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Over the years, B and I go to a specific pumpkin patch with the 3 shrimps to seek out the pumpkin that best suits each child. He conducts this search with the precision of an archeologist digging through a site, convinced a treasure awaits his discovery.

This talent is one of the many reasons why marriage to B is never boring. Maya tends to get oval pumpkins with prominent stalks. Sophie gets round squatty pumpkins with short stalks. Ryder gets bright orange small pumpkins. 

This year, however, our neighborhood pumpkin patch did NOT look like this on October 3oth.

Understandably, the patch was virtually ransacked. A wet and empty pumpkin patch is really an undesirable place to visit. Rotting pumpkins were strewn on the floor and drenched emptied haystacks littered the patch.

The kids were dramatically disappointed, and the mere suggestion of buying pumpkins at a grocery store was met with more derision than a Tea Partier at an Occupy demonstration.

Fortunately, their frustration was short-lived. They amassed such a ridiculous sum of candy on Halloween that B and I have resorted to pilfering candy every night.

Thievery — what heights we’ve reached.

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