Until very recently my four year old son hated costumes with a vengeance. I mean really, really hated costumes. To the point he’d scream blue murder whenever he saw one. It didn’t matter what it was, be it a mask, a full costume, home made or shop bought. He hated them. So we didn’t wear them.
For costume days at school we improvised in ways where he could still feel as though he was taking part without having to wear a costume. T-shirts with characters on or props were our favourite kind of costume.
Because costumes are a big part of our lives it feels. Every other week there seems to be something going on at school where he needs to go in dressed up. We’ve had Qatar National Day, the preschool assembly and World Book Day in the past few months. I must say that I did have a genius moment with World Book Day where he went as Harry from Harry and the Bucketful of Dinosaurs
And something has happened to my costume hating little boy.
He’s begun to like them.
To love them.
To covet them.
The little boy who screamed blue murder when I dressed him as a pirate for nursery, who twisted and turned to get away from the shirt I was pulling over his head, who then lost my improvised pirate sword at nursery (which was in fact my only wooden spoon, what a terrible housewife I am!) has done an about turn and now loves costumes. So much so that my four year old has morphed into Spider-Man. Really.
This makes my life easier in some respects, costume days at school are a lot simpler (yet more expensive as my home made efforts are a little lacking) and now he is very smiley when he wears costumes.
And wear them he does. We have a Spider-Man costume now.
A much loved, well worn, Spider-Man costume
He wears it when he’s baking, he wears it when he comes home from school, he’s tried to wear it to bed. He loves it.
Which may in fact be the understatement of the year. It’s been covered in egg, in flour, in mud, dirt, sand, water from the paddling pool and last but not least he managed to pee on it. I told you it came everywhere with him.
The thing is, I was petrified to wash it. What if it fell to pieces?! What if it just disintegrated before my eyes in the washing machine. And I am not alone, a recent survey from Data-Label show that over half of us are confused by clothing care labels.
I am not ashamed to admit that I am one of these people.
I have no idea what anything means, other than hand wash and wash on 30. Don’t even get me started on how I use a washing machine, every cycle I ever put on these days is a quick 30 minute cycle at a temperature of 30.
And a quick fingers crossed and maybe even a Hail Mary.
So that’s what I did. I bunged it in the machine when I managed to prise it off him and hoped for the best.
Luckily for me, it came out in one piece. Smelling wonderful (for about 45 minutes until he found it and put it back on again)
The thing is, I’m not sure I can take the 30 minutes of watching, bated breath, to see if it will come out in one piece. And I know I couldn’t take the devastation of it falling to pieces.
I think it’s time to brush up on those washing labels….