The Green Pumpkin

I am planning to do a recap of our October adventures but this story stuck out to me among all the other little adventures so I figured I'd give it its own post. 

I'm guessing if you read the title of this post you know this picture is not of a tomato. It's the tiniest, greenest pumpkin I've ever seen. I should have put it next to something for scale but if you look in the upper right hand corner of the picture, that's Emma's jacket pocket to put it into perspective.

This story starts out like so many others have lately, with a trip to Emma's cubby at school. It was pumpkin patch field trip day and like any overly excited mother, I wanted to hear every single detail and description of the day. I was also really excited to see Emma's pumpkin because one simply cannot have enough Fall decor around. As I was trying to decode the events of the day from a three year old's perspective, we passed by rows and rows of cubbies. Some were overflowing with papers, others had stray pant legs dangling, and others still were crammed full of bags of diapers but one thing they all had in common, within each cubby sat a perfectly round orange pumpkin. Each one had a name lovingly scribed into the side in Sharpie ink. And I'm sure each one was carefully selected by its new owner to make the journey home.

At this point I was overflowing with excitement to coddle Emma's pumpkin perfection in my arms! However, as we approached her cubby, something strange happened. A wave of panic crashed over me. As I peeked into the cubby, all I saw was the same old predictable, massive pile of papers laying in wait. Confused, I reached for the stack when something caught my eye. Sitting innocently under the pile was a tiny green pumpkin...with a massive dead vine attached to it. I cocked my head to the side and looked at Emma unsure of what this was. There must have been some mistake. "Emma is this your pumpkin?" "Yes," she said sure as ever. I tipped it up and my worst fears were confirmed when I saw her name scrawled across the bottom.

At this point I started to laugh because really, what can you do? Certainly not be upset that your 3 year old brought home the great pumpkin's severely underdeveloped cousin. Of course something like this would happen, it's a metaphor for my life! Even expecting a normal outcome from something so small was too much to ask. I could not even count on having my kid get an orange pumpkin in a world seemingly full of them. Was I being over dramatic...perhaps. As long as Emma was happy, I was ok with the outcome.

That's when my sister shed some light on the situation for me, how special this pumpkin was. Out of twenty some kids, mine was the only one who picked a green pumpkin. She saw the uniqueness and potential in it and wanted to bring it home. She didn't need an orange pumpkin. In fact to her, a big, round, orange pumpkin did not mean perfection. This little green pumpkin, that would have probably been over looked and ended up pumpkin mush, is now adorning Emma's craft table in all it's mighty green glory. Once again, I find myself learning a lesson  from my child, something I knew already but am grateful for the reminder of. There is beauty in everything and maybe even more so in the differences in life. Also, my kid isn't a crowd follower. She really does move to the beat of her own unique drum. I'm so glad I had the opportunity to be reminded of that on a random Monday night.

I wanted to add this picture her school sent home later in the week of her lovingly picking her pumpkin!

The Awkward Mom

I know at least some of you have been there, it’s 6:30am, the coffee pot is gurgling, the dogs are restless for their breakfast, and your toddler’s hair resembles the rat king’s lair. It’s like cribs, rat addition and you could swear you see pizza rat’s pizza in there, fresh with subway grime. After dealing with that situation and trying to throw together some semblance of a healthy lunch you swore you would make the night before, naturally, you get excited when you are ready to head out the door on time. With one fuzzy foot out the door you suddenly realize…you’re still wearing your house slippers.

That is pretty much me the two days a week I take my daughter to school. I foolishly forget that everything takes twice as long in the morning and end up waiting until the last minute to fix her lunch and her hair and make sure she has underwear on (that’s a whole other story.) The last thing I think about is my own appearance. I mean it’s almost a cruel joke that I get to work from home and spend two glorious days looking like a homeless (yet comfortable) bag lady from the  “people of Walmart” site only to have it taken away by a 5 minute public appearance I make at preschool drop off.

There are mornings where I say “f” it and roll up hard core in baggy sweat pants (usually the ones without holes) and whatever wrinkled shirt I can find (or slept in the night before, let’s be honest). But every now and again I do run into other parents at the school and every time I go in looking particularly rough I do get the side eye from the teachers. So in a desperate need to not be shunned by society or give my kid the bad name of “one who has the slob for a mom”, I went to the store to find some respectable, casual, mom clothes.

Before you think I’m a heathen, I do own nicer, casual clothes, just not many (in fact my entire wardrobe is very minimalist these days or should I say has been for the past few years.) Anyways, I marched into the store determined and could not for the life of me figure out what a decent, standard mother would wear. I’ve seen tons of mom blog posts explaining what the “perfect mom” outfit is but I just can’t accept anything that is not comfortable to wear. So after much indecisive thought, I came out with two polo shirts and some flesh colored capris that I didn’t really like. POLO SHIRTS people! Like I’m Miffy about to meet Scott on his Yacht. Nope. Since then I have managed to pull together a few looks that say “I’m not trying to offend your eyes today” every now and then. I am really just hoping people see me as a competent and loving mother.

So far, I seem to have been accepted into the group of mom’s in Emma’s preschool class. They all know each other already being from the same neighborhood and having their kids start together in the 2 year old program (Emma started late, after Christmas.)  I really want to feel like part of the gang but I’ve never done this mommy friend thing before. It’s kinda nerve wracking. I guess maybe I’m trying to get too much out of it. I can’t expect to make best friends but I do want someone to commiserate with over the cranky no nap days and the dreaded sandbox shoes. I just need to work on my conversation skills I guess. It’s crazy after reading this blog you’d think I have enough wit to unload some funny wine jokes or come up with an attention grabbing discussion about the coveted Paw Patrol light up shoes all the kids have in Emma’s class. Yet for some reason, I freeze up. Maybe I’m afraid I will say something not funny or offensive. Here I go with needed to be accepted again. Harking back to my own childhood days where I was definitely an outcast (but loved it.) It's like the recess and cafeteria rules from childhood all over again only this time I'm parading around in a Kmart polo shirt and an odd shade of khaki capris. I guess I just don’t want to be labeled the awkward mom. But really, maybe what I should do is invite all of the moms over to drink in our sweatpants. Maybe we can go wild and bond over shopping for ill fitting clothing online together. At least that keeps me out of the store and less likely to end up on any offensive websites.