My boys made their own costumes for the Halloween dance this year; my daughter said she wasn't going. "I don't have a costume," she explained.
"Do you want a costume?"
"No." Said with all the disgust a fifteen-year-old can muster. And you know that's quite a bit.
She has managed to avoid every dance she has been eligible to attend for the past three years; I felt it was my motherly duty to talk her into going. For about one minute. And then I asked myself why in the world I would want her to get into the boy/dating scene any sooner than she demanded it. And I gave her the option of going to the dance or babysitting. She babysat; we went out for dinner.
Part of her job description included taking pictures of her brothers when they got home. Obviously they weren't very co-operative; nor could she figure out how to get the lawn gnome into one picture, but you get the idea–and aren't they better than storebought? (Especially the store-bought my six-year-old begged for, and then at the last minute refused to wear).
Not only did he dress as a midget(can you figure out how he did it? He's normally about 5'10"), he made a solemn mockery of his father's high school wardrobe. Why, you ask, do we still possess any part of his father's high school wardrobe? The hat was in Grandma's attic. The coat in an emergency 72 hour kit; you should have seen the glasses.
I'll just post both ends of the lawn gnome–she took his picture in six sections:
I have now written this post three times. My computer keeps blipping on me. Lucky you; it's much shorter this time.
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