A Utah Family Travel Writer's Adventures with Altitude
P.S. I think Speedos would work better next time around.
P.P.S. If this version has glitches, see it here.
I am exceedingly bummed that party season is over but rest assured, our Halloween festivities went out with a bang.
Bode and I attended Haddie’s preschool party where we played with worms, decorated cookies, made bags of popcorn hands and watched Hadley flirt with the cutest boy in class.
I blame the kitty/bunny-turned-cat ears/playb*y bunny costume.
That night, the party raged on. We live in a new development with loads of families and we always have a huge parade that is led by a firetruck.
Bode was in his element.
Though I didn’t have the heart to tell him firemen are notorious for their association with Dalmatians, not husky dogs.
(As a side note, Hadley has been obsessed with getting either of those two breeds. In an attempt to dissuade her, we did some online research. I determined that Dalmatians are not snugly and husky dogs are not nice family-friendly dogs. So, guess what Haddie prays for every night? That huskies will become nice and for Dalmatians to be snugly. The good Lord must have a sense of humor.)
The Great Pumpkin miraculously survived until Halloween, though it was oozing great, orange gobs of greasy grimy pumpkin guts. The stench could be smelled a couple of houses away. I secretly hoped some teen-age punks would do us the honor of smashing it for us on Halloween night.
They may be punks but they’re not stupid.
We awoke on Saturday to find our pumpkin unscathed. And so Jamie had the disgusting task of disassembling it and hauling it over to the new pumpkin patch to use as compost.
I stayed as far away as I could and busied myself with taking down the Halloween decorations. I quickly realized I did not have enough bins to accommodate everything. Disgruntled, I went out to Jamie and complained about my situation.
Our month of festivities is drawing to a close. To be honest, Halloween itself is a bit of a letdown after all the parties, trunk-or-treats, pumpkin patches and weigh-offs. My only solace is The Biggest Shopping Day of the Year is on Saturday.
Last week, there was a carnival and trunk-or-treat at the church. I volunteered at one of the booths and my infamous hat from Salem made its debut. I boasted about it to Jamie afterwards.
“My hat was a hit!”
“Oh really? With whom?”
“With everyone I told how cool it was.”
An essential ingredient to any Halloween is, of course, cute children in costume.
Note: Haddie’s kitty ears were unintentionally cut-off in this picture, though maybe it was more of a subconscious effort. The dear girl broke the original kitty ears headband and I had to resort to folding over some rabbit ears. She looked like a playb*y bunny gone bad. Really bad.
And then there was Haddie’s big Halloween party. There was fantastic, creepy food that included eyeballs, dried scabs, bone breadsticks and a goopy green chocolate fountain.
I added something new this year. Many of the kids are 4 years old and in my opinion, ready to be traumatized spooked. And so I did what every good friend would do:
I delegated the responsibility to my friend Tina.
She went above and beyond–she decorated our basement for a spooky storytime and had a fun story, complete with tactile visuals.
Fortunately, there were no victims. Well, with the exception of our brand-new carpet that met a few worm/spaghettio droppings.
And for those who have not been privy to our failed attempts at a group photograph each and every year, let us stroll down memory lane.
Nice to know some things never change.
The kids and I look forward to receiving the Toys R Us Christmas catalog every year. As we were thumbing through oooing and ahhing on Sunday, imagine my delight to stumble upon Hasbro’s latest treasure prominently advertised: a Ouija Board. In pink, even.
It’s not that I am not a believer in The Dark Arts. I am a believer, which is precisely why I take issue with the presence of a Ouija Board at a toy store. There are many grey areas in this world.
This one is black.
I posted this on our forum yesterday at Mile High Mamas and I was surprised there were many people who did not take issue with it. The Ouija Board is targeted for ages 8-12. So, my question for you is this: would you buy your 8-year-old child a Ouija Board?
