Some days are just without words. They are….dare I say….perfect. The days when you don’t have a headache, your house is spotless, the weather is nice, there are no arguments within the household, your child is being the child you meant to raise….and everything is just in harmony. Traffic is clear, no bills in the mailbox, no stops on the way home. I’m sure you get my point. It started and nearly ended perfect here. Who knew a pumpkin would bring Elijah to tears? I joked about it. He smiled back at me. No tears. Sometimes, Elijah can be an emotional wreck when things don’t go exactly as planned in his little world. I’m not talking “hey, we changed our mind - no Chuck E Cheese tonight” and he throws a fit. I mean, he could be coloring a picture and mess it up, and next thing I know, the paper is wet from tears as he continues to correct it. He can generally not be consoled in these moments. He is beyond reason. He just wants to finish the project and move on. Put it behind him and get over it. I brought home two pumpkins tonight. Two reasons for imminent failure. I’ve been here before. I’ve carved the most imperfect pumpkins you can imagine. We haven’t carved pumpkins in 4 years. In 2006, Jason brought home three pumpkins, ringing in a total of $60 worth of messy goo, wacky carvings, and a bitter contest on which pumpkin was the best. I couldn’t imagine where you would find a pumpkin for $20 but Jason did. Not only did he find one, he proceeded to buy three. He was angry as he unloaded them, griping about the high cost of pumpkins. Wal-Mart is the devil. “You bought these at Wal-Mart? Are you kidding me?” I asked. They were big but not plated in gold. While I’m sure Jason had grander visions for the pumpkins, I knew the real torture that lay ahead. They wouldn’t even be worth a $1 when we were through with them. Elijah, of course, didn’t help at all. He was three. He barely remembers it.
Tonight, however, he’s vested in this project 110%. I merely cut the tops off so he could have access. I snicker, hoping this will be the last time I have to buy pumpkins. He was cranky just cleaning them out. The first reach in was fun. Aaah, yes, it’s messy and cold. By the third and fourth time, he was wanting me to put the camera down and help. I wouldn’t dream of it. He whined his way through it and I even convinced him to clean the second one out. We stenciled a bat onto his pumpkin. I explained to him, gently, that the bat on his pumpkin is not going to look like the bat on the picture. I know his expectations were unreal. But he took to it, slowly and tediously carving away at the pumpkin. I heard a complaint or two come from him, occasionally. Overall, I was rather impressed by his composure. Finally, he decided to cut the bat short and not finish it. The task had become to large for him to complete it successfully. Elijah knows his limits. He’s amazing that way. I smiled, knowing he was happy with what he had done. Things can change in an instant with Elijah. And it did. He was cleaning up his design. He had felt so confident in skills now. Things went downhill from this moment. He stood back and looked at the finish product…when he noticed it. A bat’s ear was missing. It had been there at one moment and gone the next. He looked inside the pumpkin and found the missing piece. Tears fell quickly.
“It was so perfect until I did this.” He held up the ear. “And I can’t blame you.” He reiterated all the perfect things about the carving: the ears, the body, the face, the one ear. *sniffle*
I tried to hug him and tell him it was still perfect. He wasn’t having any of that. He wanted a solution and he wanted it now. He wanted tape, glue, staples…anything to put this ear back on.
“We have to, at least, try to save it, mommmmmaaaa.” He whined, rubbing dried pumpkin all over his little face. He was defeated by the pumpkin. He was done.
Just like our pumpkin-carving days.
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