I heart pumpkins

I know, I know, if I were a real mommyblogger with a talent for mommyblogosity, this post would be rife with adorable pictures of  my adorable offspring in their adorable Halloween costumes interspersed within an adorable narrative of the cute Halloweeny sort that managed to just avoid being trite and pointed out some larger truth about parenting or life or time or the precious oh-so-quickly-goneness of it all.

But, no.

Have I mentioned lately how much I hate crafts?

Loathe. Detest.

Dislike with an intensity that ought be reserved for less benign activities.

This is my fourth year for our co-op toddler class's annual transform-pumpkins-into-weapons-and-hand-them-to-toddlers day.  As you can see, I'm thrilled.  I love our co-op and the facilitator and the board and all the women involved, truly, but in case you can't tell from the expression on my face, I think sticking sharp jabby toothpicks into pumpkins so that we can jab various other assorted vegetables onto the big orange vegetable in a vague facelike pattern is dumb.  See also boring, dangerous, and wasteful.

I know! Let's stick toothpicks into a pumpkin until it resembles those big spiky medieval balls - which I have just googled and they are called "flails."  We are learning here.  Welcome to preschool. Would you like to make a flail?

Oh, I'm sorry, did my three-year-old just remove your three-year-old's eye with his pumpkin vegetable head flail?  Aha.  Next up, real candles at Christmas.  Paper flames are for sissy toddlers.

How about a rousing game of medieval pumpkin flail catch?  Oh, shoot, toothpick through a finger.  Didn't see that one coming.

Of course, Quinn loves it. He stuck approximately 2000 olives on the damn pumpkin.  Carefully directing where each of the 2000 toothpicks should go in painstaking individual detail.  I'm holding a toothpick, ready for further instruction.  I'm like his toothpick bitch.

If you are wondering right now why on earth I am the mother of multiple small preschool type children, well SO WAS I as I stood there holding my 1099th toothpick so that I could surgically insert it into a pumpkin without impaling my own thumb.  Don't even laugh.  The first year, when I was a flail pumpkin novice, I put a toothpick into my thumb.  It was a deep and bloody wound.  Not that I'm bitter or anything.

Elise took that picture - because she absolutely loves my tortured parent of crafting toddler look - and emailed it to me later that day with the title "you heart pumpkins."  As if I could love her any more, but that pretty much confirmed my devotion for all time.

On the plus side, provided no one bleeds heavily, this activity is, happily, not at all messy as it involves no paint, glitter, glue, googly eyes, or some obnoxious combination of the aforementioned supplies.  Just spikes.  When we got home, I let him play with knives.

Kidding.  Oh look!  A real mommyblogger has entered the blogding.  Look at the cute little pumpkins.

 Quinn the incredibly cheerful giraffe.  Who is sometimes Scooby Doo.  We'll see what happens tonight.

Saige and Garrett in last year's "non-evil" costumes for Christian Kindergarten because both of the costumes they picked for this year were on the "evil" and therefore not allowed list.  Don't even get me started.  Sign me up for Pagan Kindergarten is all I'll say.

Nate.  Awwwwwww.  He's a headless alligator.  The alligator head hood makes him ANGRY and UNHAPPY. 

Happy Halloween, my lovelies.  Watch out for flails out there.