Fluff my wings, please…
I’ll admit, it’s a strange request.
And my son just stared at me for a few seconds before I decided to turn sideways and show him the little collapsed wings I was wearing on my back.
“Fluff my wings, please,” I asked him.
How many kids get asked by their parents to help them with their costumes?
Usually, it’s the other way around, isn’t it?
But in my house, I’m the one with all the costumes and my boys are the ones who help me out.
I wonder what kind of a mother this makes me… to be so enthralled with costumes I seem to always be working on one or another.
I hope when they get older, instead of seeing me as crazy and eccentric, my boys see me as unique, and someone who followed her passions.
I hope they learn to live a little on the wild side and not be afraid of being seen as odd.
I would love for each of my boys to have something in their lives that brings them as much joy as costuming does to my life.
No one in my family understands this interest of mine.
They think I’m nuts.
They indulge me.
They may roll their eyeballs, but in the end, my wings do get fluffed.
Perhaps they understand a little more than I give them credit for.
And maybe I’m a better role model than I give myself credit for.