It all started on a September morning as I trolled the isles at the local Deseret Industries. I was on a mission: Find ugly 70’s style clothing for Josh and I to wear to a dinner party. Having accomplished my task, I indulged my children (having behaved very well) in a few minutes of looking at “boy stuff”. That is when he saw it; An imperfect and incomplete Spiderman ensemble, calling to him from the Halloween rack. After trying for several minutes to talk him out of it and into the sensible cowboy hat, I gave up and paid the $3.00 for the Onesie that would make his life complete. This is when my nightmare began.
Since that day, some 7 months ago, I have fought to keep my sanity.
Wearing it all day long was just a phase. The costume was a novelty; the excitement would surely wear out by Christmas. Sadly, the costume died by Christmas making it therefore imperative that it be replaced via Santa, fueling his obsession.
Playing Spiderman all day is exhausting. Which, I guess, is the reason that he began to put it on seemingly for style and comfort only. After watching him for the third day in a row, put the rag on his body and sit on the couch to watch Caillou and the rest of the PBS line-up, I lost it. Spiderman needed a rest. I must confess that I hid him in my hamper. The bottom of my hamper. When my son’s eagle-eyes spied the garment, under a stack of dirty towels, I lied. "Um, no, that's not your missing costume..." then, "Shhh... it's hiding." and finally, "Spiderman died.".
My husband, as with most other things, thought that I was making too big a deal out of it. That is, until he saw our son break down in tears at the request of being properly dressed to go to the store over Spring Break. That's when he declared that it was no longer normal.
Since that day, I have consoled my conscience with the promise of saving my son life-long trauma and humiliation. He may only wear his Spiderman costume until it is in desperate need of a wash. Until it comes out of the wash, Josh bought him a Star Wars costume.