Gourd help us all.
Itβs that time of year.
From now through the end of December, social media will blow up with nonstop postings by better-than-us parents whoβve taken their kids to bona fide pumpkin patches to hunt for the perfect jack-oβ-lantern. These are the same parents who have the kind of enviable organizational and planning skills that allow them to make a reservation A YEAR IN ADVANCE to schlep the fam almost to the state line to be in an appropriately seasonal, snowy spot for their kids to ride a train and meet Santa Claus.
Yeah, we donβt do that.
We also no longer suffer through Chuck E. Cheese birthday parties. So there.
Iβm sorry, do I sound negative? Naaaaah.
If anything, Iβm a little gloat-y because Iβm officially past the phase where I feel pressured to give my kids the Perfect Holiday Experience. Those whoβve been parenting for four years or less, you know Iβm talking to you.
I no longer feel like my parenting license will be revoked because I forgot Halloweenβs tomorrow and no one has any pumpkins so we have to resort to plucking them from a bin outside Safeway in broad daylight rather than hauling our overscheduled butts to a pumpkin patch 80 miles away that charges what weβll pay for a semester of college for an assortment of fleshy orange squashes that will become javelina food two hours and 20 minutes after theyβre deposited in the front yard, regardless of how much they cost.
I mean, we used to do the authentic pumpkin-patch thing. In fact, once upon a time, I even heeded the seasonal siren call to be a crafty, decorating mom, a la Martha Stewart but without the paid minions to execute my creative vision. I glued and glittered up faux pumpkins, the end result of which was lovely decor that also added a fun splash of sparkle β to the floor, along with all the dirt, dog hair, spilled cereal and abandoned, matchless socks. Yeah, those donβt get dragged out of the fall stash box anymore.
The thing is, I have quasi-fond memories of traipsing to the pumpkin patch with kids who were excited at first but then dissolved into cranky puddles of fatigue and anger because thatβs what those little dudes do. I have fonder memories of popping into Trader Joeβs, festively decorated with hay bales, to pick out some gorgeous, gentle-on-the-wallet gourds plus these visits gave me the multi-tasking opportunity to grocery shop.
These days, I prefer to bestow upon my children the sort of long-lasting memories that will be dredged up in therapy later β like last Halloween when I forced them all to dress like the Jackson Five.
Maybe youβre the type who loves traveling out of town to the pumpkin patch and who will miss those trips horribly when your super busy kids canβt string together a four-hour window for such family togetherness. But, I will tell you this much: You will not miss those pizza parties with the human-size rat. Guaranteed.
