After reading my friend Juan’s genius post on Do-It-Yourself Halloween Costumes (Estilo Mexicano, por supuesto!), I was reminded that I haven’t gotten a costume ready for my boys.
Looking around the house at what we already have on hand, I decided my youngest son would be a mariachi. I found a little guitar in their closet and then using a few odds and ends from Suegra’s sewing supplies, a little hot glue and pins, (because unlike Suegra, I can’t sew to save my life), I have a cute little traje de mariachi… But mariachi is not really mariachi with one lonely guitarist.
The problem is, my older son turned 12 over the summer, and I had previously told him he would no longer be trick-or-treating. I wasn’t happy to break the news to him because despite the shadow of a mustache and the fact that he’s taller than me, he is still very much a child at heart… But, because of my mariachi situation and the fact that he plays trumpet, I’m going to let him go one more year. (Honestly, I hate getting older children at my door asking for candy, but if they actually put effort into the costume and are polite, I think it should be okay.)
As for myself, I haven’t dressed up in years, but I felt inspired. After thinking about it, I decided I wanted to dress up as Frida Kahlo. The only question is, will Carlos be my Diego Rivera? So far he has refused. The conversations have gone something like this:
“I want to dress as Frida Kahlo … will you dress as Diego?”
“Her husband! A famous Mexican artist!”
“It won’t be chistoso, te juro!”
“It’s just a normal outfit, like a suit jacket, and…”
…Later in the evening, I thought maybe if Carlos got a taste of my costume, he would be able to see my vision for how chévere this would be, and be convinced. So using an eyebrow pencil, I drew my eyebrows closer together and then put my hair up whimsically, before throwing on some artsy earrings and an elegant serape.
“Look!” I said, “I’m Frida!”
And then Carlos laughed and laughed until he almost cried. “You look like one of those weird old ladies from my neighborhood growing up!”
“Hey! No I don’t! I look pretty! I’m Frida!” I said, my unibrow furrowed.
Later that night as we lay in bed in the darkness, I thought maybe I could convince him to agree if he was half-asleep.
“Will you be my Diego?”
“Will you be my Diego?”
“….no. Go to sleep.”
“He’s a little fat so you’ll need a pillow under-“
So, I don’t know if I’ll be Frida if Carlos won’t be Diego. So far, all my usual tricks to get him involved in my locuras have failed. Stay tuned!