*right gourd.

I'm sure my mother is somewhere yelling, "REVISIONIST HISTORY!" but as memory serves, I have never in life carved a pumpkin. I was none too concerned about that fact, because I loathe Halloween something fierce. (Exceptions will be made for babies and pets. Otherwise I think it's an excuse for college girls to dress like strippers and college boys to dress like women. And yes, I am crazy old lady K on my street. I do not hand out candy, and I don't want your kid knocking on my door. Unless he is unbearably cute, in which case consideration will be levied. Tell him to have his tap-dance routine perfected, is all I'm saying.)

L Sis is incredibly persuasive, however, and before she could say, "Do it or I'll shove you into the corner of the couch with my feet and kick you until you do what I want because you are too stupid to just get up off the sofa," I had been seduced by this lovely thing.



That's a pretty punkin. I mean, it's blue. You are JEALOUS, I know.

A&E also got pumpkins, because they are the appropriate age for this sort of activity. I was the overgrown child in the scenario, which Lord knows suits me just fine. A had to have the biggest pumpkin she could find.



Don't let that heavy-lidded expression fool you. This child was scheming. She somehow managed to get her complicated pumpkin stencil scored and carved, which required many hands and hard labor.



And yet somehow her investment in the effort consisted mostly of this:



SMART. We could all learn a thing or two about that brand of Tom Sawyering.

I finally had to have a therapy session with myself about picking The Perfect Design. The general neurosis level was teetering dangerously on the edge of full-blown OCD. I wanted it to be simple, and tasteful, and sophisticated, and elegant, and ohmygodit'sapumpkinyoubigweirdopleaselearntohavefunbeforeyou're40.

I pulled out all the guts from the pretty orange inside.



And scored the design through a stencil. L Sis patiently guided me through the process with only the tiniest hint of bemusement.



Then, I carved.



After which followed the narstee part. L Sis said you had to grease up your pumpkin to slow down the drying-out process (not that I have any delusions about this gourd actually making it to the 31st). I may have been a smidge overzealous with the Vaseline.



With that, the Woodside was aglow.



JLB and B pronounced it "New Agey." J pronounced it just "new," and hence highly suspect. There was some timid sniffing, followed by a sneeze I believe was meant to communicate his distaste. Tune in in a few months, when I finally carry the rotting carcass to the garbage. Because I'm just that responsible. Happy Pointless Holiday!