[Author’s Note: Yes, I am once again phoning in my blog story this month. But, at least this post explains why it received so little attention.]
When Bo was very little, I harbored naive hopes that Halloween would remain a non-event in our household.
I was sorely mistaken.
For the past several years, my son has counted down the months until the magical day when he’ll harvest more candy than he receives for the rest of the year, combined. For him, sugar makes any event worthwhile.
Australis, on the other hand, has virtually no sweet tooth. She frequently leaves desserts half-finished, and her interest in candy is driven by novelty, not addiction-laden desire. Nevertheless, she too adores Halloween — because, now that she selects her own costumes, Halloween is the day that she gets to be a princess.
Or, rather, the days. Maybe I’m misremembering, but I don’t recall Halloween lasting an entire week when I was a kid. This year, Aza had four separate dress-up events: ballet class on Friday morning; our church’s trunk-or-treat on Saturday night; her preschool’s trunk-or-treat on Monday morning; and, last but not least, actual trick-or-treating on Tuesday night.
In short: she wore her costume for a long time.
Which, admittedly, made me feel a bit better about sacrificing so much sleep on its behalf.
Let’s back up a bit. How did I get to the point of losing sleep over a preschooler’s costume?
Well, one fateful day this summer, Borealis turned to me and said, “I want to wear my lion costume for Halloween this year.”
I snorted. “There is literally no way. You wore that same costume for three consecutive years! And, it was already so small on you last year that your shoulders hurt by the end of the night. You’re not going to be a lion again — or, at least, not without a bigger costume.”
“But *I* will be Elsa again!” Aza piped up.
I shook my head. “Nah, babe, I just put away that costume, too. You’re too big now! We’ll just have to get each of you a new costume, instead.”
Bo squinted in concentration for a few seconds, then exclaimed, “Oh! I can be Link, and you can be Zelda!”
Aza immediately agreed — and, to my relief, a quick Google search revealed that these costumes did indeed exist. There were plenty of inexpensive options for “generic Link” — but they were all pretty simple, and they looked relatively chintzy. I figured I could probably cobble something together without too much effort. We already had the Master Sword and Hylian Shield, and the rest of his outfit could easily come from his preexisting wardrobe — besides the iconic green cap, of course.
The Zelda costumes, on the other hand, were quite complicated. (Still chintzy — although, in a complicated way.) Most of these were quite a bit pricier than the Link costumes — but at this point, I was willing to throw down some cash if it would translate to a quick resolution for our Halloween problem.
Selecting an option, I showed it to Aza and asked, “Ok, what about this one?”
She shook her head adamantly. “No, that’s Breath of the Wild Zelda. I want to be Tears of the Kingdom Zelda.”
And that was that. There was absolutely no changing her young mind.
The intervening months served only to strengthen her resolve and excitement. Whenever the topic of Halloween arose, she exclaimed, “Bobhi will be Link, and I will be Zelda!”
Thus, over the course of those months, I resigned myself to bringing that dream to life.
Here’s the rub: The Legend of Zelda is not really a kid game. This fact has two serious implications.
Firstly, for our dignity. While we use the game as our [moderated] family screen time, we’re not exactly proud about it. Like, there’s something very embarrassing about admitting that our children’s fantasies involve living in Hyrule. [Author’s Note: Hey, this discourse feels familiar! Oh yeah, that’s because it’s almost exactly what I wrote in How Mario Boosted My Mom Game. Once a Nintendo family, always a Nintendo family….]
Secondly, for costume availability. When I searched for “little girl Zelda costume”, I saw a number of results for Twilight Princess (which has been out for seventeen years) and a few results for Breath of the Wild (which has been out for six years).
But for Tears of the Kingdom? *Literally* zero results — because it’s only been out for five months.
Oh, don’t get me wrong — several options popped up for [rather expensive] adult costumes. However, these would have been poor choices for my forty-three-inch-tall daughter.
In the end, there were only two options for me: either crush my daughter’s aspirations, or make the costume myself.
So, it was an easy choice.
Nevertheless, an easy choice doesn’t always translate to an easy process — especially if you’re like me, and you’ve never sewed a Halloween costume before. I barely even knew where to begin. I decided to pick a reference costume, at least — and then I’d go from there. After all, I still had plenty of time.
And then, suddenly, I didn’t.
October raced by in a blink, full to the brim with important and urgent tasks: I had another hefty round of baptism stories, and then we had two sets of family visiting, and then I had a time-critical editing job, and Bo needed to go to kindergarten, and Aza needed to go to preschool, and Rhys needed to be held, and the garden needed winterizing, and the dishes needed washing, and the carpets needed vacuuming, and the clothes always, always needed laundering.
So that’s how I found myself descending into my basement sewing room on the evening of Monday, October 23rd. Thankfully, I had already completed Bo’s green cap earlier in the day, and I had even generated and cut out a pattern for Aza’s dress. All that remained was to sew it together — and finish all the hems, and finesse the ruching, and line the top and bottom, and secure some straps, and paint on the pattern, and affix the front banner, and somehow fit the whole concoction to Aza’s tiny body. Easy peasy, right?
Ha! Sure.
The first night went… not so well. I pieced together the main body of the dress, but my progress was laughably slow. It felt like I was teaching myself how to sew a dress — but only because I was teaching myself how to sew a dress. And, admittedly, there are many ways I could have sped up the process. For instance, I could have used simple seams, instead of learning how to make a flat-felled seam. Heck, I could have skipped the sewing altogether and just hot-glued every seam. But, I didn’t — and as I sat in my basement that first night, I pondered why.
