In case you didn’t know, I’m not the fun parent. I don’t carve pumpkins, color easter eggs, make homemade valentines or whip up batches of Christmas divinity in a poinsettia embroidered apron. So, you can imagine my delight when Cory and Drew came home from grocery shopping the other night with a small pumpkin. Drew announced with enthusiasm, “Now we can make our OWN homemade pumpkin pie!” I looked at Cory as if to say, “You couldn’t show him where the canned pumpkin was?” But he totally misunderstood me and thought I said, “Excuse me while I check my fantasy football scores.”
The pumpkin is resting on our counter where I’m confident it will stay until someone goes, “What’s that smell?” and I’ll sigh and put on my best fake disappointed face and say, “Don’t worry kids, Costco was made for parents like me.” We’ll throw the spoiled pumpkin in the trash and I’ll drive to Costco to buy the eight dollar pumpkin pie, except when I get to the checkout line the cashier will probably say, “That will be five hundred and thirty-three dollars, please” because I didn’t anticipate such a screamin’ deal on corn.
Some of you might worry that Drew will be disappointed. It’s okay, he’s used to it. And if he’s really sad I’ll just show him this picture.
Yeah, that ought to take care of it.