Yesterday the famdamily, along with the greater field trip group, took in one of them pumpkin patch/ hay ride/ miniature train/ corn maze tours of duty that are all the rage these days (whatever happened to the simple pleasures of squirreling away a few dozen eggs so that they’re nice and rotten in time for Halloween?). Also apparently now all the rage down at your local pumpkin patch: whistles! There are no photos of the pumpkin picking because by the time the kiddos actually found a non-rotting gourd and Gillian turned to grab the camera, the tractor man blew his whistle indicating that their allotted time was up. Effie attempted to spend the entire evening telling me all about this but I deftly cut her off with a sharp blast of my tweeter and sent the young Brigitta to bed.
note:some saintly people are actually able to tune out the negative and focus on the beauty that is their sweet offspring and a field o pumpkins. Blast them sweet, saintly people!
And then, tonight, those with pumpkins wouldn't even allow me to take their picture. So, to the archives we go...
This post brought to you by the year 2005.