Pumpkin Patch

I had this grand plan to find a farm when my parents were here. On a beautiful, crisp fall day, we would pick apples and frolic happily in a sunlit pumpkin patch. The perfect autumn photo op. Later we would eat a lovely lunch at an underappreciated pub - a kid-friendly place with excellent food and maybe a fireplace - then the children would nap on the drive home.

I didn't really think through how we would negotiate a pumpkin patch with my barely mobile father. Nor did I have any idea where this "farm" was located - I assumed we would just drive west until we found something - ditto for the fictitious pub (which I'm sure has exceptionally reasonable prices, too. And a great selection of draft beer).

I wanted to go on a weekday to avoid crowds. With Lumpyhead's preschool schedule, that gave us four potential mornings for this outing. But when it wasn't threatening to rain, it was approaching 80 degrees, which didn't really put me in the mood for apple picking. (Nothing says "fall" like a photo of your sweaty kids in shorts, holding a pumpkin. Or your rain-drenched kid, crying in front of an apple tree.)

So it didn't happen.

But! Lumpyhead's preschool came through with an autumn event. Bump's mother and stepdad were in town on their annual migration from Maine to Florida, and off we went for pumpkins and a bonfire and a hayride. I got my damn pictures.

With grandparents, even.
I started a pumpkin circle around Lumpyhead, but he got bored with the idea and walked off. So I made my other son sit in my stupid circle.
Even though I got tons of oohs and aahs and squees while I was taking this picture, I think it looks like I'm sacrificing Nathan Jr to a wiccan harvest god. Guess I should have gotten lower to the ground. After I picked him up I saw at least five other families using the pumpkin circle for their photos, so, go me. I totally win Pumpkin Patch.

And even though Lumpyhead and Lula seemed much more into the heavy machinery than the pumpkins, I think they had a good time.

Lumpyhead was stone silent on the hayride from the parking lot to the bonfire site, even though we were accompanied by two of his teachers and saw a deer. Of course, now he won't stop talking about the damn hayride hayride HAYRIDE! and if I learned anything from the outing, it is this: never go to a farm with three children unless you have at least two grandparents and beer.