The Case of the Pumpkin Poop

A couple of weekends ago, the kids and I went to a produce stand and picked out the most perfect pumpkins I've ever seen. They were so excited to carve them. So last weekend we dug in.

Of course they think pumpkin guts are disgusting so I spent about an hour scooping and scraping those bad boys.

My son decided to freehand a jack-o-lantern face and some stars and it came out great (once I did all the cutting)

But my daughter really wanted to carve something more elaborate.

She had a book of patterns and she was considering some of the more challenging designs. I kept saying, "Are you sure, Honey? That's going to be pretty hard." But she was determined.

About an hour into her carving she announced, "This is harder than I thought it would be."

"Do you want some help?" I asked.

"No. I want to do it." And she kept plugging away.

I have to admit that once I put the candle in, I was incredibly impressed. How cool is this?

She was so very proud of herself.

I didn't want to put the pumpkins outside because I was afraid they'd get smashed. Or that wild animals would eat them. So I put them on the hearth by the fireplace.

But I made a mistake. When I went to blow out the candle before bed I thought for a second that the design had caved in. Or, I don't know, melted.

It took me a second to realize that the design on the pumpkin has been eaten off by our own little wild animal. Buffy the wonder puppy ate my daughter's pumpkin.

It never even occurred to me that a dog would eat a pumpkin. It certainly never occurred to me that a five pound dog would eat about five pounds of pumpkin rind.

In the morning I had to break it to my daughter. She was so upset. I felt so bad for her.

My husband took her to get another pumpkin and the two of them recreated another wolf design. It is now rotting high up away from the dog on my kitchen counter. But Buffy is still in the dog house.

Happy 4th birthday you pain-in-the-butt pumpkin eater. You're not coming out of your room until you stop pooping orange.

Cursing Geese

When I pulled into the parking lot at the zoo for my son's field trip, I had a hard time parking. The lot was filled with Canadian geese.

I thought as I drove slowly toward them that they would fly away, but they didn't even waddle. They didn't even shake their tail feathers. They just looked at me.

I managed to weave through the sea of Christmas dinner to pull into a spot, but I was wondering how the kids' school bus was going to get through.

I had to wait for about ten minutes for my son's class to arrive, but the zoo kindly provided entertainment. After just a couple of minutes, two big, working class-type guys came out in green zoo jumpsuits.

They started walking toward the geese, and the geese ignored them as well as they had ignored me in my car. So the guys started waving their arms. The geese deigned to turn their heads and look at them.

The guys started yelling.

The geese started walking. All in different directions. And slowly.

Before long these guys were skipping and jumping and screaming. I think one even managed to turn a cartwheel before the geese were finally annoyed enough to leave.

You may think that geese say honk, honk. But I swear, as they flew away to a nearby pond, those geese called obscenities to those guys.

Listen closely the next time you see geese flying overheard. I know you'll hear it too.

I wouldn't be surprised if the guys cars were covered in giant goose poo when they left work that night.

Another Weird Day

It's another weird, out-of-sync day. My daughter is home sick.

Yesterday I was on a field trip to the zoo with my son's first grade class when I missed a call from the school nurse about my daughter. So she stayed in the school clinic for a couple of hours until I checked my messages.

I felt so, so bad.

I also feel like the school nurse must think I send my kids to school sick and then she gets to clean up their puke. But she assured me that they are "the sweetest kids" even when they are vomiting on her, so that's good.

Of course my daughter feels fine today but she's not allowed back at school until tomorrow. It's funny because she doesn't know what to do without her brother around. I told her it was a great chance to watch any movie she wanted and play any computer game she wanted without her brother bugging her, but she wasn't impressed.

Nim's Island, Poptropica, EverydayMath games, and violin practice later, she's bored.

Can you imagine if we had decided to let her be an only child? I think I owe my son a cookie.

Only My Kids

My poor, little boy is home from school. The school nurse called at lunch time to tell me that he had thrown up in the cafeteria and I needed to come pick him up.

When I got there he was standing in the doorway with his backpack on his back looking and acting totally normal. So I asked him if he had thrown up a lot or a little and the nurse quickly piped up to say, "A lot!" She also informed me in the kindest way possible that he should stay home tomorrow too.

The boy isn't happy about that. He hates to miss school. Both of my kids have been trying desperately to have perfect attendance at school for the last three years. They're still mad at me for taking them out of school last year to come house hunting at the beach.

"Well," I told my son. "At least you're not missing soccer or anything. You don't have anything you have to do today."

"No," he answered. "I still have to do my homework."

I asked, "Did your teacher bring you your backpack with your homework?"

"No," he answered again. "When I got to the clinic the nurse wasn't there so I went to my classroom to get all the work I didn't do yet. I didn't want to fall behind if I had to miss school."

Only my kid. Only my son would think that way.

And my daughter? She's weird too.

This weekend we bought a new little CD player. While we were cleaning up the family room I put it on and searched for a radio station to play. Well, I cruised right by the classical music station looking for some pop music when my daughter stopped me.

