Maternity Wilma Dismantled

Part One
WORK IN PROGRESS - STILL BEING MASSAGED!!!

October 31, 1993

5:00 p.m. Put final five black fur spots on orange plush Fred Flintstone costume. Pink fleecy Maternity Wilma costume, off the shoulder with built in sports bra, jagged hem and pink bow still hot off the sewing machine. Look for pearls and white kid shoes with large faux gem-stones embedded in heels.
5:05 p.m. Leave home for dismal Halloween party at husband’s bosses house. Beg to go home when drunken co-worker discovers drum set.

Part Two


February 15, 1994
11:48 a.m. Give birth to first child.


November 1, 1995
11:30 a.m. Give birth to second child.


May 23, 1997
9:43 a.m. Give birth to third child.


Part Three

October 29, 2001
2:08 p.m. Arrive home from grocery shopping and discover that in $175 worth of groceries and ge-gaws there are no eggs.

3:08 p.m. Arrive home from special egg trip to grocery and discover that among the milky ways, crayons, orange juice and paper towels there are no eggs.

6:32 p.m. Agree to read Harry Potter and The Sorcerer’s Stone to the kids. Can locate all books I have ever owned, with the exception of Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone. Exact promises of good behavior from children and embark on trip to K-mart for replacement book. I can also return some things and get a dozen eggs.

7:45p.m. In a publicly acceptable seething rage I explain to my children that my name is not “Mommy get over here” or “Mommy, this is the last little pink kitty they have and if you don’t buy it for me I’ll never be happy again” or even “More ketchup”. My name is “Yes Ma’am” and “Mommy, may I please” and “Can I help you carry that, Mommy?”

In addition, when we get home there will be no Harry Potter reading, but rather all clothes will be taken off and put in the hamper, pajamas will be put on, teeth will be brushed and children will be in bed asleep. P.S. Any speck of worn and dirty clothing that I find on the floor will be worn by the previous wearer again the next day, as is.

October 31, 2001

5:39 a.m. Put finishing touches on first- born’s Halloween costume so that she may be Rose from Titanic and waft around the school yard in 2 hours and 15 minutes, replete in layers of chiffon and satin the colors of the next day’s sunrise, with the sapphire blue walnut sized Heart of the Ocean hanging from her neck on a diamond chain.

Where fabric doesn’t come together- for whatever reason - I add some safety pins. As a time saver I cannibalize pink satin sash from Wilma Maternity costume. It is harder than it looks as it is securely zig-zagged onto the belt loops, by my own hand so many years ago.

7:42 a.m. Shove oldest two kids into costumes, out of door, into car and drive to school, were I am unable to take pictures because although my digital camera has new batteries it is out of memory.

8:18 a.m. Feel better when friend reveals the Halloween Horrors were at her house this morning: her son’s ninja mask is actually a pair of her good black tights, a concession she made only after looking for his store bought version in the garbage cans early this morning, to no avail. And by the way, after 10 years of marriage her husband determined that today was the day to sit her down and talk to her about how she squeezes the toothpaste.

8:30 a.m. Joe - former husband, and father of my children- picks my mother up from airport and keeps her occupied while I am at school and eventually, hairdresser.

8:45 a.m. Kindergarten students return to class and share about their costumes. My child is sitting next to a classmate in the identical fuzzy snake costume, identical ground-dragging tail, identical zipper, and identical red felt tongue poking out of mouth. According to the classmate his costume was made by his mother. HIs gavorit part is the red felt toungue she put on with a hot glue gun. According to my child his costume arrived in a box from his grandmother, called Na, and he saw ones just like it at Costco.

2:10 p.m. Leave hair salon with perky new cut and color. It is a huge improvement over the time many years ago when a different stylist carefully wrapped all but the last inch of my hair in little bleach filled foil papers, achieving a reverse skunk look, which led me to cut off all of my hair that I could without looking embryonic, and leaving me with a very ragged chicken-yellow pixie. I was happy to pay $160 to the current beauty suppliers and be on my way.

