There's a story here, one about me, a sewing machine, a full day of work, tears, and phone calls to mom. If you sew, or if you come from a sewing family, it is par for the course.
To gloss over the ugly little details, details that include things like spending twenty minutes trying to ease a sleeve into the crotch of the costume, there are two little reptile suits in the house now. One, inexpertly sewn by me, and christened with lots of rough language, and sporting princess sleeves and backwards velcro. Another, expertly sewn by my mother, mailed here, mailed back, expertly altered by my mother, mailed here again, and worn with great enthusiasm by the grandchild. He told me it is an alligator.
Unless it involves tutus and leotards, I think I am off the sewing-a-costume roster for awhile. My mom has always rocked the home-made costumes, and continues to be the undisputed champion.
And the shoes. She shipped them overnight so he would have them in time for the costume parade at school yesterday. Once again, undisputed.