Friday, May 16, 2008
A Farmer I am Not
If you love me...ok, if you want me or my kid to come to your birthday party then please for the love of G-d do not have it at a farm. Please.
As you can probably guess, my 4 year old and I recently attended a party at a farm. I was all excited about the afternoon. I dropped the baby off at my mother's house and took my older daughter and her friend to the party. Most of her class was there and I was looking forward to hanging out with some of the other moms while the children had themselves a fine time at the farm. The weather was perfect. 68 degrees and sunny. Apparently, I missed the idea that this event was at a farm and not a country club.
So we arrive at the farm and begin the trek out to the stream to see the natural spring. After the little boy I was watching stuck his hand in a pile of compost, my daughter decided to see if she could balance on a rock in front of the stream. I caught her on her way down and only her feet got wet.
After that, our 16 year old farm guide let the children into an enclosed fruit and vegetable garden with instructions "not to run" and "not to step on the beds". Wanna guess what happened next? It is going to be a very poor strawberry crop this year on the farm, I'm afraid.
Not heeding the lesson of the berries, our fearless (or high) tour guide then brought us in to the chicken coop with the same "do not run" instruction. In all fairness the kids were pretty good about the do not run rule and the nice lady said nothing like "don't try to pluck feathers off the live chickens". Two of the other mothers were conducting business on their cell phones. In the chicken coop. Another one, was texting her husband about her sudden desire for wings for dinner.
After that, the children headed into a big pen with 2 goats and a sheep. The mothers decided to hang back this time. Wrong choice. My child lost her footing and slipped and rolled down the hill. Yes, there was poop involved. No, I'm not ready to say more. Clothes have been thrown out. Another child angered a goat who went after him. This activity was short lived.
From there, they brought the kids to an herb garden and let them taste different kinds of herbs. Except it was 5 pm and the guide lady called it a vegetable garden. One of the kids wanted corn, mine wanted celery and so the hungry, tired, smelly children began to wail. All 15 of them.
After applying copious amounts of Purrell, we gave each child a chocolate cupcake and went on our merry way. And that, my friends, was the farm party.