Last night, we carved pumpkins and introduced the term “diva” into the Grimmett lexicon. As in, “Daddy is such a diva.” Because, dude. HE IS. Anytime we take on a supposed-to-be-fun task, like carving pumpkins, he gets this I-can’t-work-under-these-conditions kind of attitude.
“Don’t stand so close to me when I’m using a knife!”
After the tops have been removed and we’re elbow-deep in pumpkin guts, “Why don’t we do this on a day when we can make sure Lucy gets her nap first? And it’s not getting so late?”
“We’re not going to do this if you don’t stop throwing pumpkin seeds!”
“Why can’t I get mine to work? Ugh, the handle’s coming off!! This knife is a piece of crap! YOU finish it.”
In all fairness to my husband, he only said the first thing I quoted last night. The rest were from the year prior. And then my mom threw a handful of pumpkin guts at his head. I guess he learned his lesson. Or he didn’t but we reminded him because we love to tell the story of how my mom threw pumpkin guts at Dave’s head.
In all fairness to my mom, Dave once threw a snowball at her head.
So, here are our pumpkins. From left to right: The headless horsemen’s pumpkin head (you know, the one he threw at Ichabod Crane?); Sloth from The Goonies (“Hey you guuuys!”); Julia’s “salesman” (I don’t get it either.); and Lucy’s pumpkin that’s “really, really happy.”
Oh, and the Deep Thought: “Sometimes when I feel like killing someone, I do a little trick to calm myself down. I’ll go over to the person’s house and ring the doorbell. When the person comes to the door, I’m gone, but you know what I’ve left on the porch? A jack-o-lantern with a knife stuck in the side of its head with a note that says “You.” After that I usually feel a lot better, and no harm done.”
Right now, it annoys Dave when I recite it. But if I die before him, it’s just the kind of thing he’ll remember about me and miss.
Be happy, Halloweeners!
about “Daybreak.” But it still
applies to her smile.
Lucy: (retires to a corner and stands quietly)
Me: Lucy, do you have to poop?
Me: Would you like to go poop in the potty?
Me: C’mon! Let’s go. I’ll sit with you.
Me: Lucy, let’s go poop in the potty.
Me: Honey, why don’t you want to poop in the potty?
Lucy: I poop in potty and my potty cry and cry and cry.
Me: Well, I could understand that if we were talking about your dad…
Sorry. I couldn’t resist.
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