The trick's on me. Why my time with needle and thread may be over.

I’m not quite sure when it happened.  When the sand slipped through my fingers and my beautiful children turned on me. 

When they became embarrased by their mom.

Actually, and I don’t think I’m overstating here, they’re horrified.  Forget the kisses and hugs in front of their friends.  I get that.  I can understand that you don’t want your “mommy” giving you smooches in front of all your buds.  While I may not like it, I can understand that.

When did they become so willing to reject my craftiness?

Specifically, my complete creative genius at Halloween.  For years I have made, by hand, the kids costumes.  Okay, there was a rogue Tinky Winky year, but other than a costume here or there, I’ve made ‘em all.

Purple M&M?  I did that.  Harry Potter cloaks? Complete and resplendant with Hogwarts patches and burgundy lining, I made those.  Our dog fashioned as a costume?  Oh baby, I made that one with a fantastic bag that meant the  candy-giver had to drop the goods into a “bottomles” dog bowl.  Genius.

But this year suddenly, I and my fabulous costumes are apparently no longer “cool”. 

This year, my youngest, my baby (renamed Brutus) has turned his back on me opted for, (gasp) a store-bought costume.  Worse, he doesn’t really care what costume it is AS LONG AS it’s store-bought.  This is the kid who’s been Draco Malfoy, Anakin Skywalker and enough pirates to sail his own ship. 

Nope, this year, he wants nothing to do with his mom’s handiwork.  He looked through the glossy catalogues that came in the mail and picked something I was only joking about.  “Where’s Waldo?”.  That’s what he picked.  Comfortable, easy and perfectly packaged at the local costume kiosk for  $29.99.

That means no traipsing to the neighborhood fabric store fourteen times because I keep forgetting the black velcro.  No staying up until all hours getting the pleats “just so”. 

It’s a world gone mad, I tell you.  What will I do with all the time?  I’ll have less stress, I guess, but at what price?

What does it mean when they reject the things that help define us as parents?  Does it mean our job is over?  That they are taking one more step away from us and into a new, and more exciting, world? 

Maybe.  And maybe that’s okay.  That means there’s more time for MY costume.

By the way, anyone need a great Skywalker costume?