The Writing on the Pumpkin

We chose our pumpkins last weekend. The white ones were novel to us, and a little easier on the wallet, so we stocked up on those. Micah loved pulling the wagon so generously provided by the vendor while I loaded it up with the choicest pumpkins I could afford. (Side note: pumpkins are spendy little things.)

He helped me load them into the van, one by one, counting them as we went. He giggled as I put a seatbelt around the biggest pumpkin, sitting on the van seat beside him. And then he gave them no more thought, letting Becky and I do the work of unloading them when we got home while he ran into the house to watch a movie.

The pumpkins sat outside for a few days until I decided exactly what to do with them. There are so many fun things to do with white pumpkins, and I took some time deciding. In the end, I simply painted B-O-O on three of them and set them on a stand in the living room. I know it's not super schmancy, but it's cute, and I can still carve them later in the season. I call it a win-win.

There were still 2 white pumpkins on the counter, their fate being decided upon. Should I wrap them in ribbon in an argyle pattern? Should I paint pictures on them? Fall messages of welcoming tidings? Should I wrap them in black lace with colored leaves as stems? Oh, the possibilities that could happen.

Micah came home from school that day and reminded me that he misses nothing. He followed his usual routine of hugging me (which started the day after I wasn't home to get him off the bus), throwing his bookbag aside, and stripping down to his skivvies. (One has to shed the frustrations of school, I guess. We don't question what that One does. Mostly because he can't answer.) And after he stripped, he found Woody and danced him all over the living room floor.

A bit later, Micah came into the kitchen, grabbed a highlighter out of the drawer, and wrote a number 5 on one of the white pumpkins on the counter, and a number 6 on the other. Being all proud of himself, he had to show me his handiwork, and say "Iiii, iX" as he pointed to the numbers.

My heart swelled a bit. That boy loves math. He's all mine.

And then Micah carried his pumpkins to the living room and set them on either side of my row of pumpkins, because even if he's not letting you know it, he misses nothing in his world. Except for the fact that my pumpkins sported letters and his sported numbers, but he got the general gist of things.