Every year, The Husband tries to come home from work early one night and help to carve pumpkins. Since he's a chef, and a pretty fancy, trained one, his carving skills are advanced. And he's Swiss, too, which makes him a perfectionist, often to an aggravating degree. He isn't schooled in politically correct parenting, either, so he just can't stand to see a job not done just so. The right way. One day I'll post about what happens at Christmas when he makes a gingerbread house "with the kids." Suffice it to say that crafts led by The Husband don't involve me. I steer clear. I take photos. So here they are:
Henry jumps right on in, impervious to The Husband's admonitions:
Oliver, on the other hand, like a chip off the old block, is upset that his pumpkin face has already been drawn and not by himself.
He will stay like this for a really long time, while great pumpkin-carving continues all around him:
Here he is about a half an hour later:
And then, he reluctantly picks up the drill
and grudgingly starts drilling. A boy and drill is good for the soul.