Field Trip to the Farm

Can I take a mulligan for this whole day?

The signs that we should skip the field trip began early and were persistent: 1) woke up looking like I had pink eye, 2) weather channel said the winds would be unusually strong gusting up to 30 mph, 3) couldn't find peanut butter to use for sandwiches and the most obvious, 4) Gavin saying over and over, "I don't want to go to the farm today."

If I could live today like Bill Murray did in the movie Groundhog's Day, I would not get out of bed. Maybe the kids and I would have stayed in our pajamas all day and watched Disney movies over and over. Sounds more rewarding and less exhausting than what really happened.

Here's the breakdown of my near breakdown:

We got to Cox Farm for our fun day with Gavin's preschool at 11:20. The lady with the entrance tags gave us a big speech about how she's NEVER LOST A CHILD in all the years she's run Chantilly Academy. That streak ended today.

I learned from my previous visit to the farm that you ditch the stroller and make do with a backpack full of food and other necessities and haul around your slow walker, which is fine unless you drop your child. That also happened today.

We stopped by to hear Farmer Jack (who is actually a very accomplished musician with a fantastic voice) regale us with cow stories. Then Gavin milked Daisy. Who is a very sweet cow, by the way, until she poops and it sprays all over. Luckily Gav only got one speckle on his pant leg.

Those are pre-poop pictures.

Then we started the slide extravaganza. If you aren't familiar with the Virginia landscape, it's very hilly--which is why they can build awesome slides here. But, this is not Disney Land. There are no moving walkways to get you to the top of the hill. You have to haul yourself, your children and your stuff up the hill before sliding down. Because I was the only Mother with an "assisted-slider" (aka Laynie on my lap) I became the unofficial watcher of my two other children. Their mothers waited at the bottom of the hill with cameras ready while I hiked up the mini-mountain with all four happy campers, got the three preschoolers safely down the slide, then careened down with Laynie. Gavin was always the first down the slide, I was always the last down. It's easy to see how we could get separated when the the two moms were busy talking to each other and taking pictures of their children.

I came down the slide and said to one of the mother's, "Did you see if Gavin went back up the hill?" She hadn't noticed. So that's when the frantic search for my three-year-old began. Luckily, I'd guessed he'd gotten bored with the Volcano-themed slide and went on to the Miner-Tunnel Slide the next hill over. So I literally sprinted up the hill to see if I could get a look at him (Laynie tucked football style under my arm). And there he is with a farm worker and a cell phone. He calmly informed her that he couldn't see his mommy and she was simply going to dial the cell phone number I'd stuck to his shirt.

It shouldn't have been a big deal, but it was. We were separated for less than five minutes, but that's enough to give any parent an anxiety attack.

I was done sliding.

We moved on to the goat enclosure. Even though the farm was packed, the goats hadn't gotten very many visitors and were hungry. Laynie was not afraid of the goats. Until a big one knocked her down and it and several other smaller goats trampled her while trying to get to the goat food I was holding. I knocked the goats out of the way, one actually head-butted my hip, and made our way out of the goat pen.

She was sad.

But recovered when we saw the baby pigs and picked out pumpkins.

So, we're done. I have two pumpkins, two children, one backpack, and one bag of kettle corn. I'm carrying Laynie along and everything else when Gavin decides to grab my arm and lift up his legs. His extra weight plus the wind was just enough to pop Laynie right out of my arms. I kind of snagged her before she totally went face first into the ground, but she pretty much face-planted. Luckily, where we were standing was covered in hay. She was fine, I was fine, but I felt horrible. I dropped my child (and two pumpkins).

All I can say, is NOT AGAIN! At least without another adult or until enough time passes that I forget what today was really like. And as all you mothers can attest, our self-esteems protect themselves with a barrier of forgetfulness.