A reasonable-sounding explanation immediately came to made. Well, if she’s going to wear this costume four separate times, then it obviously needs to be of good quality! Poor quality would just disintegrate.
However, this wasn’t exactly true. Sure, Aza needed a multi-day outfit, but she didn’t explicitly need this sort of heirloom-quality work. Still, I couldn’t quite articulate the reason I was choosing to spend my time in this way.
The following night was more of the same. Taylor popped in to check on my progress as I began the first section of ruching.
Taylor: <grunts in reproachful appreciation>
I turned to my husband — who, a million years ago, was the Quilting Grand Champion at the Minnesota State Fair. I demanded, “Aren’t you, like, supposed to help me with this!?”
Taylor: <grunts in dismayed refusal> “Nuh-uh. I only do 2D stuff; 3D is totally outside my skillset.”
I groaned, then put on a mock Taylor voice. “‘Wifey, you know my quilts are art pieces. I can’t be bothered to help you with the petty frippery of Halloween costumes.’”
Taylor raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “I don’t even know what ‘frippery’ means.”
I groaned again. “I wish someone would help me with this!”
“Well, if my mother were still alive, I know she would have been happy to help.”
I immediately deflated. After a few seconds, I agreed, “Yeah, I know she would’ve.”
Taylor swiveled back toward the door. “Buuuuuuut I can’t help you. Sorry! Good luck!”
“Taylor!” I shouted at his retreating form — but I was once again alone with my thoughts.
Why am I doing this? Why am I giving up a week of late nights to make a stupid costume?
Alas, I still had no answer that evening — or the next. I passed those nights (and early mornings) in the company of various books and sermons, and sometimes just in silent prayer. I tried to work quickly, but no amount of haste could prevent my impending exhaustion hangovers.
Thus, Thursday morning arrived like an unwelcome guest. I still had an unbelievable amount of work before me: the banner and the painting and the top lining and the straps and the clasp.
With Borealis and Australis off at school, I distracted Rhys with a continuous stream of snacks while I sluggishly squeezed fabric paint onto the crisply ironed banner, which was not yet attached to the dress itself. After many mistakes — and even more tears — I finally capped the paint bottles. I wasn’t exactly happy, but I also didn’t have time to redo my work. The messy paint would have to suffice.
And so, that night, I finished the dress — everything but the clasp’s eye, which I would only add at Aza’s “final fitting”. I was embarrassingly proud of my work, but also keenly aware of its issues. For instance, I cringed at the dress’s completely flat neckline, which would render it especially revealing. At least I’d already purchased a long-sleeved leotard for warmth — and now for “modesty”, too. I wished that the dress were entirely lined, and that the bottom layer were less obviously hemmed — but all told, I could tell that I had made a beautiful and high-quality costume.
The next day was Friday, and it was my moment of truth. Did I spend my time well — or, at least, not *too* poorly?
But before I could get my answer, I needed to wrestle Aza into hair and makeup.
It was… not easy. The slightly asymmetrical results attested to the number of times I barked, “Aza, stop moving!” or, “Rhysi! Let go!” — but eventually, I was satisfied. Well, that — and we were running out of time before ballet. Either way, I decided that she was finally ready for her special dress. I slipped it over her head and secured the newly-sewn clasp. Then, I spun her around — and gasped.
“Oh, baby, you look just like Zelda,” I murmured.
And it was true. The resemblance wasn’t just her costume — although that certainly didn’t hurt. Principally, though, it was the remarkable, quiet spirit of strength that exuded from my almost-four-year-old. When had she become such a young lady?
Aza silently smiled and threw her arms around me. Rhys, not to be outdone, threw his arms around her, then enthusiastically affirmed, “Aza! Aza!”
[Note: Well, it actually sounds more like “Ah-thdah! Ah-thdah!” — but it’s clear what he’s trying to say.]
I, in turn, hugged both my children and marveled at the change that had so quickly come over my daughter. I was forcibly reminded of the aphorism, Dress for the job you want. In this case, Aza was dressing for the job of “princess”: but not just any princess — specifically, Princess Zelda.
This distinction is actually quite important. In the Breath of the Wild / Tears of the Kingdom duology, Zelda is eminently admirable — truly, the consummate honorable royal. She’s brave, and passionate, and intelligent, and incredibly selfless.
And, until that moment, I had never considered this: that if my daughter was bound to emulate some princess, I actually had a strong interest in influencing which princess. I mean, I definitely don’t want her to become as self-absorbed as Elsa or as rebellious as Ariel; much, much better that she should instead revere Link’s counterpart. So what if other families looked at us askance? I don’t think we need to be embarrassed of our good-faith parenting choices.
At this realization, I pulled back and looked Aza in the eye. “Sweetie, do you want to be like Zelda?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yes, I’m going to be like Zelda when I grow up. Except I’m going to be a nurse and a mommy, too.”
And suddenly, I had my answer. Why had I spent so much time making this specific costume? Because I love my daughter, and I want the best for her: the best worldview, and the best inner character, and the best lifestyle — and, yes, sometimes even the best costume.
(Well, maybe. I mean, I’m fairly sure she was *the only* three-year-old dressed as Tears of the Kingdom Zelda for Halloween this year… so it’s not like the competition was very fierce.)
In short: Australis was Princess Zelda for Halloween, but I’m hoping that she’ll be Princess Zelda for life.
