Smashing Pumpkins, while not my favorite rock group, is now my favorite fall activity. 

My sons no longer wear Halloween costumes and neither even budge when the doorbell rings.  I’m the only one enthused, leaping for the door shouting, “Hey! Come look! There’s a Rubik’s Cube walking a Potato!  Aw, look at the Princess and the Insect Larva.”  So I often pass the Rockwall and Rowlett Pumpkin Patches and see all the moms with their little ones picking out those pumpkins with a longing sense of “I remember when….”

A few weeks into October, my husband announced that his employer was hosting a mandatory fall festival.  They were to wear costumes, feast, and carve and smash pumpkins.  He agreed to make a large mallet for the smashing activity with a floppy handle to make the smash a more challenging venture. 

Our conversation went something like this:

“You have to make a what?”

“A mallet.  You know, like Gallagher’s.”

(Gallagher is the watermelon-smashing comedian famous for pulverizing watermelons with a large mallet during his comedy act.)

“Are you getting paid for this?”

(Translation: Will I be able to buy shoes?)

“No. It’s a team builder thing.”

(Translation: No.)

Once it was assembled, I looked at this idiotic thing and stared at my husband.  Certain the 10 foot long PVC handle would snap during use, I asked,

“Have you tested this?”

He promptly grabbed it near the end furthest from the mallet head and with a grunt heard only before something herniates, hoisted it in the air.  The weight of the mallet head bent the handle like a fishing pole that’s snagged a Marlin.

“That’s totally lame, you know.”  I said with honest sincerity and kindness.

That’s when we added the color-coded labels marking out zones of Mallet Manliness.  Spaced a foot apart were bands of duck tape.  Black was “He-Man,” Green was “Greenhorn,” Yellow for “Yellowbelly,” and Pink for “GirlieMan.”  (Pink ending up nearest the mallet head.)

When the hammer came home, my boys looked at it with eager delight prompting a nostalgic trip to the Pumpkin Patch.  Back at the driveway, the memory difference became apparent as I wiped pumpkin seeds off my forehead and dodged rinds hurling at my head.  I was in a happy place.

The point?  When old traditions are out grown, find new ways to celebrate because new traditions can be “smashing” good fun!