Here is a post from one year ago today, my second post ever on this blog. Since pretty much nobody read it back then, I’m re-running it.
From September 21, 2008
Yesterday we went apple picking, a very fall-ish thing to do. Never mind that fall completely blindsided me one day last week with an overnight 30 degree drop in temperature. Summer slips by more quickly every year. I like fall, but what it really means is that winter is right around the corner. I'm a glass-half-empty kind of gal.
Anyway, back to the story. After the apple picking, which was fun, we took a little drive into the surrounding countryside. And we came upon a farm, way up on a hill, that had set itself up as a kind of a pumpkin patch/Halloween fun town. We drove halfway up the hill and parked on the grass with the three other cars. The children were bouncy with excitement. But wait, Daddy wants to get the picture that I want for my blog (see above). He gets out the tripod and sets up the camera. Stand over there. No, sit down. No, move over a tad so there's a little bit of tree in the picture. Great! Okay, hold that while I run and get into the picture. Repeat entire sequence four or five times.
The kids did pretty well. Not too many complaints and no candy bribes needed. The two youngest start charging the rest of the way up the hill to fall funland. We rein them in and approach the ticket booth together. Two teenage girls man the booth and greet us pleasantly. The tell us there is a haunted house, a maze or something, some playground stuff, and pumpkin painting, but you have to buy the pumpkin. It all looks very charming, and like they've put a lot of work into it.
So, how much is admission? Kids are $10, adults $7. Wait, kids are $10 each? Handsome and I do some quick mental math and look at each other. Forty-four dollars? Nearly $50 for pumpkin painting, and we have to pay extra for the pumpkin? I don't think so. We apologize to the teens, and head back down to the van. After pausing in disbelief, Pinkerbelle throws back her head and lets out a shriek which rings out from the hilltop. Tears squirt from her eyes. Skippy balls up his fists and stomps ahead to the van, lips trembling and eyes watering. Firstborn, who is almost too old for this kind of thing, uncharacteristically spares us the theatrics, but is a little disappointed nonetheless.
Hey, it's all about making memories, right? Good thing we took the photo first!