I saw it in full force when my mom owned a popular tea room & gift shop and had a tea leaf/palm reader come in a few times a week. When I was 16, I had my tea leaves read by James, a complete phony whose predictions made me laugh and I wrote off psychics completely.
But we weren’t laughing a few years later with Aziza.
Aziza (whose real name was Bernice–BWHAHAAHA) was a popular tea leaf reader and she had a huge following. Wealthy women would spend a lot of money on her counsel and they lied to their husbands they were going for therapy. For them, Aziza was therapeutic.
I liked Aziza. She was the first palmist we’d had who wasn’t a complete freak but I did not give credence to what she did until one day, a large sum of money went missing. When my brothers and I were in college, my mom would buy back American money from the shop’s American patrons (the exchange rate was a lot higher at the bank). She stashed it in the house and would frequently send us American money.
One day, she went to the hiding place to get some money and it was gone. She and my father were the only people who knew of the secret stash and she was devastated. She went into work that day and Aziza, sensing something was wrong, insisted my mom sit down for a tea leaf reading.
My mom did not tell her anything but Aziza saw something. Two men, one of whom my parents knew. She saw these men come into my parent’s home to do some work. She saw their vehicle. She saw the friend leave and the stranger stay. She saw the stranger take something valuable.
Possibly the biggest understatement made by fundraising kid as she looked at our 755-lbs pumpkin, Halloween countdown sign and abundance of decorations: “So, do you celebrate Halloween?”
Halloween isn’t all we celebrate. Every Monday evening we good Mormon folk gather our little flock together for Family Home Evening. For those not in the know, the official definition is:
Family home evening is a special time set aside each week that brings family members together and strengthens their love for each other, helps them draw closer to Heavenly Father, and encourages them to live righteously.
The Johnson Family definition:
Family home evening is a
specialharrowing time set aside each week that brings family memberstogetherat odds with each other and strengthenstheir lovetheir resolve to throw tantrums thereby needing to encourage them to live righteously [by not hitting one another].
Or something like that.
In an ideal world, we would all gather together, link arms and sing Kumbaya. Sometimes it happens that way, many times it doesn’t. The reason? We have two small children who do not always like each other. So in FHE, we try to appease the sibling rivalry and sing a song, say a nice prayer, have an uplifting lesson and then a fun activity.
Most of the time.
Unless Jamie is in charge.
It was his turn last night. A few minutes prior, I asked him what he had planned.
“We are going to watch the Broncos together!” he announced gleefully.
Trying to be the supportive wife, I answered, “That’s fine. We’ll come down and watch with you. Though that in itself doesn’t seem like a very appropriate Family Home Evening activity.
“Don’t worry. We’ll start the game with a prayer.”
We had a busy weekend at Casa Canuck. Lots of finish work on the basement and what would a Saturday be without huddling under a canopy in the rain for a pumpkin festival? It wasn’t just any pumpkin festival but the place where The Obsession began last year.
As if we needed even more publicity, our city’s paper ran a picture of us on Thursday of Jamie’s big win last year so we were like mini-celebrities among the pumpkin geeks growers.
We bought some hot chocolate from the Boy Scout stand and the woman selling it to us raved about the entries but then proclaimed, “But those are nothing. You should see this pumpkin that is on display on some guy’s driveway.”
My father-in-law took third place with a 183-pounder and Haddie’s 83-pound pumpkin also took third in the children’s division (because yes, it is a family affair). She wasn’t all that invested in the competition due to the inclement weather but perked up when she realized she won a gift card to her beloved McDonald’s.
A cute little family won the adult division with a 300-pounder. I walked up to the wife to warn her that this was how The Obsession started for my husband last year. She was even the spitting image of me: curly blonde hair, pumpkin-obsessed husband, with two small children.
Saturday night, we went with four other couples to see Les Miserables. I have the CD but have never seen it performed and was blown away. Whenever I see such a production, I often envision my life on stage.
