The Pumpkin Patch

Being unbelievably adorable during the hayride. 

Yep, still cute. 

The pumpkin graveyard. 

Weightlifting.

She has not yet learned to NOT pick up a pumpkin by its stem. 

Looking at goats with Daddy.

I owed Charlotte a trip to the pumpkin patch. Big time.

First, we planned to go two weekends ago, when Nana was here. Unfortunately, it poured and we decided to reschedule.

Then, this past week, we planned to go again. This time, Charlotte’s school was doing a field trip. I was even going to chaperone, so I could be THAT sort of mom—the type willing to rework her morning schedule and then change from jeans and sneakers into dress pants and heels in the car. Alas, storms moved through our area yet again, and the school cancelled the field trip.

On Saturday, I was determined. We would go to the pumpkin patch. We would do the hayride. We would buy a pumpkin.

Now, I’m not sure what pumpkins look like for all you West Coasters, but in these here parts, the excessive rain has generated not only a big fat pumpkin shortage, but also pretty darn small pumpkins. Not TINY, but not . . . big. You know?

Well, no matter. We went to a farm a couple miles from our house (an advantage of living in The Sticks). Hundreds of (already picked) pumpkins greeted us, and Charlotte broke away from me and ran to the pumpkin collection, yelling, “Ball! Ball!”

“Pumpkin,” I corrected her. “But a pumpkin is round like a ball, isn’t it?”

Charlotte had zero interest in a vocabulary lesson. Instead, she approached a good-sized pumpkin and lifted it.

LIFTED it.

My 28-pound child can lift a pumpkin. She waddled around with it for a bit, then decided it was too heavy to claim indefinitely and dropped it with a thud. She then turned to a full-grown man she did not know and tried to take HIS pumpkin, yelling, “Mine! Mine! Mine!”

“Charlotte!” I cried. “That pumpkin belongs to him. You can pick a different pumpkin.” I pried her pudgy hands off the man’s pumpkin. Fortunately, the stranger laughed while I apologized, instead of criticizing my child-raising skills—which, at this point, probably deserved some criticism.

I turned to Chris, who had been standing in line for some pie and a hot dog during all of this. He was cracking up. I think he was a little proud.

Next, we did the hayride through the sprawling farm and to what I referred to as the pumpkin graveyard. Like I said, it’s been a rough year for East Coast pumpkins. After the hayride, we looked at all the animals. (Mean mommy that I am, I wouldn’t let Charlotte feed or pet them. GERMS! Luckily, she’s enthralled but terrified by live animals, so she didn’t fight me on the no-touch rule.)

Back at the main part of the farm, we let Charlotte pick out her pumpkin—a somewhat lopsided, squatty little pumpkin that I think is adorable—and we bought 8 pounds of butternut squash, as This Mommy has two butternut squash lasagnas to make (you know the drill—one to eat, one to freeze).

A fun, autumn-y day.