And so begins the delectable delights of the season. With purchased pumpkins from Foodland, at a totally abysmal price of $0.59 a pound, having not been able to arrange the pumpkin patch this year, we commence the holidays. I have always wondered at the Harvest Celebration ritual in which you force a gourd to reliquish its innards in the name of all things ghoulish. But oh, how I love the smell of burning pumpkin. And the squishy-ness. And how Owen always says, "I want to do it all myself." Yet I have never bought that fourth pumpkin for myself. This year, he at least deigned to spoon out some guts. Which Ruth promptly ate. And ate. And ate some more. I was at a loss as to how exactly I could stop her when I was covered in orange goo. Eventually, the high chair came into my view, and with a cookie, the pumpkin feast ceased.
Abra did an awesome job, all by herself. It's the squinty one on the right. Jeff's is on the left; he said he was going for maniacal laughter, but stopped just short at crazy giggle. Mine, I mean, Owen's, is the one that apparently looks like he's been sipping the pumpkin beer. Just one more round, friend. Owen always wants one that looks like the one Lucy draws on Charlie Brown's head, but I just can't bring myself to carve that many triangles so we settle for, "how many teeth do you want?"
I love this time of year. Even when the leaves don't change colors.