I know I’ve been quiet for a while. There hasn’t been much to say. Get up, drop Anna off at school, go to work, pick Anna up from school, go home, go to bed, repeat… But something happened yesterday that was too sweet not to share.
It’s rather balmy for Halloween this year. It’s supposed to be in the 50s. (Yes, balmy is a relative word this time of year. I remember trick-or-treating in the snow, so 50 is warm!) I was going to wear my 1920s costume since it’s warm enough that I wouldn’t freeze in it. Fortunately, I thought to try it on while Anna was taking a nap yesterday. Madge and Dorcas laughed and said, “Who do you think you are? Grandma Mary*?” The only easily accessible costume that fits is the snowman shirt we made when I was pregnant with Anna. Guess I’ll be a snowman… So I got the shirt out and hung it on the closet door.
Now, Anna is currently obsessed with snowman. She’s going to be a chef for Halloween. Her white chef’s jacket has black buttons. She’ll tell you it’s a snowman. She keeps calling all of the scarecrow decorations at our complex snowman. She loves snowmen.
Yesterday evening, I was reading in the living room and Anna was playing everywhere (like you do when you’re 20 months old). She suddenly came running down the hallway shouting, “Snowman! Snowman! Snowman!”
“Where did you see a snowman?” I asked, knowing full well. She took my hand and led me to where my shirt was hanging on the closet door. She showed me the snowman’s nose and eyes and mouth and we talked about the buttons that would be its shirt.
It gets better.
A bit later, she put her baby in the stroller and took her for a walk. Down the hall. To my bedroom. Right up to my costume. I lurked in the hallway and watched as she showed baby all about the snowman in Mamma’s room.
Yeah. I think I’m wearing the right costume this year.
*Contrary to popular culture, the majority of women in the 1920s were not flappers. My mom’s grandmother, however, actually was one.