Punkin' Pickin'

Because I'd rather do just about ANYTHING than sit around the house, giving the boys the opportunity to make it an even BIGGER mess, I decided on a spur of the moment yesterday to take the boys to the pumpkin patch at First United Methodist Church in Waynesville. I have a feeling this "picking of the punkin'" trip will become as much a part of our falls in Haywood County as Russian Tea at every family function.

As soon as we got there, Jones went straight for one of the largest pumpkins on the lot. I was completely fine with that, until I found out that that particular pumpkin went for $30. If I were using it for the centerpiece of my Thanksgiving spread, I'd definitely have been down with that. Knowing it was going to end up on the receiving end of Crayola and an almost four-year old, though, I decided to unilaterally enact the "You-can-pick-any-pumpkin-that-you-can-CARRY" rule. I worried this might give Jones some consternation, but thankfully, it didn't. The poor child tried and tried and tried again to move his massive gourd, but when he couldn't, he was every bit as happy with the $8 variety that Haylee Floyd somehow convinced him was just right for him (THANK YOU, HAYLEE!).

Freddie wasn't so choosy. He ran around the patch and picked up a $5 fruit just before we were ready to leave. They were so proud to carry them up the front stairs and place them on our porch when we got home. As I put Jones to bed last nite, I asked him what he wanted to name his pumpkin. He hemmed and hawed a little - "I think it's ... hmmmm ... it's gonna be ... I think it's ... Reagan." With no prompting from the peanut gallery, he decided to name it after his little buddy from church.

Her mother and I are now working on the documents for their arranged marriage.

I promised the boys we'd paint the pumpkins today. Sure enough, we headed to Wal-Mart first thing this morning. But between there and home, Jones pitched a fit about something ridiculously insignificant and lost the privilege of painting, as a result. Freddie, on the other hand, had a BALL "cuckoring" the pumpkin that he - upon hearing Jones's was named "Reagan" - named after Reagan's brother, Brice.

The moral of the story here is that my boys want more of the Moore family in their lives.

The OTHER moral is that this pumpkin patch is the biggest and the best one I've ever seen. I can see visiting it becoming the kind of ritual that, years from now, the boys will beg me to let them out of.

Just let your mama get ONE good picture of you two, and we'll talk ...

When he finally realized he was licked ...

He even tried ROLLING it to the
checkout line.

just like my grandfather used to do

Like MOST of Freddie's artistic endeavor's, today's
ended in a bath - before naptime!