Pumpkins.

We took some friends and flew from the city in search of a pumpkin patch today (at the very last minute - the eve of Halloween). The wind was biting and cold, but the hay ride and tractors were still running and we found our pumpkins.





Marguerite is now an expert pumpkin carver. Last year, she still agreed with her dad when he said the guts of the pumpkin smelled bad. This year, her tune matched mine. She loved it. Pumpkin guts smell like childhood.







Our friends agreed more with Xavier (since they are French and this was their first time carving pumpkins), but soon enough, their hands were slimy and they were loving it. François even took on the seed-separater post.



Marguerite took a break outside to take a phone call (where it was quieter). It was her doudou's cousin on the line (doudou is the small white piece of fabric she is often featured carrying around). Doudou's cousin wanted to know if she could come by for Christmas. Marguerite was giving the address. Doudou's cousin also wanted to make sure Marguerite knew that she is still too little for cereal, even without milk and that at the moment, she is ill.



I took out the drill at some point and made a polk-a-dot pumpkin.









Xavier thinks that all of our pumpkins resemble their creators. The little one is Mlle.'s, who drew the face and we obediently cut (the cross nose and all). Xavier's is the demonic smiling one (carved very precisely, a la Xavier). François and Elizabeth win the best pumpkin award - and it was their first go.