FALL IN NEW YORK

Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I run up to Huck's little school to pick him up, learning and friends still flush on his cheeks. As we walk home he tells me about his day and about all his friends (his favorite right now is a boy named Victor, but Huck says "Fukter," which . . . well that's the whole point of having kids, I think), he teaches me the new songs he's learned and I tell him some of the things I did while he was at school. Each afternoon, as the leaves crunch beneath Huck's shuffling feet as he walks his little boy steps home, he'll eye the swirling leaves on the sidewalk carefully before asking, "Mom, is it still fall?" And I'll say, "Puppy, it is still fall!" He turns this over in his mind, trying to spin it into a positive I guess (now that he's decided winter is his favorite on account of snowmen), and then he'll say, "Is it at least Halloween then??" Without fail. Friend, you don't even know. Fall is rockballs awesome. Get with it!

The changing seasons have been so much fun this year. Having a Holbrook so new to the concept of things like crunching leaves and bustling winds, corn still in its stalk, that certain buttery yellow sunshine, warmed hands around a cup of something hot . . . the joy of brushing cinnamon and sugar off on your pants after eating an apple cider doughnut . . .  caramel apples! Sharing it with a curious preschooler is some really great stuff. We are all loving it. 

ALTHOUGH: kid ate his first caramel apple the other day the way you'd eat a slice of orange, leaving the caramel peel behind, handing it to me, all "here Mom, I'm done," like he was tossing scraps to a dog, and I'm like, Dude. We need to talk about this. 

We've watched a lot of It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, and Huck had been jonesing for a pumpkin patch of his own, so we set off this weekend to find ourselves the most sincere pumpkin patch in all the land, with not a sign of hypocrisy! Just sincerity, as far as the eye can see! On the drive up we passed Tarrytown, and to distract Huck from his mild car sickness (whyyyyy?), I told him the story of old knobble-kneed Ichabod Crane and his fearsome headless horseman. I told it with flair, Randy Lovin would be so proud. When I was finished--songs and all--Huck asked me to tell it again, and then again, and then again, and after the third time Brandon threw his hands in the air and said, "No more! I can't take it!" That story got real detailed there by the third round. What color was Katrina's dress again, Huck? What was the Van Tassel primary crop? Anyway, I've long dreamed of the day that old grouch pants Brandon would be outnumbered by a family of Natalie nerds and let me tell you, it is just as magical as I imagined! 

And now is when I throw some pictures at you. From the drive up . . . 

. . . and a few more from our day at the patch.