A Box For Halloween

I have a confession to make: I'm not a big fan of Halloween. (Pause for boos and hisses.) Sure, I like the free chocolate, carving pumpkins, and making eating caramel apples.

My gripe is mainly over costumes.

When I was younger and only had to worry about coming up with one terribly clever costume, I was sometimes able to manage it, usually by stopping at Goodwill and picking up some vintage atrocity from the 60's. I have collected several of these over the years and now rotate through them, always spending Halloween clothed in one of several polyester outfits from the box under my stairs. I never could get comfortable with the idea of spending money on a cheap costume that would only be relevant for one night.

The problem, of course, got worse as we tacked on the kids. I can sew, but I despise it (plus I'm incredibly slow), so sewing my kids Halloween costumes has always been out of the question.

But it's okay because shortly after school starts, the glossy magazines begin arriving in the mail. They offer to turn your toddler into something amazing (for $60 or more plus shipping). Costumes parade prominently around stores before summer is even spent. As a result, my kids believe in love at first sight. How could they not when they've experienced it, year after year, as I attempted to whiz by the Halloween costumes without them noticing?

When kids get their hearts set on something, it's hard to say 'no,' isn't it?

The trouble is, their love is fleeting and the next time you walk through the store, you'll find that the object of their desire has changed. But if you don't buy it when they see it then their size will sell out. Then you'll really be stuck. You don't want to be the mom stuck on Ebay, frantically bidding on the very last costume in your child's size. Trust me.

A few years ago, quite by accident, we hit on a way to avoid the issue entirely. Remember when your child was one, and he enjoyed playing with the boxes his toys came in more than he wanted the toys? Never underestimate the power of a large cardboard box, even when your child is no longer a baby.

When my son Energy told me he wanted to be a hermit crab for Halloween, my first response was a resounding 'no.' He had it all planned out, and it sounded incredibly complicated. His plan involved paper mache, balloons, and chicken wire. I hate Home Depot. The thought of traipsing through the store with four young kids in search of chicken wire so my son could make a mess in the yard attempting to make a wearable hermit crab shell was not appealing. So I stalled him, turning to the internet for guidance. There had to be somebody, somewhere, selling a hermit crab costume, or at least a video on how to make one, right? Right? You can find anything on the internet.

Apparently, not.

I told him he would just have to think of something else. But he pressed the issue and, eventually, I came to see that being a hermit crab was really important to him. I promised I would help, but we had to go with my plan, which did not involve paper mache or chicken wire. Or balloons.

I like to keep things simple. I'm no good with a sewing machine, but I'm awesome with a can of spray paint. So my plan revolved around a cardboard box and some spray paint. Before long, we had a passable hermit crab. My son was ecstatic. And he was convinced I was the best mom EVER, which was an unexpected bonus.

Energy's costumes in subsequent years have all revolved around cardboard boxes. I suspect they will for many more years to come.

At his school Halloween party, dressed as a calculator, Energy got angry because everyone kept pushing his buttons. :) They were really cool buttons: we attached them to the box with springs so they popped out after you pushed them. His classmates couldn't resist.

This one's a mailbox, before we put the US Mail signs on it. Energy's plan was to crouch down on people's front doorsteps so all they would see when they opened the door was the mailbox. Then he would pop up and scare them.

Here's the completed look, along with his entourage of an angel, a vampire, the grim reaper, a ninja, and someone who loves them all.











And here's a little gem I found in the archives. This is Energy, as Larry the Cucumber from Veggie Tales, in his very first box costume. This was before we really understood what we'd hit upon--we were just super poor. We made it out of a Costco cheerios box and leftover craft paint.

This year's cardboard box creation: A Rubix cube.

Also, Mellow has decided to follow in his brother's footsteps and will don the cardboard box for the first time this Halloween. Here he is in his Minecraft Steve head.












After so many box costume successes, we have come to believe that they are the best. In no particular order, here are the reasons box costumes make Halloween great:

• People think you're creative, when in reality you're just lazy and cheap
• Your kids will change their minds about what they want to be a week before Halloween. Just count on it. With a box costume, you can wait until the week before to make it and you don't have to worry about it selling out at the store.
• Making a costume out of a cardboard box is cheap, cheap, cheap!
• The looks we get from Target employees when we ask if they have any large, clean boxes we can have for Halloween costumes are priceless.
• Almost anything can be made out of a box if you use your imagination
• Kids can wear whatever they want underneath their boxes. No more freezing cold kids because the costume makers skimp on cloth and don't leave room under their costumes for extra layers.
• If you like attracting attention (which Energy does) wearing a giant, spray-painted box is a great way to do it.
• You can throw it away after Halloween without feeling like you're wasting your money

Since I obviously love boxes so much, one of these years our whole family should go as coordinating boxes. We could be the cereal aisle at the grocery store, or we could go as gallons of ice cream. We could be Minecraft blocks or a family of Legos. We could even dress up as bricks and go as our house. The possibilities are endless!

