Three years earlier we came to this pumpkin patch and it was the ideal fall day: chilly and overcast with stunning mountain views. This year we all stumbled along in the hot sun half blinded, wondering why we didn’t bring water bottles, and how oh how was the sun still beaming down so brightly at…

The shade inside the corn maze meant nobody cared how long they were long inside it.

I shall entitle this one, “Miserable child forced to go on family outing.”

We solemnly swear we shall never ever force our families to go pumpkin picking again when the forecast is above eighty degrees.

It’s a new, favorite trend for N to make little signs signaling whatever she is excited about (guessing this is what comes from taking kids to protests?! This particular sign was in jubilation of going pumpkin picking soon). Sign plus bouncing rainbows from my window crystal = a dance party in the kitchen.

I looked outside and they had made their own kites and were running up and down all the front yards, attempting wildly to get them to fly in the blustery wind. They weren’t successful, but that didn’t slow them down a bit.

Breakfast negotiations.

Three generations of S’s.

Outdoor explorations in decidedly un-October-ish weather.

Plotting and scheming their next big Lego purchase.