It's the simple things.

Sometimes I worry about the future. It's just what mommies do. But it's not always a dread of the "terrible teens" everyone keeps warning us about, or fears about our kids getting food poisoning from the chewing gum they picked up off the ground (why is the stuff so darn colorful?!?). No, sometimes we wonder what our days will be like when no one is singing to us about kittens playing outside in the rain (and wearing their boots, of course), or giggling whenever we ask them were our nose is. What then?

After the initial "What did I get myself into and how many thousands of diapers will I change before this is all over?!?" freaking out is over, and we're up on our feet again, most of us mommies at some point realize that yes, time really does fly (all those grocery-store strangers were right after all!), and so we'd better make the most of it before we're all too old to make campy crafts and read about bears that talk and discuss plans for the kittens to tunnel to the other side of the world.

For me, that's meant that I've finally stopped hoarding stickers for that "rainy day" that never seems to come. We now go through pages of stickers for no other reason than to peel them off one sheet of paper and stick them directly to another. Makes no sense to me, but it does to someone. And what if one day no one wants to play with stickers?

It's also meant that we got our pumpkins not at the grocery store, and not at the giant pumpkin patch filled with bounce houses (and other kids), but at the local farmer's market. Ten minutes away means more time for the corn pool and ride-on tractors and the only swing Elise has ever liked at all.

And I even let Kalina pick her very own pumpkin, relinquishing her to Matt's care so that I neither put any ideas in her head about a smooth, round, pretty pumpkin or a certain price range I had in my mind. Daddy wouldn't stop her from bringing home a warty, scarred, misshapen one, I assured myself, cringing and smiling at the same time. So what if her cat pumpkin this year looked like it had been in a fight? (Because Kalina's always had a cat pumpkin--and has already asked for hers to be carved as such again this year.)

Kalina chose a large, only slightly lumpy one, to my relief. She and Elise then each picked a gourd apiece, Elise choosing hers for its resemblance to a ball, because what could be better to a 13-month-old? Unless it's a market full of pumpkins and gourds, each of them more exciting than the next. It was a good morning for both girls. And a good morning for Mommy and Daddy, too.

Elise paraded her gourd around the entire yard when we got home, even though it was too big for her to comfortably hold, especially since she was also hanging onto my finger for support over the uneven terrain. The poor baby had to stop every step or two to adjust the gourd in her other hand, propped up against her round tummy, lest it fall. I mentally noted that next time I take a 13-month-old gourd shopping, I should buy her one that's easier for tiny hands to haul. And that we should all be so happy with so little as a gourd.

Who needs toys, anyway, when your backyard is covered with leaves? Unless, of course, the toys help you rake. Or at least accompany you as you rake, because isn't raking more fun if you have friends along? Even if they're a bit cumbersome. And it's more fun with kids, too--even if they, too, are a bit cumbersome. 

Which brings us to the leaf pile, and the dilemma of, "Should I worry about the brown recluses, or should I instead worry what would happen if my children were never allowed to romp in leaves?" I'm happy to say--and so is Kalina, but not Elise, who did not trust the pile--that the leaves won.