Tuesday, November 10, 2009

hallowee're losers and Super Zor

For Halloween this year, our first with a child, we didn't do a darned thing. We stayed home with the lights dimmed and tried not to make loud noises. It's not that we dislike snot-nosed children in over-sized costumes, or enthusiastically contributing to childhood obesity, or opening the door a hundred times to let in the frigid night air, or being told we'll be tricked if we don't hand over a treat (which, come on - being tricked is FUN!), or wondering, "Do I know this kid and should elaborate on how great they look?" but we'd had a busy several days, I was really tired, and we needed to veg out alone. By the way, that paragraph should be seen as entirely sarcastic; I actually do like giving wrapped candy to unrecognizable children.

Anyway, even in normal life, nothing about this house currently says, "Come on in!" You have to enter the property through a gate and then walk down a skinny path toward an unlit porch. The light bulb is broken off in the socket, and we haven't replaced it yet. The rod-iron fence and the leafless, low, wide tree in the yard are a classic graveyard combination, especially at night.

Nevertheless, one brave family made their way to our door and knocked. We looked around. Do we have anything we can give these people? Olive oil? A squirt of dish soap? A can of baby corn? No good. Jason threw his pants on and answered the door. That's just the way it is; Jason does not like to wear pants around the house. Maybe as a youngster, he had his pants catch fire. From my hiding spot in the kitchen, I could hear several tiny voices say, "TRICK OR TREAT!" I cringed, knowing a poor little dragon and a princess and a chicken were about to be sorely disappointed.

Jason goes, "Oh, you know what, you guys? We are total losers. We don't have any candy whatsoever for ya." And the mom said to Jason in a kind, instructive voice, "That's okay. Just say, 'Happy Halloween.'" "Happy Halloween," Jason said obediently, which the children responded with. Meanwhile, Zoralee had gotten to the door, and she peeked around it real cutely, which the family liked. I guess she was their treat. Their other treat was hearing an adult do the very un-PC thing of calling himself a loser, which Jason felt bad about later. Sorry, kids. Better luck next year.

* * * *

Three or so days later, I finally got around to completing Zoralee's costume. Don't look too closely; all we gots up here is a needle and thread. As you'll see, she was Super Zor, but maybe more appropriately, Super Late Zor. That's what she gets for being our offspring.


Once I spotted her, I followed Super Zor around for the day and learned some interesting things. First of all, she is unusual in that she hates to wear a mask. She said she wanted people to know who she was. She's not ashamed of being a heroine in diapers.

Get this thing off of me!

Okay, I'll wear it as a bandana for like 1 second. Otherwise, let the people know the truth.

Super Zor practices the fine motor skills necessary for saving the world by sorting through boxes of tea.

She keeps Emergen-C on hand, because, something you don't think about: heroes are exposed to a lot of germs.

Doing laundry is a typical off-duty task.

Sidekick Monkey, get OVER here. I need backup.

That was super fast, Sidekick Monkey.

Dude, you've got something in your eye.

Another surprise: some things Super Zor does appear to be trouble-making. I guess there's a dark side to all of us. But in the case of shredding a roll of toilet paper, there's apparently a noble reason behind it. Bits of toilet paper, and in fact, any other crumbs of old food, crusty nasties, and lint from around the floor, are for Super Zor what spinach is for Popeye. At least, I couldn't figure why someone would ingest those things if it weren't for the powers they gained.

As I followed Super Zor, I also saw that there are cold, lonely moments for heroes, moments where their mothers have them sitting outside in the cold with nothing on but their thin black costumes, for the sake of a couple of posterity photographs, bribing them with trinkets to smile.

What a day I had with Super Zor. If you're lucky enough, maybe you'll see her too. But when the day draws to a close, and the townspeople settle in for a simple supper of meat loaf and brussels sprouts, and the bad guys wake up and start their evil scheming, all you might catch is the long shadow of a hero.


Rachel Clear said...

YES! Super Zor! Cam makes fun of me for watching that particular video OVER and over and OVER. I even showed it to all of my co-workers and they got a big kick out of the fact that you made and dressed her in a costume several days after Halloween. Poor Zor. Better get used to it now, I say!

The pix are priceless. She sure is a pickle. And I can't believe how huge her teeth are!

Super Zor. What a stud niece.

Rachel Clear said...

And the video cuts off, but I think she's starting to make her monkey noise right when you introdue her Monkey Sidekick into the video. You can hear her start to say, "Ooh hoo." It's so freaking precious, I can hardly stand it!

Shana said...

ADORABLE Super Zor is!

Christi said...

The Kurtz boys wold have loved a can of baby corn! Picturing that scene you described makes me giggle so much.

And Super Zor, you are my hero!

Rena said...

She is SO cute. I can't wait to squeeze her over and over! Will she be Super Zor again for us when we come to Alaska?