Jeff’s been working on our Halloween costumes. As is his way, he’s all in– he’s dreaming up something original, homemade, clever. All the things you want in a Halloween costume.
After dinner Saturday, he got that look in his eye that tells me he’s got a plan and it’s going to blow my mind. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to build a prototype. I’ll be back by dessert.” Who uses the word “prototype” on a Saturday night in reference to his Halloween costume? I’m pretty sure I’ve never built a prototype of anything. Ever.
I sat on the couch with a cup of tea watching my children
torture play with our dinner guests, while straining to hear if Jeff was hammering or soldering anything. He’s been known to do both, and more, in that small span of time between grilled burgers and pie.
“Go see what your dad is doing.” I urged the kids to sneak upstairs, because I hoped that would hurry Jeff up. After all, I
wanted some pie was curious about this so-called prototype. Not one to be rushed, Jeff came down a good fifteen minutes later. He had a pair of Simon’s pants, a helium balloon, and a bolt of cellophane that he’d turned into a costume that defies description. Seriously. I can’t describe it.
From my slouched position on the couch, I listened to him explain where his arms will go and how he’ll make a replica of his own head instead of using the balloon. I look over at my children who were wondering what the hell Jeff was talking about and why he had drawn a smiley face on the balloon they just got at a birthday party.
In the next few days I will watch him perfect his vision, and we’ll step out in costume on Saturday night. I’ve no doubt we will come home with a prize, even if it’s “most heart.” I will continue to add my two cents to his design, even though my deep-down solution is to look for costumes on-line that could be rush-delivered to our house. “I could buy white sheets from Amazon and we could go as ghosts,” I offer because I am lame, but still want to contribute. Also, I like to solve “problems” by sitting on my ass and giving my credit card digits; he likes to use the raw materials laying in our house to create alter egos.
I love this DIY-ness that is deeply embedded in his DNA mostly because I don’t understand it one fucking bit. There are a zillion Halloween pop-up stores all over Chicago. It would take about eight minutes to get costumes and be done with this. But that’s not his way. It never will be. And I’ll never understand it.
But come Saturday night, I’ll be holding the prize and riding his DIY wave all the way to victory, oh so grateful that opposites attract.