Male Noodles and Halloween Angst

What’s the Halloween equivalent of Scrooge?  Well, whatever it is, that’s me.  Why?  Because Halloween speaks to the creative.  And I, well, I’m the antithesis of creative.  I don’t sew, I can’t draw and my imagination yanks the emergency brake when it feels such intense pressure to perform – like Halloween impotence, if you will.  I’m just not that mom.

Every year my son asks, “What should I be for Halloween?”   And every year, my heart rate increases and my hands get clammy as I struggle to think of something unique and creative.  I can actually feel the right side of my brain cramp as it shuts down in defiance.  It’s not like I don’t have any imagination.  In fact, just recently I realized that my imagination is actually alive and well. (Well, maybe not well - but alive, anyway.)

For example:

Yesterday, I was driving down the highway with my window down, enjoying the beautiful fall weather.  Then, as if I was enjoying life too much or getting cocky in my contentedness, this thought popped into my head - What if a lug nut flies off of the truck’s wheel next to me and strikes me in the head?  Then I answer myself, That wouldn’t happen.  I’m 42 years old and have never heard of that happening.  But then I think, It’s had to have happened somewhere at some time in this world we live in.  And the fact that it hasn’t happened to anyone that I know actually increases the odds of it happening to me.  Then I’m certain it’s going to happen, so I speed up to get ahead of the truck and thank God for the foresight necessary to avoid that catastrophic scenario.

Still not convinced?

How about a little something I like to call Lonely Noodle Syndrome or LNS?  This occurs when I’m making Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.  If one of the noodles is stuck to the bottom of the box, I really have to think about what that noodle wants.  After all, it’s been in that box with the rest of its noodle family all its life.  My thoughts go something like this, I have to release that noodle from the bottom of the box so he can join the rest of his pasta family in the pot of boiling water.  But then I argue, What if his noodle parents sought out that glue for their little noodle, ensuring he would stick to the bottom of the box, thereby evading an untimely noodle death?  

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By the bye, I do a similar thing with toilet paper when the squares don’t tear evenly, but that’s more of a romantic tale, so not fitting for this blog entry at all.

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Sidebar - I’m aware that writing this down for all to see might start a grass roots (or not-so grass roots) movement to have me heavily medicated.  But I have to believe I’m not alone in having these ridiculous introspective battles.   I’m not, right?  (focus on the punctuation)

As you can see, my imagination’s got chops.  I just need to learn how to harness its power and use it for my Supermom good.

I don’t even know why I care.  I mean, throw a sheet over my son’s head and call it a day.  But then I think of that mom and the guilt sets in.  You know the mom.  The one with 5 children who does Krav Maga on her lunch break, volunteers at the soup kitchen on Sundays after church, doesn’t even own a pair of sweat pants, remembers every birthday, and always makes the cutest (and most creative) gifts for teacher appreciation week.  (What would I do without gift cards?)  I bet her kids’ favorite food is broccoli, too.  What a hooker….

She’s like the MacGyver of Halloween costumes.  Give her a stick of gum, a paperclip, 5 marbles and a purple magic marker and *BAM!* The Temptations.  It’s unbelievable. 

How do I compete with that?  Why do I feel the need to compete with that?  Because that’s what moms do.  We don't ever want to feel like we're not giving our all or under-performing when it comes to motherhood.  We don’t all compete with Halloween costumes, granted – that’s just my shallow attempt at attaining motherhood greatness.  Sad, really. 

I’ve come to realize that there are two types of moms in this world: moms who populate Pinterest and moms who scream, Dammit! Why didn’t I think of that!?

And I’m cool with being the latter.  I'm just not the girl who looks at a raisin and thinks, “This would make the most precious reindeer poop for my edible Christmas centerpiece, like, EVER!” 

That is so that mom.