If You Like to Talk to Tomatoes

It started because I fell in love with Peter Peter's pumpkin at Idlewild's Storybook Forest. I came home obsessed with the idea of having a giant, pumpkin play house for our back yard.

I e-mailed Mark Cline. He offered to make my dreams come true for only three thousand dollars. I figured the work of a genius was more than worth it. Jim encouraged me to start playing the lottery. "If you win three thousand dollars," he said, "I won't say a word."

In the meantime, I started doing some serious research on how to make my own, giant pumpkin out of fiberglass. "I'm going to do it," I told Jim, "and then I'm going to make a giant shoe to stand beside my giant pumpkin. And then I'm going to start selling giant shoes and pumpkins. I'm going to be just like Mark Cline."

"We'll figure something out about the pumpkin," Jim said.

I love that my husband never really laughs at me, also that--if he thinks it will make me happy--he'll do everything in his power to make it happen in some sort of frugal way. It's brilliant, really; he's still in touch with what pleases children (and me), but he's also a financial genius. 

So this morning, Jim hollered: "Hey, Honey! Come look at this! It's not a pumpkin, but it's pretty close!" I couldn't believe my eyes. "You need it, don't you?" Jim laughed. "I've already sent an e-mail."

I heard from the seller while Jim and the girls were napping. I crept upstairs and leaned over Jim. "I'm taking the truck," I whispered, "to get the play house."

"I don't know if I like the idea of your going by yourself," he whispered back.

"I'm not going by myself," I told him. "I'm taking the Black Belt."

He touched my face. "I love you," he said. "Be careful."

I sang the Veggie Tales Theme Song, off and on, the whole way there.

If you like to talk to tomatoes

If a squash can make you smile

If you like to waltz with potatoes

Up and down the produce aisle

"I'm so excited," I told Cade. "Every little child should have a giant tomato playhouse in the back yard."

"The thing is, Mom," Cade said, "I don't know of any little children who have giant tomato playhouses in their back yards."

"That's only because their mommies don't have the vision I do," I joked. "I'm imagining this as a giant tomato of happiness. Jim and I are going to want to spend time meditating in there. Your friends--Sam, Andrew, Landon, Evan--are going to want to come over and hang out in there, and you're going to say: 'Not this week; I'm in the middle of a good book and using it, myself.'" 

Cade rolled his eyes and laughed. I bought him a root beer float for being a good sport.

So, at the end of the day, it isn't a giant, Mark Cline pumpkin, but--at 1/30th of the cost--it's good enough for me. Until I win the lottery.