Posted in Mommyhood

Haunted House – My Girl Style

Last Updated on October 25, 2020 by World's Okayest Mom

My Girl is as much as an otherworldly mystery as the haunted house she created

The creativity of My Girl knows no bounds. Also, the odd places her mind goes has no limits. In honor of Halloween, I’m going to relate the haunted house she created throughout our entire upstairs.

You might think: How cute that My Girl was so inspired by our recent Halloween family activities that she wanted to prolong the fun with her own invention!

Wrong.

She created this elaborate haunted house in July.

My Girl the Mystery

But spooky things are never far from My Girl’s mind. She’s a beautiful, little puzzle.

For example, this girl begged to be a unicorn for Halloween three years in a row. (Try to find three completely different unicorn costumes. I dare you.)

Who wore it best? Or rather, which did she wear best?

This girl has more toy snakes than she has dolls. And this girl has a fake plastic rat that she named Princess Sprinkle Sparkles.

My Girl Knows About Zombies

The most perplexing thing about her, though, may be her love-hate relationship with zombies. She’s fascinated by them. When she was tiny, like age four, she would thrill The Husband and I with random knowledge. When we asked her how she knew that, she would reply:

“I know things. Especially things about zombies.”

Who was talking about zombies? She had just explained in excruciating detail the difference between leopard and jaguar spots. But apparently, My Girl is always talking about zombies.

Maybe zombies are always on her mind because she’s truly terrified of them. She makes me check a dark room for them. I have to rearrange her closet on a regular basis because in the dark, her clothes look like zombies. And, I’ve had many arguments with her, trying to convince her that zombies aren’t real.

Once, the discussion over the scientific possibility of zombies with My Girl was held in front of her elementary principal as I dropped her off for school. He was smiling as he listened to us argue about it, but I’m sure he was judging me – mainly because I was not winning this argument. So I pulled out my best stuff:

Me: “Which of us went to college? Me. So I know. I even have a master’s degree.”

My Girl, like everyone else in my life, doesn’t care about my advanced education. “Well,” she retorted, “I finished the first level of science on my iPad.”

Mike dropped.

Another unicorn costume. Doesn’t My Girl look all sweet and adorable? Don’t let that smile fool you. She sleeps with a plastic rat toy.

The Haunted House Tour

But like the little paradox that she is, My Girl created a haunted house. At least all those Halloween toys that her Mimi keeps buying her came to good use.

Italian, Sugar-Hyped Tour Guide

The tour of the haunted house was given by a creature who looked a lot like My Girl, but sounded like an Italian Count Chocula who just swallowed three balloons of helium. This creature was dressed like My Girl – unicorns on the leggings and a “Rainbow is my favorite color” t-shirt – but it moved like a caffeinated milliped shaking its backhalf through a snake-curved maze.

You have to give it to My Girl for the theatrics. Her Dracula accent needs some work, but she goes with what she knows: a really cheesy and borderline offensive Italian accent. She gets a lot of practice since she loves when we speak “Italian” on spaghetti night.

“Yooo wanta more-a spaghettio?”

“Yes-a. It’s a deliziosa.”

I’m pretty sure we offend multiple nationalities on spaghetti night.

Rainbow Bats

After Squeaky Count Choco-italia welcomed us to the haunted house (we being myself and my parents), we were instructed to follow with tiny millipede steps up the darkened stairs. Halfway up, we were attacked by paper bats. In the pitch black, we couldn’t see My Girl’s hand guiding the rainbow-colored bats (yes, rainbow-colored, because even when My Girl is pretending to be scary, she’s still My Girl).

After surviving the bat attack, we ventured slowly toward My Girl’s room. Before we could peek in, a “ghost” screamed and came after us.

The Surprise Ghost Zombie

This ghost turned out to be The Husband donned in My Girl’s favorite white blankie. The screams emitted from My Girl were genuine, as this ghost was not part of her planned haunted house. Also, The Husband was channeling his inner zombie while looking like a ghost – very confusing and also terrifying for My Girl.

Other highlights of My Girl’s haunted house: a Kit Kat bar hiding in the closet, a mummified macaw and a squeaky toilet lid covered by a handmade jack-o-lantern picture. That is scary indeed if one needs to use the potty.

That’s not something you want to see when opening the toilet lid. Scaaaary!

My Haunted House Expertise

I’m a bit ashamed to say that I am in a position to be a judge on My Girl’s haunted house creation. Unbeknownst to me, I took a job as the lonely writer of the nation’s largest haunted house magazine many midnights ago.

True. That is not a job one usually falls into unwittingly. But in my defense, I thought the job was to be the writer for a magazine with the demographics of professional athletes. Since my intention when completing a journalism degree in college was to be a sports writer, this seemed like a great fit.

But the periodical for athletes somehow morphed into a journal about silicone masks and animatronics and spooky lighting design.

Oddly, my journalism classes covered none of that. Huh.

The other burning question you might be asking is how many magazines are there in the nation who cover professional haunted houses, since I worked for the nation’s largest. Two. There are two.

I’m sure you can see why this stint as a haunted house reporter is not on my resume.

The Horror of Haunted Houses

While I love rewatching the video of our haunted house experience, this just further proves the riddle that is My Girl.

Creating a walkthrough experience throughout the entire upstairs with just notebook paper and leftover Halloween trinkets – that’s totally My Girl. She’s been known to throw a fabulous party just to celebrate a Tuesday night (see here if you missed it); and once, with the help of her cousin and Papa Troublemaker (his actual name used by My Girl not a cutesy pseudonym for this blog) she put on a circus – complete with paper-made snow cones and dancing elephants.

But creating a haunted house, now that’s part of the mystery.

My Girl, despite her love-hate relationship with zombies, is irrationally afraid of haunted houses. Maybe this is my innate dislike of them rubbing off on her. (Did I mention I accidentally ended up as the writer for a haunted house magazine? I’m still traumatized.)

It’s strange, because My Girl is pretty brave. But haunted houses… Those get her every time.

Once, while attending Zoo Boo at our favorite zoo with Leslie Ann and her family, we made the mistake of riding the family-friendly, haunted train. That was three years ago. My Girl still won’t ride the train at the zoo. And I mean the regular, it’s a sunny June day train.

And don’t get me started on the nightmare that was taking My Girl, Jane and Little LuLu to the haunted house at the children’s museum last year.

Let me stress that it was the haunted house at the children’s museum. A haunted house that didn’t even make Little LuLu (at the time, age three) even stutter step or pause in fright. A haunted house that Jane thought was wonderful.

A side note about Jane, the poor girl’s heart is so tender that she once was angry with me because I didn’t pre-watch a zoo documentary on Disney+ where a black rat snake died of old age. A. Black. Rat. Snake. Who would consider that an unhappy ending? Jane. That’s who.

But this haunted house at the children’s museum, no effect whatsoever on Jane.

My Girl, on the other hand, sobbed and held onto me with an iron grip the entire way through.

In My Girl’s defense, this haunted house could have been pretty scary if the lights were off and ghosts and goblins were darting out at you from every dark corner.

But when we went through it, at the witching hour of three o’clock in the afternoon, the lights were turned on bright, and instead of goblins, there were nice museum volunteers with flashing jack-o-lantern necklaces, big smiles and bowls of candy.

Still My Girl has PTSD from the whole experience.

Won’t she be so mad when I finally tell her that I’m pretty sure her room was haunted at one point? To be continued…

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