Margaret’s Day Of Obligatory Fall Fun

We started off the morning with french toast and bacon with Uncle Ron, but Margaret napped right through that.  She did, however, score a small piece of bread this morning.  Opinion seems to be that wheat is okay after 8 months, so we let her chew it.  I’m not sure that she ingested much of it, but it was certainly good and mangled by the time she was done with it.

We then decided to continue our investigation of St. Louis parks with baby swings.  There is one right next to Leo’s office that has been closed for renovation and is now open.  (Incidentally, should you be in St. Louis with children that can actually play on playground equipment by themselves, may I suggest Clayton’s Shaw Park?  They’ve got a bunch of things that look like they would be both safe and fun, which is impressive in a park these days.  Seriously, I remember slides being 50 feet high.  I’m sure that that is my mind exaggerating, but they were a lot higher than the things we have now).

We didn’t end up going on the swings (there was a birthday party with a band and a knight using them), but we did have a nice walk.

Which Margaret appeared to enjoy.

 

And she went down the slide with Daddy.

Looking, we thought, gratuitously like her Aunt Helen in the process.

We then decided to go and get a pumpkin, since it is almost Halloween, and this afternoon was pretty much our last chance to go to a pumpkin patch to pick one.  It had become clear that we did not have enough commitment to the idea of the pumpkin patch to get organized and drive to one.

So we went to Mr. Wizard’s instead, and set Margaret among the pumpkins.

 

She looked around for a pumpkin she liked.

And finally found one just her size.*

 

Which she quickly put into her mouth.

And decided that she didn’t really care for pumpkins.

*One of my earliest memories of pumpkin patching is a trip taken by my 3-year-old preschool (or at least when I was three).  It was repeated and repeated and repeated that we had to get a pumpkin we could carry ourselves, and my small brain imagined some sort of cross-country hike would be involved, so I picked the smallest pumpkin I could find, probably the size of the one Margaret is holding.  I could have carried it for days, I tell you.  Turns out we only had to carry them to the parking lot.  And my mom was a chaperone, and she carried mine.  I could have gotten any pumpkin I wanted.