Wanna Bet?

Winter has arrived. No more fall, though the leaves have barely changed and school has barely started and my second child is barely four. This is not apple pie, hold a hot drink, wear a sweater, slanting sunlight, feeling frisky and crisp fall. This is full-on, butt-cold, my hands are cracking and will soon bleed, nose pinching, bitch and moan, slate gray, bitter cold winter.

Yeah, I'm bitter. I hate winter.

You have no idea how long it takes to get them this bundled and tucked. Or maybe you do, and in that case, I'm so sorry.

There is one thing that had me looking forward to October with a certain amount of glee. I think it's pretty clear that my family has an odd sense of humor? When Nate was born, my sister sent me this card.


Hilarious. Inside was a sweet message about our new little pumpkin, but also this note.


I mean really. Who would do that to their precious little baby? For a dare? To force their sister to pay up? No one would stuff their little angel into a pumpkin and let his socks get all slimy for a silly little bet.

What? OH HELL YES, I did. Matt and I spent a precious date night at our local wholesale grocers looking for just the right gargantuan pumpkin.

Come on, you knew I would.

Where is my agent, could somebody call my agent?


No seriously. WTF?


Yeah, haha, I know, funny stuff, baby in a pumpkin.


Watch your back, lady, I sleep in your bed and you put your nipples in my mouth.


I call this one, "The family that tortures the baby together, stays together."


Stick with me, I'm giving up the secrets to family harmony right here. May you all enjoy snuggly warm, footy pajamas, hot apple cider, crimson leaves, crackling fire, rosy cheeks with no accompanying snotty noses fall. From my little pumpkins to yours.

(Don't let the paltry sunshine fool you. Butt-miserable cold. Don't even get me started about our preschool field trip to the pumpkin farm. Me alone with all the kids. Freezing. Half-eaten whole apples dropped in the dirt. Screaming. Frozen hands. Screaming. Wearing the baby. Who was screaming. I told you not to get me started.)

(Dear Aunt H: You owe me two hundred dollah. I want payment in chais when you visit ;-)