It was nearly 80 degrees yesterday in Richmond.

80 degrees.

80 degrees and still people were wearing Uggs and beanies because in fall people lose their minds, and the ability to feel the actual temperature is muted by their excitement for the season.

I get it.

Ok, I actually don’t get it. Because I’m already ready for spring.

These days my Facebook feed is full of two things:

1. Fascinating, kind, and thought-provoking articles and discussions about the presidential election. (HAHA!HAHAHAHA!HAHAHAHA!)
2. Pictures of my friends and their kids at the pumpkin patch

There are lots and lots of reasons to kids shouldn’t have social media accounts, but for my family we’re delaying it as long as possible because of those pumpkin patch (and apple orchard!) photos.

One day they’ll find out that most families take an adorable annual trip to the pumpkin patch, and when they ask, “Mom, why haven’t WE ever gone to the pumpkin patch?” What am I supposed to say?

We don’t go to the pumpkin patch because during the week I’m overwhelmed by taking three kids anywhere, and Hokie football is on during the weekend. (And football is just an excuse, I’m too overwhelmed on the weekends, too.)

Right now they get super excited about our annual trip to Kroger to pick out pumpkins, so why disrupt that apple cart? This year we traveled less than half a mile for half price pumpkins. I let them choose a cart with a car on front, which, if you think about it, is sort of like a hayride through a pumpkin patch.

This year, we got our pumpkins after dinner. Tom stayed home with Mary Virginia, who had skipped her nap that day and was not in the festive mood we’d imagined. Instead of a family outing we divided and conquered and while the boys and I got pumpkins, Tom put Mary Virginia to bed and did the dishes.

See? Doesn’t this sound fun? Aren’t you second-guessing spending your entire Saturday with your family in the sunshine, surrounded by pumpkins and apple cider donuts?

When we got home it was dark so I piled our pumpkins beside the garage door and took the boys to bed.

The next day, I announced to the kids that we needed to move the pumpkins, but I must have done it in an overly-enthusiastic fashion because when we went outside I realized we had miscommunicated. When I said, “Let’s go move the pumpkins from the garage to the porch,” I wasn’t leaving out any steps. I was talking about literal transport of the pumpkins from the garage to the porch. I wasn’t alluding to, say, dressing in coordinating autumn shades of gold and plum and chartering a team of Percherons to take us on a carriage ride from our garage, meandering through the neighborhood, and ending at our porch.

But still, because of this miscommunication we lost Mary Virginia to a tantrum, and so David did all the work himself.

Once the pumpkins were on the steps, David and Mary Virginia sat on their pumpkins, on their own accord.

Even though they weren’t wearing buffalo check or those coordinating autumn colors I mentioned, I had to take a picture.

I took a few photos and then wanted to put Thomas on the bottom step but when I floated the idea David threw up his hand and said, “NO MORE PICTURES, MOMMY!”

But then Thomas climbed up also on his own accord. Then the big kids had no choice. Especially when Thomas climbed to the top step and, just like his siblings, insisted on sitting on top of his pumpkin.

I didn’t just need them for the photo op, I needed them to hold onto Thomas.

As I was snapping photos, a neighbor walked by and shouted, “Cute picture!”

I shouted thanks, then hopped up the stairs to grab Thomas before he launched himself off his pumpkin and face-first down all the stairs. If I don’t have the patience or fortitude to take the kids to a pumpkin patch I definitely don’t have what it takes to take three kids to the ER.

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