Dad informed us it's an actual race car and hey let's watch him drive for reals on t.v. Zane is mesmerized and always needs to know the location of his Tony Stewart car (in the playroom and on the race track). His best buddy Jack borrowed it and we purchased another one so they could each have one. The second one came with a magnent and included a photo of Tony himself, bearded with cool sunglasses on.
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Last week I stood in the costume aisle of Target thinking my son would be excited to choose his own October personality. Nope, he just pulled the plastic weapons off the hooks and asked me if he could get them one by one. Sword? Hammer? Dagger? Sword? Crying. Sword?
After he turned down each and every costume available in his size, I knew I had to make a choice for him because 30 minutes in this aisle was far too much for me. Then I saw it, bright orange gleaming from the hook below the pathetic excuse of a Shrek Costume: TONY STEWART RACE CAR DRIVER!!!! It was meant to be. Zane still gave it a thumbs down because there was no weapon, but I chose it anyway. Despite the fact that the sponsor, The Home Depot, was plastered across the chest.
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It wasn't until he put it on that he got excited and realized this is fun. How often do you get to pretend to be a race car driver? Dad drawing on the beard and grabbing the sunglasses for him on the way out the door made all the difference. It was a hit at the ward party, to my surprise. A group of dads in one corner offered an applause as he walked by and they shouted "YEAH! TONY STEWART!"
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On the 31st he got to wear it to preschool. Crash and burn, it was a fizzle. He walked in after hearing the praises of a perfect princess and a pirate. The teacher took one long look at him with her hands on her hips and said "The H OM E ...Depot". Silence. I informed her he was a race car driver. Silence. She said she knew.
DAMMIT it's his favorite toy to play with in our entire house, Townee Stoowort number twenee! He LOVES that car and his dad taught him to enjoy a new sport. It's cute, it's personal, it's perfect for Zane. At least pretend you get it.
Another princess walked in with rave reviews. I kissed his clean cheek and escaped (we left the beard and sunglasses at home this time, I had a feeling the effort wasn't going to be necessary).
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That evening we began the annual tradition of begging for candy from strangers. Living among widowed elderly folk, I did not expect much reaction or recognition of the costume. But, we did the beard and sunglasses effect anyway. Just to confuse them all the more.
Each door was the same, they would smile and pause, only to read his chest: "the home......depot?"
He did a nice job shouting Happy Halloween! and waiting patiently two steps away from the door. Holding out his bucket. Only taking one. Even if they tell him to take more. Saying thank you. I would quiz him between houses about how many times we ring the doorbell. He would answer FIVE! I would remind him ONE. He would press it seven times. And then ask each person if they had a dog. After, they would say you can be my handy home depot man if I need something fixed in the home.
Then the final door bell for the night, seemingly the last straw for mom. Another lady reading his chest in disappointment. I could not longer offer a gracious smile. Before I could correct her, the husband looked up from the newspaper to peek around the corner and see my handsome son. A large smile brightened his face as he moved toward us and said "NASCAR race car drivier!" as if he had known us for years and won a small lotto at the same time. I loved this man. He made my night and I told him so. Zane made his.
Halloween was complete. Someone understood us.
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And the baby? He was the most logical costume that would work in the bjorn.
