Did I Do Something Wrong, Officer?

No one wants to end their night with the phrase, "Did I do something wrong, officer?" Nobody..........

Everyone knows Fall is one of my favorite times of year, and since I wont be getting to celebrate it this year at a Halloween party, I got my way in getting to spend our date-night evening carving pumpkins and drinking my favorite seasonal Shock Top: Honeycrisp Wheat, while Patrick serenaded our small group of friends by the candlelight on a patio in the cool autumn air, and Stuart cooked us dinner.

Let me tell you, carving pumpkins in the dark with those damn intricate paper tracings that look all cool in the Halloween books (and you think is for kids but is really for experts with way more advanced knifes than the kit supplies you with) brings on a whole new skill level, or in Allison's case no skill level (haha, where did he go, George, where did he go???).

Never having attempted more than a mere Jack-O-Lantern, I struggled with the steep learning curve, and after a couple of severed casualties, was thanking the powers that be for toothpicks to repair my mistakes........well, toothpicks and the detrimental detail that carved pumpkins are mostly admired in the dark.  I hadn't carved a pumpkin in a few years, but as soon as I made it to the middle, the distinct smell of it's guts and the ooy-gooy slimy feel brought back fond memories. I obviously forgot how vigorous an activity carving can be and was thanking Mother Nature for the cool weather when I started breaking a sweat on my second piece of art. Not only was I breaking a sweat, but I was breaking my carving tools like they were made of decades old crayons!

Held hostage by too much fun, we stayed out too late and to make matters worse, got pulled over on the way home. Clueless to what I'd done wrong, I cringed, hoping our evening of laughter wasn't about to come to an abrupt "Happy Happy Sad" moment. As it turns out, I wasn't breaking the law per say.......we unknowingly had a spadoodle......remember that game? Well it's not such a fun game when you're sitting on the side of the road with patriotic lights in your rear view mirror. Letting us off with a warning, the officer also advised us to go straight home, especially since he "smelled alcohol".
Lets be clear here, shall we? I was appreciative of the "warning", but not too naive to know the real reason he pulled me over at 2 am, and to be honest, I was a little annoyed at the insult. Of course you smell alcohol, Dummy. You came to the passenger side window.......the opposite side of where the designated driver sits. Just dare me to get out and take a test. What does 2 beers in 6.5 hours calculate out to: a punch in the face????  

The next morning, it still felt amazing outside, but by the time I had my coffee and we got out the door to admire the Dallas Arboretum Pump Patch, it was already 2 pm and toasty.What could have happened between coffee and 2 pm, you ask? I have no idea. Absolutely no clue! If I had to guess, I suppose I would blame it on the same phenomenon that keeps me from writing as often these days.

The landscaping was gorgeous, a scarecrow's dream land, with cottages and flower gardens made from pumpkins. Pumpkins of all different colors, shapes, and sizes far and wide, mixed with beautiful plants resembling the shades of fall foliage. We tried diligently to get a good picture of Dillon amongst it all, but he basically turns into a rag doll once the sun hits his face. 

"Why is everyone staring at us?" Patrick asked.

"They're not staring at us, Dear. They're staring at Dillon. Don't you know by now that we are chopped liver?" I stopped counting all the aww's and how cute's and look at his hat's. I used to get compliments on my outfits or my tattoos, but now I just get compliments on my baby.......which I can only take half credit for. 

It wasn't until we were all tuckered out and ready to leave that my Mom realized she couldn't find her phone. Convinced she last had it in the pumpkin patch, we rushed back to the most crowded section of the entire park to shuffle through hay and filter through distracted bodies in a frenzy to locate her precious life line. Convinced we'd perfectly retraced our steps, but still empty handed, things were looking grim. And that's when we heard Patrick yelling from the sidewalk.

"Hey dummies!!! I found it in the stroller!"

WHEW! One weekend. Two close calls. Three tired adults and one sleep baby. That's a wrap.