2:30 p.m. Careen into my driveway to say hello to my mother and assure all parties that I am on my way to pick up kids from school as Sharen is careening out of driveway to pick up kids from school. Leave my mother asleep on the couch.

3:39 p.m. Mother wakes up and says hi, I thought you were going to get your hair done, or something”.

3:40 p.m. Children ask if it’s time to go trick-or-treating. The sun is still bright. The answer is no.

4:00 p.m. Children ask if it’s time to go trick-or-treating. The sun is still bright. The answer is no.

4:30 p.m. Children ask if it’s time to go trick-or-treating. The sun is still bright. The answer is no.

5:00 p.m. Children ask if it’s time to go trick-or-treating. The sun is beginning to dim. The answer is in a little bit. Get your costumes on.

5:01 p.m. I think how much fun it would be to dress up, and I locate the remains of Maternity Wilma. I have exchanged maternity increased core temperature for early-forties increased core temperature so I am not hindered by the fact that I will be walking around outside on the last night of October in an off the shoulder cave woman dress. I am grateful to my past self for sewing in the sports bra. The dress is snug. Nothing in it will move where it shouldn’t.

8:08 p.m. Head to my house at a fast limp with my youngest child on my back, and beg the gods for enough energy to get to the door and find real food that will counter act the Snickers, Kit-Kats and Pixie Sticks.

8:30 p.m. Say good night to my middle child. He will be six tomorrow. He is sound asleep. I lay down next to him for a few of his last moments as a five-year old. His hands feel like boy hands now, not the soft sweet biscuit hands of last year. He is long and lanky. His pants get too short too quickly. His round baby’s face is gone, replaced with a handsome child’s face. He has an adults’ dignity which suffers no insult. I have nothing planned for his birthday.


November 1, 2001
5:00 a.m. Wake up where I lay down to soak up the last moments of five. I am still wearing Wilma’s dress. Decide to have a birthday breakfast with cornbread cake. I hope that there are still some candles left after my youngest child put a bunch in a pumpkin pie last week, only to have the dog steal the pie from the counter and spit the candles out on the lawn.

5:20 a.m. There is flour, cornmeal, melted butter, baking powder, salt and milk in the mixing bowl. There are no eggs in the bowl because there are none in the refrigerator, and at this point in my life I don’t even have a chicken in the yard I can swipe an egg from. I will not be daunted. I will drive to the gas station at the bottom of the hill and buy 1 egg, if necessary. I start the removal of my pink fleecy cave dress, with built in bra. It will not remove. I get most of it up over my head, but I did such a good job sewing that bra in, and it’s such a good bra, that it will not abandon its position. I am too proud to ask Joe for help, so I pull it back down onto the rest of my body and put on a jacket and shoes. I inform Joe of my plan, should the kids wake up and wonder about me. My youngest child will miss no opportunity for adventure and awoke, demanding to accompany me. I protected him from the early morning elements by tossing his furry alligator costume over his pajamas, hopped in Joe’s pick-up, and went. I thought we were dressed appropriately for an early morning- after -Halloween trip to the gas station.

The gas station being at the bottom of the mountain, it is understood that anyone unusual is just a mountain resident and shouldn’t cause alarm. In fact I was pretty sure that our mode of dress would even be appreciated.

5:30a.m. The folks at the gas-station like our clothes, but they have no eggs to sell us. I stand, stunned, at the counter and ask if they’re sure. They are sure. They have dozens of Krispy-Kreme donughts, but no eggs. It slowly dawns on me that I have made strategic and tactical errors. I will not only have to find a regular supermarket that is open at this hour, but will then have to pull up in a pick-up truck and descend with my four-year-old alligator, into the supermarket, in town, away from the mountain, where people don’t wear pink cave person dresses and have small fuzzy reptiles with them to hunt eggs before 6:00 a.m. on the day after Halloween, if at all.

THE END

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