cheerleader’, Mummy!!! Quick – turn on 1-click!”
They are not fools, my offspring.
Upon me questioning the ‘zombie cheerleader hybrid’ being akin to a ‘zombie princess mish-mash’, ie. ‘scary’ merged with ‘sweet’, I am again met with a double set of raised eyebrows.
At the end of a two week half term stint, I am weak. And I give in, high on fumes of ‘We love you! Best mummy ever! Thank you thank you!’
It all just escalates from there really…
The loft decorations are brought down and as if by some Chanukah oil-burning miracle, the Poundland spider wreath decoration still has life in it and the battery is still going strong two years later.
As if by magic (dark fucking magic), there are lanterns and plastic ghosts and jars of eyeballs now adorning the front of my house that would make Jonathan Ross proud.
Just when I thought I had gotten away with it, the annual pumpkin request is made and we head off to Morrisons for pumpkins.
So we’re pretty much Halloween ready.
Costumes – √
Pumpkins – √
Decorations – √
Sweets for visitors – √
The trick part? Getting my kids to bed so I can hunt down the Bounty miniatures.
If that makes me a freak, I’m happy with that.