my two year old's Halloween

When Rosie was two years old at Halloween 1984, we still lived in Omaha. I think both of us were still reeling from the custody battle. Maybe it wasn't quite over. Fortunately my memories of that bruising custody battle have faded.

My happy memories of being Rosie's mom live in me.

I had not rebuilt a social life after the legal separation because I was planning to move away as soon as a judge would let me which, I suspect, was the main reason my ex sued for custody. He didn't really want custody. He wanted to keep me trapped in Omaha until she left for college.

I could not live in Omaha just for an ex. I rationalized moving away by telling myself I had a duty to show my daughter how to make choices for one's self, how to be happy by seeing me move to be happy. It was wicked hard to petition the court, after years of custody crap, for permission to remove our minor from the jurisdiction of Nebraska. I prevailed and on New Year's Day 1985, we moved to Minneapolis, where I had gone to law school. So had her father but he was 'from' Omaha. I was from Chicago but loved Minneapolis.

Rosie was really into Strawberry Shortcake in 1984. She carried her Strawberry Shortcake doll with her always, slept with it. I have photos of her in bed in Strawberry. That Christmas, I bought an old doll cradle, painted it fresly white and made bedding from flannel covered in tiny springs of strawberries. The bed, of course, was for Strawberry. That's how into Strawberry my daughter was.

I used to have a photo of her trying to lay down in that doll cradle with strawberry. It was a large doll cradle but not large enough for a two year old.

So. Halloween. I took Rosie to a Halloween party at the Childrens Museum. She won a prize for best costume in her age group.

Now I am crying over the loss of my daughter. This memory is happy but thinking about her too long brings pain. It always ends up hurting.

Rosie wantd one of those junkie costumes that used to be sold in big box stores like Target with a crappy mask of Strawberry Shortcake and an even crappier dress made out of fabric made of toxic-laden fabric that itched.  In 1984, you could buy a crap costume like that for four or five bucks.

My mom had forbidden all her children from ever buying store bought costumes and I had internalized the practice. No way my kid was going to wear a costume-in-a-box, a cheap junk costume from Target.

One year she was Carmen Miranda. I sewed a bunch of plastic fruit on a headscarf stitch to form a hat with fruit on top. She wore a weird outfit my sister had given her as serious clothing to wear in life. It was way too big for her, for one thing. The top was slanted so some of the middriff would show if it had fit my toddler but being too big, it was modest. And the skirt was ruffled and rose up from ankle length to floor length. And garish fabric. It was a perfect college-age-auntie gift but too big for Rosie to wear as clothes. And it was PERFECT for Carmen Miranda. Rosie had no idea who Carmen Miranda was but she loved the swirly, ruffled dress, the make up that I laid on thick and she was happy.

The year she wanted to be Strawberry Shortcake, I made her up to look like a punk rockstar, sorta AC/DC kind of rock and roller. I painted her face half black and half white, zig=zagging the colors. Her eyes was a white star on the black side and a black moon on the white side.  Then I put on an adult-sized white t-shirt, belted it and draped her with cheap chains that you could buy by the yard at real hardware stores in those days. (I wonder if you can still buy chains by the yard?). And black tights.

It was an awesome costume, esp. on such a tiny creature with a squeaky voice. And she thought she was Strawberry Shortcake.

At the Halloween party, many would lean down and ask the adorable little girl "What are you supposed to be?"  She looked like a punk rocker, I assure you. She would squeakily chirp "I am Strawberry Shortcake."

After the party, which included some food, I stopped at a restaurant to buy her a real dinner. Mostly I stopped for dinner to prolong her fun being in costume, hearing everyone that passed us tell her she looked fantastic and asking her who she was. Over and over, she chirpily squeaked "I am Strawberry Shortcake."

Everytime my little punk rocker said, believing what she said "I am Strawberry Shortcake" I was very happy.  I loved her singleminded love of Strawberry and I loved my own cleverness, the clever costume and my good parenting. I had to be a pretty decent parent if my kid, painted like AC/DC instead of Strawberry Shortcake lived in her happy imagination all evening as SS.

Man that was a good time. Gosh I love her and miss her.