Early this week, the pumpkins were ready to be picked in the very nice garden my dad so kindly grew for me. He even planted the sugar pumpkin variety this year at my request, as those arguably make the best pumpkin puree. (For the record, I make pumpkin puree every year with the pumpkins my dad grows....and with the help of my Cuisinart, I've had very successful puree with regular ol' jack-o-lantern sized pumpkins as well. But let me tell you--this puree? It's very good indeed.)
At a whopping 38 pie pumpkins brought home, I am going to have plenty of puree to use to my hearts content. Plus, plenty left for a festive harvest display outside our front door. Yay!
We went over to my parents the other night after dinner and of course it was pouring down rain. However blessings were upon us, and the clouds started to break up just before we made it to my parents and by the time we were picking pumpkins, it was wasn't raining at all.
While the kiddos were waiting for daddy (my parents very kindly store our outdoor furniture for us at their house and he was getting it put away) they played in the puddles left by the downpours. How is it that small children NEVER seem to mind being cold and wet? I was never that way--at least not that I remember.
Growing up, my mom's best friend's family had a beach house and they invited us to go clamming on more than one occasion. My mom thought it was the greatest fun and she drug us (maybe I was the only one who had to be drug? dragged? drugged?) along.
It was cold, wet, sandy and dirty and you smelled like fish when it was all over. One of the most miserable experiences I remember from my childhood. And yes, Dad, I know in the grand scheme of things, life could be much worse. But even still, clamming is SO not on my top 10 list of favorite things to do.
But, I digress.
The Peanut was all about picking the punkins'. My sweet boy? Not so much. He was much distracted by any and all other things. He played fetch with my parents lab, inspected my dad's grapes (or lack thereof due to some hungry birds), and even was on p*o*o*p patrol (or catrol as Peanut called it at one point not so very long ago) with my dad going around pointing out the aforementioned dog's droppings in the yard for my dad to clean up.
preschool class. Which ended up being a good thing, seeing as the little brother had no interest in it anyhow!