It's disorienting, to leave an ordinary office and fall into the black outdoors. Also, to be thrust into Christmas-lights season with no warning.
I gathered the kids and we went home, all headlights and taillights and voices in the dark backseat.
Yesterday I looked at our porch and realized: it was time.
We had the jack'o'lantern and we had the potato head pumpkins - wait - "what?" you're saying?
Let's take a moment to offer a love-filled tangent to the glory of Freecycle. Because these potato head pumpkin kits - someone paid money for them. But it wasn't me! But my little monkeys were super-duper-duper-DUPER (that's a direct quote) excited about them.
So as I was saying, yesterday I realized: it was time. I got all Westley vs. Prince Humperdink To The Pain on those pumpkins, first their feet below the ankles, which is pretty easy on pumpkins. Pumpkins don't have many opposable joints. Hands, then nose, etc.
(Please tell me you're following along.)
Then I had to dispose of the bodies. Two deaths by plastic acupuncture and the carved-out face. The circular stab wounds were a little oozy but the bodies were still fairly intact, and disposal was quick and easy. Jack, though, who had illuminated our Halloween so well, had since filled with rain water. His decomposing flesh was swollen and a few straggler seeds floated in the pulpy slush. I lifted him by his haunches and he collapsed inward, splashing his fetid guts all over my jeans and bare toes.
But it had to be done, because the garbage trucks will be here in the morning and suddenly, we're in Christmas-lights season.