Little Boy received his first pumpkin from his Grandpa’s pumpkin patch way back on Labor Day, and little did he understand our plans for it. He thought we were going to eat it. “No eat,” I kept saying. “We’re going to play with the pumpkin.” Since we lack the common words to adequately describe the carving of a pumpkin without it sounded scary or, well, like we were going to eat it, I could tell that the pumpkin’s fate was a great source of mystery for Little Boy. So he was excited when the night finally came to “play with the pumpkin.” He watched as Daddy cut off the top with a knife. With our coaxing, he grabbed the stem, pulled it up, saw the seeds and gunk hanging from it, screamed, and ran away in terror. We finally prodded him back to the pumpkin for a photo.
We dug into the pumpkin’s innards with our spoons. Despite numerous attempts, he removed a grand total of about 5 seeds from the pumpkin.
But he did try.
When he realized that we would be putting “fire” in the pumpkin, he was beside himself with excitement.
He’s already loving Fall (except for the fact that the sun “sleeps” earlier, which seriously cuts into his evening playground time), and he still has no clue about Halloween.
