Wendy and I were on our own for Saturday fun yesterday, and rather than sit around and stare at each other with our thumbs up our bums, I thought it would be a good time to pumpkin it up.
We fired up "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown" on TiVo, munched on some pumpkin bread, and dug in. There were pumpkin guts...
...with absolute disgust over looking at pumpkin guts and the guts all over my hands and the suggestion that she touch the guts as well. Good. Grief.
Her trepidation may or may not have something to do with how I dramatically scooped the guts from the cavity and brandished them at her, going Boogity-Boogity-Blahrgh. (PS: what fun are kids if you can't traumatize them good now and then?)
With much coaxing, she ventured in with a big spoon that allowed her to scoop up to three seeds at a time whilst not making actual skin-to-revolting-pumpkin-flesh contact. Thanks for the help, kiddo.
After a great deal of discussion and sketching, we (I) carved them up. I opted for a moon-and-stars lantern, and Wendy went with a "happy but scary face with teeth and mad eyebrows."
Self-portrait in pumpkin, by Wendy:
We don't have newspapers in our house for under the pumpkin mess. I did find that this was a great use for the random Victoria's Secret catalogues that are hanging around. You know, besides lamenting my fading youth and hotness, and expanding Preginstein anatomy that no longer fits neatly into ANY Vickie's bra sizes.
After carving up the pumpkins, we lit them up in the darkest, scariest room in the house: the laundry room.
Then we toasted pumpkin seeds, ate dinner featuring baked pumpkin (enjoyed only by me), and watched Kiki's Delivery Service. Fun was had by all.