"Mom! Put it back. I like the orchestra music!"

And the two kids cleaned happily listening to some classical music I couldn't identify if my life depended on it.

But when the orchestra music changed to opera music, I figured they probably had enough and I could find some decent music to listen to. But oh, no.

"Mom! That singing was beautiful. I find it soothing. Put it back!"

What the heck kind of roll reversal is that? All I want is some good Fergie or Maroon 5 and my kids are naming composers. (I couldn't even spell orchestra without the spell checker!)

Only my kid.

If I didn't see with my own eyes that they waste time playing Nintendo and enjoy hours playing pretend I would think they were being raised like little, hot house freaks.

My son is currently sitting on the floor playing Lego's and watching Spongebob. And I'm sitting here thinking that maybe I should go back to school and get a degree in music appreciation just to keep up with them.

Reason I'm a Bad Friend #236

Every year I insist that I am going to get my Christmas shopping done early. Of course I never do. That would be...almost...sacrilgeous. Or unpatriotic. Frenzied late-December shopping is as American as apple pie and church gossip.

But still, this year, I tried again.

The kids' school made it easy with their fall fundraiser. They sold Virginia Diner peanuts, including Hokie Nuts.

Since one of my best friends back in Louisiana is a Virginia native and Virginia Tech alum, I bought her an assortment of Hokie Nuts. Even chocolate-covered peanuts.

They sat in their box on top of my kitchen cabinets until I got PMS.

Then I ate her chocolate-covered nuts.

I figured I'd just order more and complete the set again. But then I got depressed because I ate my best friend's chocolate nuts, and I dug into the other two cans too.

This resulted in a week full of nut innuendos and a lifetime of guilt for me.

So today I'm going to order more nuts. And hide them better from myself. (And order a whole set of backup nuts because I know myself too well.)

Are You Kidding Me?

I walked out of my house at 2:00 today to go gas up the car and pick up the kids at 3:20.

When I hit the little unlock button on my car door handle nothing happened. No little beep. I had left my "keyless" key fob in the house. Along with my house key.

As I tried the front door, I mumbled a plea. "Oh, please, oh, please, oh, please." To no avail. It was locked.

No problem, I thought. There are four other entry ways to this house that no one ever remembers to lock.

All locked.

There was a brief moment of hope when I found the garage door opener. But the door from the garage to the house was locked.

More hope when I found a set of keys. To our garage door back in Shreveport and my husband's Chevelle on Cape Cod.

No need to panic yet. My husband has time enough to get to the kids. Thank goodness I have my phone.

Twenty calls, e-mails and texts go unanswered.

Okay. I have a shed and a garage full of tools and glass in my doors. A hammer, crowbar and jumbo hedge trimmers will not shatter that glass. I am weak. I briefly consider using the circular saw to cut a hole in the door.

By now, an hour has gone by and I realize that even if I got in now, I could never get to the kids on time. I call the school and ask them to put the kids in after school care.

Finally, FINALLY, my husband calls me back.

"Did you try the back door?" he asks.

Is he kidding me!

He is on his way to get the kids. I am on the back porch blogging from my Treo.

At least it's not raining. At least I know it would take a criminal more determined than me to get into my house.

No criminal could be more determined than I was to get to my children today.

Tonight we get a spare key made. My heart can't take this again.

Who's Minding the Store?

My husband did the sweetest thing this weekend.

He surprised me on Saturday by taking me to a piano store. He was going to buy me a piano, probably used, maybe even a used digital, but still. A piano.

He did a bunch of research and found this place online. It was highly rated and they also donate pianos to the kids' music academy which provides music education to underprivileged children.

I expected to be accosted by a sale's person the second we walked in the door. But the bing bong didn't seem to attract anyone.

Then we realized that there was a man snoring at his desk in the back of the store.

We tried to surreptitiously wake him. We cleared throats and spoke to the kids. We bing bonged the door one more time. But he kept on snoring.

We checked out the inventory but the longer we were there the more afraid we became that when we finally woke him up, he'd have a heart attack.

Even in sleep he looked about one juicy steak away from a heart attack anyway.

I was started to get the creeps and decided that we must leave right away.

We did stop at the kitchen design shop right next door, though. We were worried that the guy would get accosted and robbed.

And so I didn't get my piano. But I did pick out some awesome Black Galaxy granite counter tops.

It never pays to sleep on the job.

Home Sick

I am sad.

I miss my old friends.

I miss sending the kids to a school I felt good about.

I miss having a purpose in my life outside of raising my kids and building my marriage.

I miss who I was back in Louisiana.

Mostly, I miss my friends.

A couple of days ago my husband regretfully informed me that there is a possibility we will be heading back to the bayou in two or three years.

I wasn't sad about that. Can you believe it? It is quite telling.

So, today, I post myself a sappy reminder of what it is all about.


When I can't give them the world, it hurts so much.