Let me just start by saying - Halloween? Not my favorite. I vaguely recall enjoying it as a child, but then there was the incident with the candy and the stick from my scarecrow costume..... Well, let's just say, I was thankful to have a big brother.
But, I'm living with four people who really seem to like the holiday, so I've pulled myself up by the bootstraps and joining in. My doors display black feather wreaths, and headstones grace my front porch.
The one thing, though, that I've never liked is carving pumpkins. The ooey, gooey, nasty, sticky innards? The mess? The smell? The need for artistic ability to make something other than triangle eyes? The ability to not try to slice off one's own pinky........oh, there go the childhood memories again.
My kids, though, love them. LOVE THEM. We drive past a pumpkin patch on our way to school, and from August through October, they watch the vines spread and the flowers bloom, eventually turning to big, plump, ripe pumpkins. They argue over which one they're getting. Who's will be the biggest? Who's will be tall and skinny? Who's will be short and round?
We've been remiss this year in getting to the pumpkin patch. We were going to go last week, but alas, I had the death (aka H1N1) and Husband wasn't so hip on taking them by himself.
So instead, we're bombarded with daily conversation of pumpkins.
The latest of which went like this:
Bonnie - You see, Clyde, dere's lotsa kindsa punkins.
Clyde - Yep! Tall ones, short ones, scawey ones....
Bonnie - Yeah, de scawey ones are Jank0-Laters. Dere de glow-up kind..........
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment