Pumpkin Chili, Pumpkin Dip, and Wicked Witch's Brew for #Halloween Party #SundaySupper

DKL's Pumpkin Chili

Hurricane Sandy or as I like to call her, "Sandygeddon," can't stop Halloween. Not in our house, anyway. I ventured to the grocery store because I needed festive cups in which to serve my pumpkin chili. As hoards of people were stocking up on bottled water and medical supplies, I was looking for serving dishes.

These are my priorities when it comes to Halloween and the party we throw for Peanut and her friends. After all, with Sandygeddon coming, this may be the only Halloween they get.

My pumpkin chili was a huge hit, among the adults AND the kids. 

So in the true DKL Halloween spirit, I am sharing three quick, easy, and fun recipes that our guests have enjoyed over the years for this great #SundaySupper theme. An entree, a sweet appetizer or snack, and a drink. All of them are sure to make your party extra spicy and spooktacular. Enjoy:

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I'll Pick Nothing and Like It

"Millions saw the apple fall, but Newton was the one who asked why." -Bernard Baruch

What's the big idea?
(This guy was on to something.)

What is it about this time of year that turns parents into gluttons for punishment? Maybe it's the need to squeeze every last ounce of outdoor activity out of the beautiful autumn weather before the relentless chill of winter descends. Maybe it's the lure of deliciously picked fruit to serve as healthy snacks and turn into scrumptious desserts. And maybe, just maybe, we're under the delusion that as soon as summer ends, our house absolutely must be decorated with pumpkins this very second. What other reason do we have for wasting a perfectly good Sunday afternoon picking apples or pumpkins or - for heaven's sake - both?

My Director and I gave up this trivial pursuit a long time ago. It sounds good on paper. It even looks good on paper, or in pictures. But in all honesty, it's not nearly as much fun as we think it's going to be. And all we really want is a cute picture of our child with a pumpkin. You know it. I know it. So we should stop doing this to ourselves. 

First of all, you're never going to get good weather. If you get a perfect fall day, play the lottery because you're on a lucky streak. Chances are it's going to be so hot that it feels more like summer. But you're dressed for fall anyway (for the pictures), sweating your a$$ of in jeans and a sweatshirt. If it's not hot, it's muddy because it recently rained. The weather makes dressing for this adventure an adventure in and of itself. It's bad enough I never know which wardrobe combo to go with this time of year: cargo-shorts/long-sleeve t-shirt or jeans/short sleeve t-shirt? And footwear? It could range from boots to sneakers to flip flops. I love autumn but sometimes the wardrobe anxiety makes me yearn for winter just so I can put on a coat and be done with it.

Vehicle required to take your family "picking."

No matter what you wear, you're going to feel filthy from sweat or actually be filthy from mud. If it is muddy, you're definitely getting your minivan stuck in someone else's tire track trench slop when you park. That will force you to call one or two of the strapping young farmboys on the payroll to help you push your swagger wagon free. This will make you feel less manly because a) you drive a minivan and b) you're unable to navigate it out of a tire track mud trench. 

In between docking and freeing your minivan from the slop, you're waiting for a glorified tractor-pulling-a-flatbed that they have the nerve to call a "hayride" because they throw some bales of hay on there for you to sit on. You can't hear a word your child is saying because the tractor engine is humming so loudly you're sure you're never going to hear properly again. Yet you know whatever she is trying to tell you is life-altering because she hasn't spoken until that point. You see, she's decided to mask her enthusiasm about this supposedly pleasurable endeavor. Either that or she just knows.

This is a pumpkin dumping ground, not a "patch."

You arrive at the pumpkin patch only to realize what you knew all along: there is no pumpkin patch. This isn't where they grow pumpkins. It's a field where they dump a bunch of pumpkins for you to pick. They bring the pumpkins out here on the same deafening tractor-flatbed that you just paid $10 a head to ride out here. And they overcharge you for the pumpkin too. Maybe your miserable little angel realizes this as well because she suddenly decides to be uncooperative. She's tired. She's hungry. She's hot. (Because the weather never cooperates.) She doesn't want to get messy. She not only refuses to smile for a picture, but she is throwing the godfather of all hissyfits in the middle of the pumpkin patch Superfund site:

Ok I'll come clean: This may have scarred me for life.

You finally have your apples or pumpkins or both and you're so exhausted and filthy you can't imagine having enough energy to carry all of this crap that's going to spoil before you get it back to the car. You realize at that point that you have so many apples and pumpkins and they took so much physical and emotional effort to pick that you'll never eat another apple or carve another pumpkin as long as you live. The line for the fake non-hayride tractor-pull back to the parking mud pit is 3/4 of a mile long and you're behind the two kids who are fighting with each other and the two dads who are paying no attention to them because they're checking their fantasy football scores. That's another thing: I'm missing a day of football for this. Just because my favorite team is on a bye doesn't mean I don't have football to watch. It's appointment television no matter who's playing.

Do yourself and your family a favor. Just go to your local farm store or garden store and buy some pumpkins and apples without all of the production and drama and be done with it. Spend quality time with your family some other way. Buying pumpkins retail and watching football at home.  Get your picture on the front porch and be done with it. How do you like THOSE apples?

To read the full story behind the Peanut-crying-in-the-pumpkin-patch photo, and why I'll never go "picking" again, click here. 

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The Age of Precarious

"And I will warn you now that not their blood but your suspicion might build evil in them. They will be what you expect of them." -John Steinbeck

The terrible twos have one hell of a public relations machine. That's all you really hear about. Even before you have children. Well, we're living through the terrible twos. It's a daily grind with its ups and downs. But overall, not so terrible. 

Until...

We are being told of a another, lesser-known, seldom mentioned phenomenon approaching. I'd never heard of it before. It's called the "trying threes."

The name itself is pretty lame. You can see why the "terrible twos" get all of the publicity: great name, great anticipation involved (albeit nervous anticipation), great drama. 

The "trying threes." Sounds made up, right? I thought so too.

Now I know... the terrible twos are apparently just a warm up.

At a moment's notice, she can go from happy, smiling, singing, to throwing herself on the floor and screaming and crying because she doesn't want to take off her jacket. As a result, the priest is now on speed dial.

But I'm renaming the "trying threes." This, my friends, is the dawning of the "age of precarious." God only knows which age - if ever - it will end.

At times like this it's best to call an audible. Like in football, when you know the play you called isn't going to work against the defensive formation. That split-second decision can win or lose the game.

There we were one October Saturday, like so many other families, picking pumpkins at a local farm. Everyone wants that magical, adorable, memorable snapshot. The child holding the pumpkin. The child walking amongst the pumpkins. The child frolicking amidst the pumpkins.

We got none of that at first.

Our daughter could not have been less enthused. She could not have been less cooperative.

You could almost sense that she understood perfectly well that this was going to be a walking activity. Yet, she insisted on being carried... and only by my wife. My wife, who is starting to complain loudly and not all too indiscreetly that her "back is hurting" because our daughter is "getting heavy" and that she "can't carry you around as much anymore."

She was whining, crying, complaining. My daughter was, not my wife. 

So we put her down in the pumpkins, let her cry, and we huddled up to decide how we should proceed. Do we stick to our parenting plan, and make this excursion miserable for all of us, or do we want to have fun with our daughter in the pumpkin patch?

We called an audible.

We made her stop crying first. And in exchange for her peaceful compliance, we picked her up. Rather, my wife picked her up. She was fine after that, and so were we. The remainder of the expedition was enjoyable. Laughter ensued. Smiles surfaced. Memories - happy ones - were captured.

There is no rule book, no playbook. There are just reams of blank paper awaiting the chapters of her life.

You never know what defense she is going to throw at you. The schemes, the blitzes, the coverages. She's a mad scientist. You just have to be prepared to change your strategy when your plan isn't working. Line up in the shotgun. Run a reverse. Fake a punt. Sticking to your guns and digging in your heels is just plain stubborn and childish. It's a recipe for disaster. You will lose. Your child will lose. The people around you will lose. Misery will ensue.

So expect the best, but prepare for the worst. And if she gives you her worst, change the play. Make chicken salad out of it. For your sanity. For hers. For everyone else around you. What other choice to you have?

It's a new age. The age of precarious. Time to be flexible enough to come up with a new approach in the blink of an eye. 

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