Monday morning was the pumpkin patch day at school. Every year, the parent advisory committee brings in 800 pumkins and scatters them all over our back field. The kids all then go out and pick their pumpkin, to be used to all manner of activities in the classroom.
In our room, we wrote about our pumpkins, we measured our pumpkins, we weighed our pumpkins, we drew our pumpkins, and we drew ON our pumpkins. No carving. Nooooo carving. Twenty 6 and 7 year olds with knives? Nuh-uh, not gonna happen. We did, however, have a carving demonstration hosted my moi with our class pumpkin. SO FUN! I got to totally gross the kids out with 'pumkin brains.' Heeheehee!
So one lesson, we were brainstorming describing words to complete the sentence "My pumpkin is..." and the kids were coming up qll kinds of creative words. We then completed the sentece "My pumkin is not..." and one kid said "alive."
"Well, that's true. Our pumpkins aren't alive anymore."
"They were alive before?"
"Well yes..." at which point I launched into a teachable moment about where pumkins come from, that they are a plant, and that all plants are alive until you pick them. "Just like flowers."
So of course, you can tell the wheels are turning and one boy looks up with wide eyes and asks, "So we killed our pumkins?!?"
"Well, yes, but that's what they're for!" Killing. Pumpkins are for killing. Good one, Hillary.
You can bet that every kid wrote, "My pumpkin is DEAD." in their descriptions. My pumpkin is big, orange, and DEAD." Well, ok, not EVERY kid. There was that one grade two girl who put her hand up to ask, "Miss Hillary, how do you spell 'sexy?' "
"Sweetie, your pumpkin isn't sexy. Choose a different word."