It's January, normally the bleak midwinter for this part of the country, and therefore a perfect time to talk about...pumpkins.
"Pumpkins?" you ask. "MOE, don't you know that the season for pumpkins is long past?"
Why, yes. Yes, I do.
But, then there's this:
We bought these pumpkins two weeks before Halloween. That's right. We've had them for nearly three months now. They not only survived Halloween, but they also survived Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years. They even survived the great blizzard of 2012.
And I suppose this is exactly what I deserve for trying to avoid carving them. As you know from my post from way back when about dyeing Easter eggs (link), I'm not the best cultural attaché when it comes to the messy traditions.
In fact, in the nearly 13 years Ren and I have been married, we've only carved pumpkins three times. Once because it was Ren and Big Sissy's first Halloween in the US, once because we were at a party and everyone else was doing it, and once three years ago, our first year living back in the States when Sky and Pink P were old enough to appreciate it.
The last pumpkin carving produced this:
Impressive for a guy who'd only carved two other pumpkins in his life.
Our friendly pumpkin lasted less than 24 hours before someone smashed it in the road in front of our house. Sky took it so well (link) I hesitated to repeat the crushing pumpkin crushing two years in a row. Then we had another kid and Ren's back went south, and somehow no one mentioned carving a pumpkin.
That is until this last Halloween. This time Sky and Pink wanted pumpkins and they wanted to carve them.
"Shouldn't we draw faces on them instead?" I offered, lamely, hoping they would choose the easier way out.
"Nah, if we do that, they'll look terrible," Sky reasoned.
"I want to cut out faces and put a candle in them!" Pink P chimed in.
"But if we carve them. They'll rot quicker," I explained, reminding them of the moldy pumpkins we'd seen at a friend's house. A dirty trick, I know. I mean, who likes moldy pumpkins?
No one, that's who.
For days, the conversation was at an impasse. Then we got busy and went trick-or-treating, celebrated birthdays, had a skating party, wrote letters to Santa, and generally forgot about the pumpkins.
And, now, three months later, there they sit on the back porch. As permanent reminders of my bad parenting. Of my failure to embrace the hokey, messy traditions that should be a part of every kid's childhood.
And, as logistical challenges. After all, I promised the kids the pumpkins would last longer if we didn't carve them, so now I can't even throw them out. And it's way too late in the season to sit them on the front porch and hope someone will smash them. At this rate, these darn pumpkins may well become family.
Anyone know how long it takes a pumpkin to decompose naturally?