Winsome, Lose Some

Autumn is an especially busy time around the Higginbotham household:  There are pumpkin festivals to attend, hay rides to go on, pies to bake, lights to string up, turning leaves to appreciate, seasonal crafts to make, cider to drink, and, if your name is Isabella, costume contests to lose.

Isabella doesn’t particularly like to lose, but, on the other hand, does anybody? I guess it’s just that since I’ve lived longer, I’ve gotten REALLY USED to losing, and it doesn’t bother me as much, probably because I have the option of drinking a pint of hard cider to console myself, whereas Isabella must be content with the non-fermented kind.

But losing bothers Isabella. Take last night: We attended a family harvest festival at local middle school. It was all good fun—games, crafts, hot dogs and popcorn, and about three million little children in costume. Sebastian and I were DONE. ALL DONE. after about half an hour, but Isabella desperately wanted to stay for the costume contest. She was dressed most fetchingly as a black cat, with ears and a tail and the sweetest kitty-face ever with white cheeks and black stripes and tiny little whiskers and a darling pink nose (thanks to Mom’s clever ways with white face paint, eye shadow, eye liner and lipstick). We eventually relented because:  A) We’re weak, spineless amoeba parents; B) The inherent cuteness of a kids’ costume contest; and C) Mommy secretly thought that maybe maybe maybe she just might win third place or something, and wouldn’t that be AWESOME? I mean, for ME, of course.

So the judges—local Parks & Rec employees and what looked like high school volunteers—lined up the kids on the bleachers and the judging began. Isabella assumed a pert, cat-like pose, sitting sideways with her tail curled around her and her paws tucked in front of her. Whenever a judge walked by, she looked up with the most adorable, pleading face, and meowed mournfully to get attention.

None of those damn judges even gave her a second glance. Instead, the winners were two kids who came as Calvin & Hobbes (all right, I’ll admit they were pretty good), a sort of creepy Halloween bride dressed all in black with gray-ringed death eyes (NOT CUTE, JUDGES! NOT CUTE!), and a hideous jack-in-the-box clown (complete with box) in a red clown outfit with a red curly wig and the most disgusting decomposing skeleton-head mask I’ve ever seen. WRONG, WRONG, WRONG!

The worst part was that Hideous Jack-in-the-Box Clown had somehow been following us around the whole evening. No matter where we went—to the craft table, to get popcorn, to stand in line for a game—there he was, mocking us with his evil rotting skeleton eyes. Sebastian and I looked at each other, and exchanged THAT’S-JUST-NOT-COOL glances. What mother would allow her child to attire himself thus? But there she was, standing next to him, beaming proudly at her vile offspring. Her other child, a girl who couldn’t have been more than seven, was dressed as some character from a video game, with combat boots and a band of ammo slung over her shoulder.

Sebastian and I nearly spontaneously combusted with the WRONGNESS of it all. We may have our faults, but at least we know how to dress our kid appropriately. Even if it means she won’t win a costume contest.

After the prizes were awarded and the children dispersed, we walked back to the car. Isabella seemed serenely unruffled, and even declared that she thought the Black Death Bride looked pretty awesome. I pshawed and told her that if I were the judge, she TOTALLY would have won. Nevertheless, I admired her equanimity and basked in my Apparently Good Parenting, since I’d clearly taught her such good sportsmanship.

But OH NO I HADN’T.

By the time we got home, she was demanding that we hold another costume contest, just the three of us, and that we give her a prize for the best costume. In fact, I ought to take her to the toy store tomorrow and get her something. Or she should at least get a piece of candy. Or a note. Just something, ANYTHING to show her that she was a winner.

AND THEN she said that it was actually MY fault she lost the contest, because I hadn’t worked hard enough on her costume.

WHOA, NELLY.

And so I launched into the whole “How You Lose Is Just As Important As How You Win (If Not More Important)” lecture.

“Losing is NOT important!” she yelled. I informed her that yes, indeedy, it IS, because In Life (I actually used that dreaded phrase, the same one my mom used on me, ad nauseum) she will probably lose more than she wins, because that’s how it is for everyone, and dealing with disappointment is just Part of Life (argh, there it is again) and actually, how she deals with losing shows more about her Character (Jeez Louise, I used the word “Character,” which means I have now officially Become My Mother) than how she deals with winning, ‘cuz any old chump can win gracefully, but it takes Real Wisdom to lose gracefully (yup, I said “wisdom.” At least I didn’t say “class”).

“OK,” she said, “but can you still get me a present, just because you love me?”

*sigh*

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Tags: black cat, cider, costume contest, harvest festival, jack-in-the-box, losing, winning