Pumpkin pushers

Pumpkins. What is their allure, anyway? I’m not referring to the pumpkin spice latte revolution, or the intoxicating effect of a pumpkin muffin, or blessed be, the coma-like bliss that follows a piece of pumpkin pie.

I’m talking about the pre-slaughtered pumpkin in its unedited form. The one we travel miles to procure at the nearest pumpkin sweatshop patch, where we fight the crowds to capture a single photograph of our precious children looking like Autumn Angels amidst a bunch of relatively tasteless vegetables (those delicious lattes and muffins AREN’T EVEN MADE FROM REAL PUMPKINS YOU KNOW).

And it works! Those photos never fail to please. Even the most rotten child would look like a saint sitting next to a pumpkin.

Look at this precious image:


You would never know that my oldest daughter is actually in the midst of a Turd Ferguson-style temper tantrum and just told me I was the “worst mother ev-er.” All you see is tenderness, gentle souls, and pumpkins! Ahh pumpkins. Gourds of glee. It’s impossible to resist their enchanting ways.

Even Creepy Baby looks like an innocent cherub when flanked by pumpkins.


I’m so pleased with this setup that I’m going to leave her on my doorstep like this until Christmas.

Wordless Wednesday

There is this thing in the blogosphere where on Wednesdays, you just post a photo and no words. The blogger peeps call it Wordless Wednesday. It’s a fun way to avoid having to write a post.

Of course my posts are so irregular that I don’t usually write one anyway, but this week I’m going the Wordless Wednesday route in honor of Halloween, and in honor of my newfound love of The Walking Dead.

I always thought I was a vampire girl, what with my love of True Blood (Eric Northman, you can bite me any day), and my questionable decision to read and watch the Twilight series. But lo and behold, turns out I love me some zombies too. Perhaps I just have a general obsession with the undead.

I realize this isn’t really wordless at this point. But it IS Wednesday, so I give myself partial credit.

I wore a wig out of the Halloween bin for extra effect.

It’s days like today, when I look at what I’ve accomplished so far this morning, that I think, “Hm. Maybe I should get a job again.” OR I could just make a couple more zombie photos.

I used picmonkey‘s Halloween photo editor, which I learned about from this post by The Bloggess. Happy Halloween!

My Halloween is officially haunted

Since the birth of my first daughter I have impressed upon my husband the importance of exposing her to the right kind of messaging about ‘beauty’ and what constitutes ‘being pretty.’ I have been relentless in reminding him about the damage that can be done to young girls even at a very early age if they hear or see us putting too much emphasis on physical beauty.

With the birth of our second daughter, the stakes grew even higher. Doubled, some math experts might say.

I repeatedly remind him that the rest of the world will expose our girls to so many negative ideas about beauty and body image. It’s imperative that we model healthy behaviors, words, images in order for them to be strong, healthy, confident women.

I have beaten this issue so far into my husband’s brain that he is afraid to compliment my appearance in front of my daughter. He knows better than to say, “Doesn’t Mommy look pretty?” Surely this type of overt acknowledgement that I have showered and am wearing something other than yoga pants could instantly set my daughter on the path to an eating disorder, prostitution, or drug use.

Instead, the only compliment he feels safe saying is, “Doesn’t Mommy look . . . tall?” However he has recognized my height so many times that now I fear she will have a complex if she is anything shorter than 5’10”.

Now that you’ve seen a glimpse into my neurosis, I’ll share a brief tale from last week.

We received a kids’ costume catalog in the mail. I flipped through it quickly and saw the usual superheroes, a witch, some princesses (don’t bother pointing out the damage those Disney divas can do…trust me, I’ve already thought it, but I’ve found it impossible to avoid them completely…I just filter as much as I can).

I needed something to distract my daughter from her impending meltdown, so I gave her the catalog while I fed the baby.

Imagine my horror when 20 minutes later I walked over to the couch and found her gazing with wide-eyed fascination, and I dare say adoration, at this:

Here kitty kitty. Meoooow.

and this:

Tight skirt, wings and a wand. Is that a bird? A fairy? Let’s just call it a flying hooker.

and this:

A tramp sandwich. Because everything is better with bacon.


HOW did I not notice the skanky adult costumes lurking in the back of this catalog?!? HOW LONG had she been staring at these photos of sex kittens and porno fairies and slutty Sriracha sauce?

How much damage has been done here? Do I need to ship her to an Amish home for the next 10 years?

I tried to act calm and just took it away so we could eat dinner. Then at the table I casually asked her if there were any costumes she liked.

With a naughty lilt in her voice, she saucily replied, “I like the grown up costumes.”

I am so screwed.


Lyz Lenz wrote this funny/disturbing post recently about inappropriate Halloween costumes for girls. Initially it made me feel better – hey, at least my kid isn’t wearing one of these! Then I realized that in fact my child has skipped this kiddie porn category and gone straight to the big leagues. Good job filtering, Mommy.