Haloweenies

It's that time of year again and in an effort to blend in with all the other mothers who stay at home and raise these incredibly well adjusted children, I took a page from their book and went pumpkin shopping with my kids this weekend.

I don't know why I feel such a sense of accomplishment in performing mundane tasks like picking pumpkins, but I do. I guess it's because I am not the type of mother to whom crafty, creative pursuits comes easily. My childhood memories are not dotted with pipe cleaner and finger paints. Instead, I bonded with my father over a clean toilet and perfectly ironed collars.

So Sunday night while I prepared dinner, my children sat at the kitchen table enthusiastically gutting their pumpkins. Dylan helped Liv get the last slimy bits out of hers and together they compared their individual sketch plans, laughing and giving each other suggestions. I marveled at all of that sibling civility. I wanted to bottle it because it's a rare commodity in our house. Silently, I congratulated myself for enabling such a Norman Rockwell-worthy domestic scene. Parenting win.

This is Dylan's work of art. The Zombie. Dylan pointed out that his pumpkin had bags under his eyes. Notice the vomit spewing out of his mouth and nose and the errant eyeball nearby. Nice. I do, however, appreciate the Michael Jackson eyeliner action.

This is Liv's gory version. I especially like the Harry Potter mark on the forehead and the other scars littered on the poor bugger's face. Apparently, her pumpkin is a pugilist as evidenced by his nose, which is alarmingly skewed to one side.

This is Olivia's girlie girl version complete with sparkles. Something tells me that she might end up being one of those mothers who has a craft room which makes me happy because one day, when they stuff me into a retirement home, at least my drapes will match my bedspread.