Ordinary at Last

When R and I were in the beginning years of our marriage, sometimes in the fall we’d go to a local pumpkin festival. It was a very family-oriented event. We’d look around and see all the parents pushing strollers or standing in the pumpkin patch with toddlers and knew that we weren’t ready for that yet, but still, it was fun to go.

And then we decided we were ready for kids. And, well, you know how that went. So the pumpkin festival, with all those happy families, stopped being fun.

And so we stopped going.

Now, thanks to Miss A, we are one of those stroller-pushing couples. And as ridiculous as it sounds, I have been looking forward to the pumpkin festival this year almost as much as a kid looks forward to Christmas morning.

This week, R’s mom was on fall break (she works at a school), R’s dad took the week off, and R’s aunt and uncle, who hadn’t yet met Miss A in person, were in town. R and I took Friday off in hopes that it wouldn’t be quite so crowded, and all of us including my mom went to the pumpkin festival.

We had a wonderful time.

We sat Miss A among the pumpkins. She was not amused by this, so we didn’t get any photos of her smiling, despite our silly antics out there in the middle of the pumpkin patch, but the pictures are still cute. We watched the pig races and ate chili and cornbread for lunch. We bought a pumpkin pie and pumpkin bread, and a plain old-fashioned pumpkin. Miss A’s first pumpkin.

Mostly, we were an ordinary family that was enjoying the day. Looking at us, you wouldn’t know the hell we’d been through in order to have our moment in the middle of the patch.

Never have I loved ordinary more.