Growing up, my mother made all our Halloween costumes. I was a camera while my brother went as a roll of film and my sister was a photograph—a creative set of costumes my mother made from a cardboard box, among other things.
We’ve had witches, vampires and ghosts. We’ve had Disney princesses—multiple times! (Including this year, in honor of our October trip to Disney.) And, each time, we have bought their costume at the store.
Every year, I choke on the price tag—times 3—and vow to do something different. But, I don’t. Instead, I buy a costume or find accessories to jazz up something we already have. (My favorite was the year I turned an overpriced ballet costume into Swan Lake Barbie!)
Except, the year I made the mummy.
Stacia wanted to be a mummy and it was no where to be found. Probably because it’s supposed to be so easy to make yourself that no one in their right mind would buy one. We cut strips from a white sheet and attached them to long underwear or sweatpants. I no longer remember. I only remember the agony of trying to make it work, and the speed with which it began to unravel.
Which worked for her, since she had actually requested to trick-or-treat as an unraveling mummy.
And, t’s the only kind I make…