kidSPIRATION By Ann Pieramici
A Day at the Fair A life lesson, pumpkin not included.
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he pumpkin sat on the red and white clothed picnic table under the warm sun waiting to be judged. My daughters, ages 8 and 10, had spent several hours the prior day decorating the two-pound gourd, readying it for this moment: Its official entrance into the Pumpkin Decorating Contest at their elementary school’s annual Country Fair. Being an especially craft-challenged mother, I did as much as I could. I drove the girls to the pumpkin patch and set them free to argue over which pumpkin they would choose. After some debate and compromise, they settled on the off-color, slightly lopsided, grooved one. At that point, I did what any good mom would. I directed them to the beautifully round, deep orange, smooth specimen sitting in the same patch. Much to my chagrin, they wouldn’t budge. So I kept my mouth shut and walked past the picture-perfect pumpkin. Once home, the girls charged into the house to start their creation. I begged them to wait, as I had packages in the car, emails to answer and a dishwasher that required unloading. “Just give me twenty minutes and then I’ll help you,” I pleaded. “We know what we want to do mom,” my younger daughter responded. The girls spent the next hour or so working together in their playroom. Every so often they would run upstairs for a cup of water for their paintbrushes or tape or glue. “You are not actually putting scotch tape on the pumpkin, are you?” I nervously questioned. “Don’t worry,” Arin, my older daughter responded, adding, “You can’t come down here to see it until it’s finished!” It was done about an hour later at which point I was invited downstairs for the unveiling. With complete candor, I can say that I was (imagine a dramatic drum roll) underwhelmed. The girls had used gray paint to make a face. Then they took the 16
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eyes from an old Mr. Potato Head and affixed them crosswise, along with just one yellow, plastic triangular ear. Using purple Halloween fangs and white putty, they fashioned a mouth, centered around two small pink heart cutouts left over from Valentine’s Day. The nose, a gray round rubber mass, was positioned in place with a green pushpin. Topping it off was crazy black pipe-cleaner hair. Suffice it to say that it was obvious that the girls had decorated their pumpkin with absolutely no parental supervision. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Unless of course your child’s pumpkin is competing against the art teacher’s son’s pumpkin or any of the incredibly crafty parents’ kids’ pumpkins, who exist in mass at our school. Driving to the Fair and thinking about those artistic, involved mothers, I gently told the girls that there was sure to be a lot of really great pumpkins, likely created with the help of some parents and not to get their hopes up. Yes, I’m ashamed to admit that I actually told them their pumpkin was “a mess” and “would not likely win.” That’s when my 8-year-old daughter Lily put me in my place, saying
A Role Mommy Magazine l Holiday 2010
“Mom, that really hurts our feelings. We worked hard on this and did it all by ourselves.” I credited her wisdom and once again, shut my mouth. The Fair was a wonderful success. The girls were responsible for registering their pumpkin (which they did) and then had the day free to walk around all the booths with their friends. I busied myself volunteering in the lemonade, cakewalk and stuffed toy areas. It was at this last booth, when the five-hour Fair nearly ended, that Lily came running up to me screaming she had won something.” At first I thought it was the raffle. But no, Lily was screaming that Mr. Cross-Eyed Pumpkin Head got first place in the “Funniest Pumpkin” category. A small gold trophy sat beside the gourd, which now appeared to be smirking (at me anyway) through its plastic fangs. It was in that moment that I realized it wasn’t the pumpkin that was being judged. It was me. I had failed my kids by not believing in them when instead I should have applauded their independence and creativity—messiness and all. They were the ones that taught me that my idea of the “mom approved” pumpkin was completely different from theirs —and that was ok. In fact, it was more than ok. It was perfect. ■
Ann P ieramici Ann Pieramici is a freelance writer with more than 20 years publishing experience, having worked for Country Living, American Heritage, Hearst Special Interest and National Geographic Traveler magazines. She currently freelances for the Montecito Journal from her home in Santa Barbara, CA. She lives with her husband, two crafty daughters, a dog, and one award-winning pumpkin.