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So we have one of those small, preschool sized, Little Tikes basketball hoops in our living room. You know, just a few feet tall, strong enough to endure the wrath of an (almost) three year old.  Patrick and his dad play all the time. Me? Not so much.

“Patrick, let’s go have some lunch,” I’ll say. “No, Mom.  I just shooting.  Basket.” is his reply.  He practices dunks, he tries “long” shots.  He uses soccer balls, volleyballs, golf balls, you name it.

I’ve watched my two boys play “against” each other (both in their underwear, I might add). I’ve watched the (almost) 32 year old boy attempt to dribble the ball in and around his legs like a Globe Trotter.  I’ve watched Patrick walk back several feet from the hoop, dribble like he was going to attempt a free throw, then run up to the basket and dunk it as hard as he could.

Funny stuff?  Yes.  But nothing prepared me for the funniest moment in (our) basketball history.  And this time, I was the one who was the cause of the humor!

Patrick decided that it was a good time to play basketball. My husband and I were sitting on the couch together.  They were taking turns making shots into the hoop that was about 4 feet away from us.  Then Patrick said, “Mama’s turn!” and gave me the ball.  So… I was sort of laying down on the couch, and my right arm was tucked under me.   I used my left hand (the non-dominate one) to throw the ball.  And I missed.  Total airball.  My husband said, “Don’t give up!  Try again!”  So I did. And missed again. 

At this point, Patrick begins to sing this silly song from the show Yo Gabba Gabba.  For those not in the know, Yo Gabba Gabba is a show on Nick Jr. – it’s this crazy dj guy who has these dolls that come to life and sing songs about not hitting your friends or that eating too much candy will make you sick. 

So he starts singing this song. ”Keep trying, keep trying, don’t give up…you’ll get it right…you’ll get it right…”  And he gives me the ball back. I threw it toward the hoop…and missed AGAIN! (Now remember: I’m lying down on the couch, using my non-dominate arm, not really a sporty kinda girl…)

Patrick, still singing, then proceeds to push the basketball hoop closer to me so I could make the shot.  Smart boy! My young son already knows that atheticism is not his mother’s strength and that she’ll always need a handicap…

Laughing hysterically, I threw the ball into the hoop to the shouts of, ”Yay!  Good job!” from my two biggest supporters.

Fall is finally here.  Yippee!!!!  Nice weather, crunchy leaves, pumpkins…I love it all! 

Last week Patrick and I went on our first field trip…to The Pumpkin Farm with his preschool class.  I was so excited!  This is just my thing – memory making for Patrick, memories from my own childhood, fun, fun, fun.  It was to be one of those days that give you that warm, fuzzy feeling and makes you just love being a mom.

Though it sure didn’t start out that way…

It was raining when we got there, so that was kind of a drag.  The rain, however, was the least of my worries – Patrick, my beautiful son, who I had been prepping all week for the experience, couldn’t get past the “I want to pick pumpkins – NOW” part of the trip.  He’s been talking about picking a pumpkin for days, “We go pumpkin patch Thursday. Babick pick pumpkin.”  Alas, I had neglected to tell him that we pick pumpkins at the end of the day….argh!

When we arrived, of course the first thing he saw were the piles of pumpkins.  How do you explain to an almost three year old that there are other activities first, that you must WAIT in order to do the very thing that your mother has been promising you for a week?  There were animals to see, the corn  maze to walk, the hayride!  But no. All he wanted to do was pick a pumpkin.

Picture this: me squatting down with my backside dangerously close to the muddy ground, manuevering a purse and umbrella in one hand while I attempt to prevent a whining, limp as a ragdoll boy from literally throwing his body down in the mud.

Me:  Let’s go see the animals Patrick. Look, there are chickens!

Patrick:  No chickens!  Pick pumpkin! 

Me: We will pick pumpkins today.  But we have other activities to do first.  Look!  There are sheep and goats too!

Patrick:  Nooooooo….go home!!!!

And at that moment, in the midst of the writhing and whining, we were called for our hayride.  By this time, the rain had stopped (thank goodness) so at least I had two free hands to lug the ragdoll boy onto the wagon and plop him down on a (very wet) hay bale as he yelled, “No!  Go home Mama…go home!”  Even better?  The driver of the tractor thought our group belonged to another class and had us get off of the wagon, walk to another wagon, where he figured out his mistake, turned us back around and had us get on the original wagon.  Ugh!  All the while I’m carrying a whining, muddy child who doesn’t even want to get on the wagon anyway!

My thoughts right then?  “This, my dear son, is a harvest tradition…we will do it every year…you’d better get used to it…and you WILL do it whether you like it or not!”

And with that, we sat (again, on the wet hay) and our ride began.  It was then, as soon as we started moving,  that the (and you moms know exactly what I’m talking about) magical transformation began. “Mama!  Motorcycle!  Train!  Flowers! I see pumpkins!”  The whining boy became the cutest boy in the universe in 2.2 seconds as we rode the wet, dirty, hay bales down the bumpy road. He relaxed. I relaxed. We even giggled a few times.

After the hayride, we went through the corn maze and climbed a haybale pyramid, smiling the whole way.  Patrick didn’t even complain when I told him that we weren’t going on the slide (waaaaaayyyyy too many wild and crazy kindergarteners were in the line).  We looked at the animals, had a snack, and then, finally – he picked pumpkins. 

I let him pick any two that he wanted…he looked around for a bit, then found just the right ones. One is stemless and bumpy (and a little soft, according to my husband), the other a bit lopsided.  But they are PERFECT sitting on our “in between” wall, dividing the living and dining rooms.

Though we had a rough start, the morning ended just as I had hoped, making memories with my son on a beautiful autumn day.  As we drove home, I asked Patrick what his favorite part of the pumpkin patch was. He said, “My favorite part was….ride on tractor!” 

My favorite part?  That warm and fuzzy feeling….loving being his mom and experiencing childhood all over again through his eyes.