And so. Our weekend evening at the pumpkin patch...
Correction, our weekend evening at the LARGEST pumpkin patch I've ever seen in my life ...
This was only the third field.
Asking Everett to pick a pumpkin is like asking a perfectionist to pick a favorite item, when all he has to choose from are things that are dirty and scuffed. Terrible analogy. Never mind.
After much deliberation we finally settled on a beautiful, white, round one just big enough for his arms. He literally bounced up and down with joy when we broke the wipes out and cleaned the dirt off his perfect pick.
This here is a red pumpkin. Don't you hate it when your favorite filter ruins everything?
And what IS it about babies on pumpkins? Why do we do this to them?
Today we'll go with, don't know, don't care.
Two little heads bobbing through a hay maze.
I suppose it's appropriate that Everett was born the day before Halloween, because the man loves him some Halloween paraphernalia. When he jumped behind the mummy for a picture, I was like, "Kay smile!" and he was like, "Nooo! I'm being scary!"
Everett was initially thrilled with his first mechanical bull ride, but then got bored because the operator had the audacity to take it easy on a three-year-old.