Placentas and pumpkin guts

I accidentally cut off 3/4ths of the feather details.

And see that chunk that defines the tail section? Held on by toothpicks.

Want to feel good about your own procrastination tendencies? I carved our Halloween pumpkin with the kids on November 23.

Every year I liken pumpkin carving to my mom's description of childbirth - while in labor, the pain makes you swear you will never ever EVER have another child, but you forget your I-swear-on-my-own-placenta oath within a week or so. (By child number four, my mom got smart and adopted the next five.)

Every year, the concept of pumpkin carving sounds fun...

I had been promising Jannika that we would carve the pumpkin for over a month, but one thing after another got in the way (the laundry, drinking my coffee, writing this blog). This year the only final driving force behind carving it was an intense craving to retrieve the seeds. For me. To eat. I am so ashamed.

Every year, there's the excitement of impending pumpkin carving - Rob even walks away from his fantasy teams for a few brief moments to come over and mingle. This is when I forget the birthing pain of last year's pumpkin carving, and I suddenly decide I am going to carve the Best. Pumpkin. EVER. (And this is also where it all goes downhill.)

Within moments of slicing open the top, Jannika's fifteen feet away, gagging at the smell. And alternately refusing to touch anything slimy and crying that I won't let her hold the knife.

Rob's already bored and has walked away.

Silas keeps grabbing handfuls of guts and seeds out of the bowl, so I send him out of the room.

And then I waste an hour of my life sweating over and internally swearing at an overgrown piece of fruit that doesn't acquiesce to my artistic plan. It's a dramatic struggle between an unrelenting squash and an artistic control freak with no muscles.

And this is when, approximately ten minutes in, I annually question my sanity and swear on the bowels of the pumpkin that I will never ever EVER carve a pumpkin again. I yell at the kids, fighting in the background by now. I snarl at Rob. I shove Orange roughly off the kitchen countertop.

It's such a delightful time.

And then when I, all sweaty and grumpy, finally light the candle, wearily call over the kids, see their renewed excitement, and taste the deliciousness of toasted pumpkin seeds, I forget everything. Next year. Yeah, next year I will carve something even better.

It will be the Best. Pumpkin. EVER.

Hopefully this time it will be carved before Halloween actually rolls around.