I seem to have gotten talked into purchasing not one, not two, not three but SIX pumpkins today for carving.
While certain eleven year olds promise to help carve said pumpkins by at least scooping the guts out, I know in my heart that this is bullshit said specifically to lure me into the hell of carving all these pumpkins.
One would think I had learned from the apple picking situation a few weeks ago when someone ended up with 12 pounds of apples that are in a bag in the kitchen.
Today I announced that I was thinking about making and canning applesauce in order to use the apples up, only to be met with the heartfelt please of Terrance to NOT can applesauce. He then cited a canning episode circa 1996 whose proceeds were thrown out when we moved in 2006 after having lived in the darkness of the basement for years.
I am however remaining firm in my boycott of the Gingerbread House, which last graced our household in 2002, when I flipped out after attempting to get the walls to stick together and having the icing harden and then the child I was doing this "for" abandoned me, leaving me alone at the table until 11:30 p.m. and filling my heart with unreasonable holiday hatred.
While purchasing our pumpkin bonanza, the clerk asked "Wow - How many kids do you have?"
The assumption, I suppose was that I must be the mother of Six to have purchased Six pumpkins.
I stared at her. "One", I answered and then indicated towards the door where Emily could be seen peeking in. "She's out there guarding our chosen pumpkins. Apparently she is concerned that some pumpkin thief is going to run down the street and grab our pumpkins between the time we chose them and the time I purchased them."
The poor high school gal doesn't know what to say, so she simply stares at me.
"If you don't have enough carved pumpkins at Halloween, a puppy dies", I say.
Then I walk out to herd my pumpkins into the back seat of my car, leaving the silent clerk watching me exit.