I created the monster.

Well, that one too, but that’s not the one I’m talking about.

No, the monster I’m talking about is the one that rears it’s ugly head every year at Halloween when I try to tell my children to wear weather appropriate clothes with their costumes.

Probably if I told them to wear weather appropriate clothes more often, this wouldn’t be an issue. But that’s not my way. I’m more of a, “Alright if you don’t want to wear your hat/shirt/shoes/pants/jacket/socks/mittens that’s fine,” sort of mom. I’m a, “Sure you can wear a tank top in October but grab a sweatshirt to leave in the truck just in case,” kind of mom. I’m a, “My kids are smart and will put on clothes when they are cold,” kind of mom. Most importantly I’m a choose your battles kind of mom.

And when it comes to battles, I never choose clothes.

Except.

Except on Halloween.

Because cold children and trick or treating go poorly together and when one ridiculous evening of candy gathering (don’t get me wrong I love the candy) is hyped for weeks and costumes are gathered (thank you Grandma Pat), the last thing I want after experiencing the horrid-ness that is Halloween (I’m a Halloween hating curmudgeon, it’s true) is for all that effort turns into snot nosed, whining, crying, cold children who need to cut the evening short where they (and I) will be devastated by their meager candy haul. (Miniature Milky Way bars are the only thing that continues to ensure my participation in this terrible holiday.)

And so on Halloween I tell my children to wear more clothes. This is a direction that is so unpracticed on both the directing and the receiving end that to call it a lead balloon would be a kindness.

This year, I eventually remembered that I’m a choose your battles kind of mom, threw my hands in the air and we left the house looking like this.

While I personally feel that that picture contains a lot of cuteness it’s totally lacking in clothing for weather befitting a drizzly October evening in Wisconsin.

Ivy had cold toes and Clara had cold fingers and Jane was frozen all over. Not that that meant she wanted to put her shoes on. So John and I stood at the end of many sidewalks and showed concerned citizens of our town that our pockets had both sweatshirts and shoes for the small purple princess who was shivering as she slowly minced down the sidewalk after us.

It was just after John made the comment that perhaps we should take away her crown and give her a box of matches  that she was done. John took her back to the warmth of the truck while I continued to follow the others through the town. To their credit none of them whined about the cold. They just talk about it in an, “Oh my gosh I can’t even feel my toes” sort of incredulity as they marched on through the ghoul-filled darkness.

It’s true, I created the monster.

And I’m ok with that because for the other 364 days of the year it’s a monster that serves us well.

As for Halloween, well, I’ve never liked it anyway.

Except for those mini Milky Way bars…