Squashes and Pumpkins and Candy, Oh My!

In my eyes, October is nature's gift to children. The weather is mild, the colors warm and embracing, and the leaves fall from the trees like star dust. Kids can gnaw on apples, drink cider, carve pumpkins, and even eat the seeds that they pull from the wonderful, squishy guts.

And just in case that isn't enough to make every kid jump out of bed in the morning, we have fall festivals and pumpkin patch visits. Finally, we add the grand-daddy holiday of them all, the candy-giving, prank-inducing, scream-through-the-streets-at-night, give-me-candy holiday of Halloween.

Our October has been one of the best ever. Temperatures hover around 60 degrees, the leaves fall from the trees in fits and starts, and the mood at our house has been one of pleasant anticipation. Matt asks, "How many days until Halloween?" and both of them draw pictures of bats and ghosts and vampires.

Friends celebrated fall with a community gathering of parents and kids where we ate chili and spaghetti, carved pumpkins and traded stories. The kids played basketball and flashlight tag into the evening. To me, such a gathering represents the essence of small-town living.


















Yesterday, Matt's class took a fieldtrip to the pumpkin patch. Wilson's Banner Ranch gives tours to grade school children from all over the area. During the tour, the kids get an apple and cider, then they head out to the patch to pick out the perfect pumpkin, and wrap it up with a turn at playing in the straw fort. The first graders were back in class by 1 p.m., but the teacher said she lost three of them to la-la land during story time. A day like that can wear a kid down...but I bet those kids will be dreaming of pumpkin patches and straw forts when October is just a memory.





















Girl Scout troop 373 had a Halloween party on Sunday. The girls came in costume, enjoyed a slimy green punch and chocolate cookies, and then headed out to bob for apples. We did the same gig last year, and this year they were feeling pretty confident. In fact, they took turns bobbing until every one of the 30 or so apples were gone from the tub. We might need a new activity next year...

Mortality Issues

Matt has been having bad dreams. Specifically, he has been dreaming that either Ryan or I die nearly every night. Poor little guy. I'm guessing the reality of mortality has taken hold in his 7-year-old brain. That's a tough concept for anyone, but especially a little guy who loves life as much as he.

He likes to tell me about those dreams, and I have to say, I really enjoy it. I mean, if you have to go, he has some great ideas on how to do it. One night, Ryan died from going out into space (he just flew up there and couldn't get back). Last night, I was riding my motorcycle and fell into a puddle and died.

"A puddle?" I said. "I drowned in a puddle?"
"Yeah," he said. "You were splashing around and it was, like, 100 feet deep."
"Well, puddles can't be that deep."
"Okay, it wasn't a puddle. It was, um, some deep water. And, mom, you DIED."
"But I can swim. I wouldn't die in a puddle. It's okay. It couldn't happen."
"But it already did. You were splashing like this (add your own vision of Matt flailing his arms) and then you disappeared and died."
"Well, okay. I promise I won't go into any puddles while I'm riding my motorcycle so that it can't happen again."
"Okay, mom."

And on it goes.

This was a morning hot tub conversation, and Emily sat quietly while we hashed it out. What was going through her mind? I have no idea. She didn't seem to think Matt was silly; she had a serious, pensive look on her face. It breaks my heart to think that she has had such dream but was too afraid to talk about it. (Doesn't telling things like that increase the possibility that they might happen?)

I knew a little girl like that once. I remember lying in bed shaking, afraid of dying, afraid of my parents dying, afraid of my dog dying. Why did everything have to die? If I could, I would take all of that fear away from my kids and carry it for them throughout their childhood. Then, when they were old enough, I would gently hand it back to them. It's tough enough to be a kid today...

Matt had another dream.

"That bad guy was here, pounding a hole in our roof."
"What bad guy?" I asked.
"You know, the one you told us about...the one who lives in another state and he killed a whole bunch of people."
"Another country," Emily corrected. "He lives in another country."
"Bin Laden," I said. They were referring to my convoluted explanation of what happened on 9/11 (both had too young to understand at the time...).
"Yeah, him. He was on the roof, and he pounded and pounded and the roof fell in and crushed dad, and dad died."

Sigh.

If there were no Bin Laden or the millions of other bad guys that rape and pillage and plunder and bomb and destroy our happiness, would we still have bad dreams? Sure. But I know this: I would much rather have my kids dream that I died by going up into a space ship than from a terrorist beating on my roof. Wouldn't you?

Learning the Basics

In honor of Columbus Day, the kids studied Christopher Columbus and all of those details we sort of remember from grade school. Matt came home brimming with information:

"Christopher Columbus was an Indian who was here first and all of the other people came from him!"

Close enough.

Maui Built

Little Mo was built in Maui. He has a little hat that says, "MAUI Built." That's a cool story to tell your kid....


"Well, son, you see your mom and I, we made you in Maui. What I mean to say is, well, um, that's where we were when, um, well. Let me think. Yeah, never mind."


Okay, maybe not your little kid, but your teenager....


"You know son, your mom and I were in Maui when you were conceived."
"WAAA? Ah, gross Dad. Don't ever talk to me again!"


Okay, so they might have to wait until the kid is an adult...


"You want to hear something funny, son?"
"Dad, if it's about your sex life, please spare me."


Well, Ryan and I think it's a great story, even if the kid will never appreciate it. We were on vacation with Mark and Jenny when, with a twinkle and a poof of fairy dust, the little guy came to be. It was a great vacation...lounging on beaches, diving and snorkeling, and jumping off of huge waterfalls. The baby was like a door prize or a jackpot on the airport slot machine. Super bonus package to take home.


Now, Mo is at the charming age of 7 months. The four of us got to spend the weekend with their new little family a couple of weeks ago. Babies are awesome, especially when they live at someone else's house. They are so curious, and even I can make them laugh. What irritates me about Mo though, is that he doesn't like me much. To add insult to injury, he DOES like Ryan. Now how is that possible? I am the baby lover, the coddling, bouncing, change-your-diaper, clean-your-puke one, while Ryan prefers to stare at a baby from afar, or, if necessary, give it a quick pat on the head.

Not Mo. We were babysitting while Mark and Jenny were out riding, and Mo woke up from his nap. I saved him, rescued him from his baby prison, bounced and coddled him...and he cried. Ryan said, "Give him to me," took Mo under his arm like a football, and off they went like two of the three musketeers. I still haven't lifted my jaw off of the floor.


But I know some day he'll come around. Or maybe not. Ryan and Mark will have him on a motorcycle as soon as he can walk...and then I've lost him for good.