Disgruntled Toys Annonymous

Eight years ago, when Mellow was two years old, my life depended upon knowing the exact location of two tiny toy cows that fit perfectly inside his fists. As we all know, two-year-olds have a tendency to lose their toys and then not understand why you can't procure them out of thin air the moment they want them back. To avoid the inevitable meltdowns and broken-hearted weeping, I ended up buying several of the little toy cows so we would have a better chance of finding one when Mellow demanded it. The cows ended up in constant rotation. They were very good about taking turns getting lost, so we were usually able to find at least two when we needed them.

Now Caboose is following in his brothers' footsteps, only the object of his deepest affections is a Lightening McQueen matchbox car. The heavy-duty, die-cast vehicles are slightly more expensive than the little plastic cows (read: ridiculously over-priced), so my method of buying several and letting them take turns being lost is slightly less appealing.

I've been pondering over the phenomenon of the favorite toy going on regular holidays and wondering why they have to go away so much. Also, have you ever noticed that when your child's favorite toy disappears, he is the only one who is able to find it? You can turn the house upside down looking for it, and said child will cry himself to sleep for several nights in a row. Then, one day, you happen upon the child, who is happily playing with the lost toy and your jaw drops in amazement. Since he's too young to offer any explanation over where he found the toy, its hiding place will forever remain a mystery.

So I wonder... where do the toys go when they disappear? Is it really just a coincidence when they go missing and return shortly thereafter or is there something bigger going on?

Cue imagination sequence...



Lightening McQueen rolled into his first meeting with trepidation. Even though he was used to meeting new people, the large conference center was packed with unfamiliar faces. 

A large, muscled toy soldier stood at the front of the assembly behind a podium. "I hereby call this meeting to order. If you're joining us for the first time today, this is Disgruntled Toys Anonymous. We meet every day. We have an open door policy, which means you're welcome to pop in unannounced and stay for as long as is needed. My name is Tom and I've been a member of this chapter for six years."

"We'll start off the meeting with our motto, then we'll hear grievances." Tom raised his arms and all the toys in attendance rose from their seats. A chorus of voices chanted out:

I am a toy, but I have feelings too. I am more than an object of desire. Although I love my owner, I have unique talents and abilities that can't be pursued when I am too well-loved. I am therefore entitled to take breaks as seemeth fit. I will return home when I am ready, and my child will love me more for the absence.

"Wonderful!" Tom's voice echoed throughout the room. To begin our round of grievances for the day, we'll hear from Mr. Sill E. Puddy."

A sickly-pale, portly ball bounced to the center of the stage and leaned into the microphone. "Hello, everyone. Thank you for hearing me today. I've had a real rough week. I used to be popular, you see. I used to be desirable. But in recent years I have been reduced to a mere dollar toy." He paused, and a single tear rolled down his face. He continued haltingly. "I'm a pity gift. A party bag tchotchke. Something to be purchased only to be thrown away a short while later. Kids hate me because I don't flash or talk or have a power cord. Parents hate me because when kids leave me in their pockets, I end up going through the dryer and destroying whole loads full of clothes." He choked out a sob. "I might be here at DTA to stay." Sill then rushed off the stage, hiding his face in shame. 

"We feel your pain," Tom exclaimed from his seat as Sill made his way past. Shouts of "You are among friends" and "Don't lose heart" rang out from the audience. 

While Mr. Puddy melted back into the crowd, a large, awkward structure made its way to the stage. As it rumbled forward, bits of it fell off and had to be collected and brought forward by the stage crew. When it reached the podium, a chorus of voices rang out in stereo, "Hi. We are Legos. We've taken the liberty of dropping off our owners' favorite sets at will and coming as a group. We are very popular and never get any time off. But we must always be aware and watch out for each other. If ever we find ourselves separated from the group and picked up by a parent, there's a very good chance we will go straight into the trash." A collective shudder rippled through the room.

As the Legos were finishing up, a row of Tinker Toys were making their way to the stage. They sent forward a single Tinker to voice their grievances. A deep voice said, "Hello all. My name is Tink." A murmur rippled through the audience, and McQueen could hear muffled laughter. "I know what you're all thinking. I have the same name as that girlie fairy. But it's even worse than all that. Sure, kids love us. We are really cool toys. But parents hate us because we have so many small pieces. We get scattered to and fro, stepped on, and sucked up into vacuum cleaners. Parents do their best to hide us in closets where their kids will forget all about us. It really is a very hard life. We just needed some time away. It's so great to be here with you all - thanks for your support."

Lightening McQueen shuddered. He couldn't imagine being shut up in a dark closet, hidden away from the love of his child. In fact, he couldn't relate to any of what these toys were saying. Maybe spending his time being squeezed to death in the sticky fingers of a young boy wasn't such a bad life.

When no more toys approached the stage, Tom stood and strode to his podium. "Thank you for coming, one and all. I hope this has been a time for you to relax and gain strength from others in similar situations. We will now break for our workshops. If you are interested in speaking at our next meeting, or are in need of a list of today's classes, please see Wanda." He raised his arm and a large doll stepped forward, her hair twisted into unattractive clumps of yarn at the nape of her neck. 

Lightening McQueen shook his head and fled from the conference hall before anyone could rope him into coming to a class with them. He zoomed back to home base as fast as he could. 

He missed his boy.


...End imagination sequence.


So now you know where toys go when they disappear, only to mysteriously reappear a few days later. Be sure to keep your favorite toys happy, or they just might take a longer vacation than you or your child would like.