© 2020 Claire Fadden. All rights reserved.
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Women are an unstoppable force, united by sticky note to-do lists, soccer schedules, and occasional spa pedicures. We share laughter and sorrows, taking comfort in each other’s strengths and commonality of experiences. Woman@Heart is a celebration of that sisterhood.

Originally published as columns in thirty regional magazines, these heartfelt, whimsical essays are mirrors every woman peers into and frequently recognizes herself. Each piece shares the unpredictable, meaningful – and often comical – adventures of one gal’s journey as a daughter, a wife, a mother, a sister, a friend. 

In these slices of life, you’ll find a sisterly common ground; a witty safe place to laugh at our circumstantial camaraderie and be inspired by the female spirit. 

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A Pillowcase of Costumes

“What are you going to be for Halloween?” 

It’s the most asked question during October. At recess, in between soccer drills, or on the drive to piano lessons, you hear preschoolers and preteens alike eagerly pondering the possibilities.

At my house, there was always a lot of discussion before the Halloween dress-up decision was made. Like every other three- to thirteen-year-old, my sons took their time making this important selection. Woe to the kid who chose too quickly and settled for something simple like a pirate, a cowboy, or a vampire. 
The chatter started weeks before October 31. Numerous ideas would be kicked around, debated and considered. Like most busy mothers, I did my best to sway the conversation in the direction of accessories we had on hand (cowboy hat, black cape, baseball mitt). I cheered when one of the younger siblings wanted to be what their big brother was last Halloween. 

This particular mid-October, my family was busy unpacking the Halloween gear; boxes filled with decorations as well as leftover bits and pieces from Halloweens past. Shawn (11) and Jake (7) were carefully inventorying what items might work for this year’s costumes. Mingled in among the seasonal supplies—a glow-in-the-dark skeleton, pumpkin carving knives and fake fangs—were three hollow plastic pumpkins the boys used the previous year for trick-or-treating. 

“These are way too small,” Jake complained as he pulled them out of the box. “All my candy falls out.” 
I had to agree. The previous year he and big brother Shawn walked every street and cul-de-sac within a mile of our home; their dad and I, pushing two-year-old Seth in the stroller trailing behind. By the time we turned for that final stretch home, Jake’s hand was spread across the top of his trick-or-treat bucket, making sure none of his treasure spilled out. 

“Can we get bigger bags this year?” he asked.

Nick, remembering his own candy-collecting pursuits, said his mom let his brothers and sisters use pillowcases. With some reluctance I went to my linen closet and fished out three of my sturdiest white pillowcases to donate to the cause.

“They’re so plain,” grumbled Jake when I handed them over. “Can we paint them?” 

Before I knew it, brushes, poster paint and markers had been dragged out from the craft box. The Halloween décor was pushed aside while energetic artists set to work. Ghosts, pumpkins and goblins took shape on the canvases. Not sure what all the excitement was about, Seth did his best to join in the fun. As the painters worked, the conversation returned to the original question: What can I be for Halloween?
When my sons were little (under 4), the dialogue was brief. At my direction, they each took a turn being a cheetah, Robin (of Batman and Robin fame) and Davy Crockett (costumes inherited from older cousins). But now I had to run down the list of available options (available meaning that I had all the parts) for Jake. The list was varied but not remarkable; firefighter, baseball player, zookeeper. It amounted to an inventory of the costumes Shawn had worn.

Listening as I recited his Halloween history, Shawn grabbed a marker and started writing the names on the back of his newly acquired candy bag/pillowcase. His nine entries included masquerading as a traffic light in first grade and as a killer tomato in third grade (although, to his great disappointment, most treat-givers 
mistook him for a giant pumpkin). 

Jake joined in and printed his shorter list of names. A few minutes later, after much deliberation, Shawn added the words Incredible Hulk to his list, Jake wrote ninja turtle and I penned zookeeper on Seth’s sack. From then on, the guys recorded each year’s costume name on their pillowcases before setting out for trick-or-treating. They’d return home with pillowcases bulging from their caches of candy bars, lollipops, gum, coins, and the toothbrushes given out by Frances, our neighborhood dental hygienist.

That year, I abandoned my quest for recycling costumes, and the boys’ imaginations blossomed. In the Halloweens that followed, a new stream of characters came to life. Visits to costumes shops, thrift stores and bargain bins yielded disco-era bell-bottoms, light sabers and tie-dyed shirts. And character names like Indiana Jones, Harry Potter, “Disco Dude” and “Hippie Guy” were carefully inscribed on what would become three family heirlooms. 

These linens, still part of our Halloween décor, are unpacked every October and displayed near a table that holds a treat-filled black cauldron, a jack-o-lantern and a ceramic ghost. Three somewhat shopworn pillowcases that chronicle a time when at least one six-year-old boy thought being Buzz Lightyear was cool and that a handful of Tootsie Pops was a prize to behold.
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