Don’t get me wrong: my voice doesn’t shatter glass and I don’t sound too badly.
Until you take the earplugs out.
And pumpkin grower extraordinaire is not one of the choices.
I have many dear friends who struggle with infertility. My heart aches for them on their quest to become mothers.
My sweet Mary Ruth, who once strolled the streets of Jerusalem with me, has begun her own path. After 10 years of interfertility, she gave birth to little Joseph Boone Francks last week.
A light at the end of a very long tunnel. A thousand congratulations to her!
It now has a new home on our driveway and has become our neighborhood’s most popular attraction. And that sign? I spent spent $30 of my Jamie’s hard-earned money to surprise him with it.
I like to sit hidden on the porch and watch passersby slow down to gawk. I am, however, having an adverse reaction to the whole thing. If someone drives by and does not stop to admire it, I get offended. Much the same as I felt when people would not gush over my cute babies.
Because I am not above 1) capitalizing upon The Great Pumpkin and 2) exploiting my cute child in the process.
So, here’s my question: how do we dispose of The Great Pumpkin when The End is Near? A great chainsaw massacre? BB gun? Axe? Great Pumpkin Smashing? And if we planned a party around its birth, do we do the same for its death?
It’s the moment you have all been waiting for: the true glimpse into The Dysfunction of the Crazy Clan as we party in honor of The Great Pumpkin.
If you don’t like pumpkins, walk away now. And don’t come back until after Halloween. Later this week, I will do an interview with Mr. Lord of the Gourds whom you know only as my king of one-liners. In his humorous way, he will answer everything you have ever wanted to know about his freakish hobby of growing freakishly big pumpkins. So, please ask away in the comments below.
Now, onto the parties. It did not start well. You see, we had to borrow our neighbor’s trailer in order to haul The Great Pumpkin. I knew I was in for it when Jamie asked me to help him hook the trailer onto our SUV.
“Jamie, are you going to yell at me?”
Ten minutes later, the trailer pummelled down our driveway and landed on our flower beds. Evidently, I did not do a good job.
And yes, there was yelling.
But onto more important things….
The makings of a pumpkin party are:
1)The Great Pumpkin. And yes, we did decorate the canopy with [what else] pumpkin lights.
2) Food. And excited children to eat the food (Hadley’s own pumpkin served as our table display and she placed third in the children’s competition the next day!)
3) Pumpkin pie. Please disregard the blasphemy-that-was-the-apple-pie that dared to crash our pumpkin party.
4) Prayers to The Gods of the Great Pumpkin for the strength to move it.
5) Eight big, strong men [stupid enough] to haul it with The Lifting Tarp…
…and who can still smile when it’s over.
6) The tear-jerker ending as the sun sets on the now-empty pumpkin patch.
For details of the big weigh-off, go to Jamie’s blog, Denver Pumpkins. He has a slew of pictures of the crane they used to haul these beasts as well as some cool shots of the prize-winning pumpkin.
Oh, and a parting shot of Father and Son. And yes, Jamie did have that shirt custom-made. Did you really need to ask?
It’s a big weekend in the Johnson pumpkin patch. Friday, Jamie is having an Open House for his pumpkin (yes, you heard correctly). I am sure hoards and hoards of people will come to watch it…sit. And engage in stimulating conversation such as fertilizer…and bat juice.
Jamie says the Open House is just a ruse. What he is really trying to do is lure people to his parent’s backyard so they can help haul the beast out.
Why?
The big weigh-off is on Saturday. Conveniently, I have to work at a Baby Expo the whole weekend. It wasn’t planned. Really.
Featured is the picture Jamie included on his invitation for his Open House.
Didn’t receive an invite? It is because:
1) You live too far away
2) We don’t like you
3) I like you too much to submit you to an open house celebrating an inanimate object.
4) All of the above
So, here’s the big question: have you ever or would you ever attend an open house for a pumpkin?!
