A Turkey Sandwich and the Titanic

My oldest son is 9. He loves school, playing with friends and reading about the Titanic. What he doesn’t really like is dressing up in costumes, or hugging adults dressed as furry cartoon characters. He’s a born introvert who prefers small groups and never clamors for attention. He didn’t really trick-or-treat until he was 5, and only suffered through partial costumes when he was little because I dressed him. When he was 4, and his baby brother was brand new, he didn’t even bother with a costume, and I didn’t insist. I was too tired and not up for begging him to comply. That year he didn’t even venture out the door for candy. I could usually coax him to my friend’s house for a few bits of sugar, but not 2011. That year he chose instead to sit on the couch, in the warm house, and forgo the humiliation of being costumed in public. 

When it’s spirit week at school I never find myself in full on zombie mode at Target like the other moms. You’ll never find me racing to the store after bedtime, desperately searching for crazy hair wigs, themed hats or stick on mustaches. Why? Because my kid is THAT kid, the one who doesn’t dress up. My son is not a fan of attention, and prefers to melt into to the crowd. He is most comfortable in his own skin, not a flamboyant, elaborate, colorful or expertly planned ensemble. And I have to admit, it’s made things easy. I have a built in excuse for lackluster effort related to school activities—my kid would not attend school in anything other than sweats and a t-shirt. He also doesn’t want me volunteering at school, because mom being there draws attention too him. In a way, I won. Life was easy, uncomplicated, and blissful. 

Until this week, when my kid—THAT kid—threw me a delicious and unexpected curve ball, turning my life (rather my expectations) topsy turvy. I had not realized he had a field trip coming up, as his dad signed the slip, read the info and wrote the check. We took turns being sick before, during and after spring break, and the field trip kind of fell off the radar. Yet radar or not, this turned out to be THE trip, the one many kids look forward to—the big kahuna of field trips—the one where children dress like Laura Ingalls and Albert, pack lunches in pails and baskets, and visit a school built in 1864. At least I think it’s 1864, I didn’t read the slip—let’s just say it’s old. This is the trip of all trips, where moms post pictures of their perfectly costumed children on Instagram, detail the contents of their historically accurate lunch pails (complete with fresh baked bread, local cheese and apples grown in their back yards), and kids actually look into their parents iPhones and smile. I swear, in past years I could actually smell the lemon verbena when I saw the photos of those cheeky kids in their precious costumes. 

But I knew I’d never have to stress, or bear the burden of shopping three stores, four rummage sales and a Goodwill for costume pieces. Because my kid doesn’t dress up. Or so I thought. 

This year my son pieced together the timing and realized that the time period of this outing, roughly aiming for the early 1900s, meant he could dress like the news boys featured in photos of the Titanic. My first born has been obsessed with the Titanic, and that time period, since he checked out a book out about the ship from his school library earlier this year. We are not sure if it’s the story, the survival, the devastation, or the massiveness that draws him in, but we fully support his interest and talk about the ship when he brings it up. He honors the sadness of the lives lost, asks why they didn’t have a better plan, and discusses ways they could have saved more passengers. We even went to the Titanic museum in Branson, MO, over spring break so he could see and read more about that magnificent, albeit not so mighty, ship. 

So, when my third grader, the one recently interested in history, asked if he could dress like the boy in his book—the one holding a newspaper with “Titanic Disaster” as a headline—I smiled, said it seemed appropriate and immediately explained that the coat the boy was wearing might be hard to find. Then I swore (under my breath, of course) and realized I was now THAT mom. You know the one. The mom who had to go shopping for old timey clothes for a field trip happening in two days. 

I dove in, and did what any mom in my place would do. I immediately texted a few neighborhood moms and begged for info on where to look. My mom and I ended up finding a hat on clearance at Target (thanks, Nicki), a vest, pants and a white shirt at Kohls, and another shirt and vest at another store, just in case the other ones chosen were not deemed acceptable by my suddenly interested son. We bought a pail at our neighbors estate sale. Got two bandanas from friends. And even had a pal buy us suspenders from the dollar bin. 

It was hours spent digging through racks of clothes, and more money than I would generally consider reasonable for a field trip. But to be fully honest, I loved every minute of it. Watching my kid light up when he asked if the boy in his book was wearing clothes like the school kids wore, seeing his eyes beam when he tried on the hat, witnessing him excitedly try on the entire costume after school, and again before bed so his dad could see it, and watching him pick out the pail at our neighbors estate sale—the entire experience brought me so much joy. And when he politely informed me that his lunch should be packed with no plastic, to make it authentic—that is when I knew what winning really felt like. My son took a turkey sandwich, a piece of crumb cake and an apple for lunch, wrapped in a cloth towel and stuffed in a copper pail. The same kid who insists I cut his apple for him at dinner, asked for a whole apple. I’m still amazed by it all.

Here I am, a mom for nine years now, with two wonderful boys who I get to watch grow up before my eyes. And after all these years I’m realizing there is indeed room for surprises. I was certain my son would not dress up for the mother of all field trips. I knew he’d pass on the pomp. He only trick-or-treats because it’s dark, and he gets candy. A field trip happens during the day, with a bus full of kids. He was gonna wear track pants. I knew it for certain. 

But I got it all wrong. And I’ve never been happier to be taken by surprise. I can’t stop smiling—and I am totally looking forward to the next time I get to witness my boy jump out of his comfort zone. 

We are now the proud owners of $50 worth of clothes and accessories bought for a field trip. I figure he’s 9, had he been playing along all these years and dressing up for every spirit day, we would have spent waaaaaaay more. That money actually seems like a bargain at any price. For $50 I got to see my kid beam with anticipation, dive into learning, and look adorable doing it.

I am officially THAT mom now, and have the Instagram snaps to prove it. Getting the opportunity to take pictures of my costumed kid on our front porch was delightful. I think I even teared up a bit. An added treat was realizing when I snapped the pics that our house was built in 1908. The Titanic sank in 1912. It dawned on me as I stood there taking photos with my cell phone that a 100 years ago a child dressed like my son very likely walked the halls of our house, packed his lunch in a pail, and maybe even walked the two miles to the historic school my son was visiting. It was a different time back then—no iPhones, no $50 field trips, no big yellow school busses—but if these walls could talk, I’d bet the stories would be amazing.