It started out well enough. Apollo was excited to see me, and I knew all of the other moms. I was in charge of 4 boys--the Sunflower group. We boarded the bus, squeezed in like sardines (three seat belts to a seat!) and made our way to the farm. We planted 4 seeds to start with--bean, sunflower, pumpkin, and corn.
Then we got on the tractor for a "hay ride" to pick some produce. In the fall, they always let us pick small pumpkins. This time they handed out strawberry baskets. We were all pretty excited about the prospect of picking strawberries. When the kids told the "farmer" about the strawberries, he deadpanned: "Strawberries? You're picking spinach." The kids looked at us in confusion. We smiled knowingly and shook our heads. Of course we wouldn't be picking spinach; he's just teasing you. But as we drove past the strawberry fields, paying customers looking at us warily, we didn't stop. There must be another field in the back, we reasoned. We passed apple orchards, horses, tractors in various states of disrepair in a shed (flashbacks to Grandpa McKay's farm) and kept driving. Til we were in a spinach field of all places. (Oops, our bad!) Some of the grownups, still in denial (we really wanted strawberries) looked at the weedy patch and told the kids we must be picking some mystery plant and pointed at the weeds. Luckily, the "farmer" set everyone straight and we ended stuffing spinach leaves into our strawberry baskets. To be honest, the kids didn't seem to mind, and tried to stuff as much spinach into their baskets as possible. (Perhaps it's slightly better than the cotton Tritan picked at his farm field trip in kindergarten in VA--at least we could eat spinach).
Then we got on the tractor for a "hay ride" to pick some produce. In the fall, they always let us pick small pumpkins. This time they handed out strawberry baskets. We were all pretty excited about the prospect of picking strawberries. When the kids told the "farmer" about the strawberries, he deadpanned: "Strawberries? You're picking spinach." The kids looked at us in confusion. We smiled knowingly and shook our heads. Of course we wouldn't be picking spinach; he's just teasing you. But as we drove past the strawberry fields, paying customers looking at us warily, we didn't stop. There must be another field in the back, we reasoned. We passed apple orchards, horses, tractors in various states of disrepair in a shed (flashbacks to Grandpa McKay's farm) and kept driving. Til we were in a spinach field of all places. (Oops, our bad!) Some of the grownups, still in denial (we really wanted strawberries) looked at the weedy patch and told the kids we must be picking some mystery plant and pointed at the weeds. Luckily, the "farmer" set everyone straight and we ended stuffing spinach leaves into our strawberry baskets. To be honest, the kids didn't seem to mind, and tried to stuff as much spinach into their baskets as possible. (Perhaps it's slightly better than the cotton Tritan picked at his farm field trip in kindergarten in VA--at least we could eat spinach).
Then we were admitted into the animal/play area where they could feed animals through tubes and look at them through double fencing.
I am sure that is much more humane than most "petting zoos" but the kids soon tired of throwing corn through tubes and went to play on a myriad of tractor tires, rope mazes, bridges, barrel slides. The only problem was that there were 5 kindergarten classes from our school alone, and there were at least 2 other schools in the play area. I only had 4 kids to look after--piece of cake, right? The thing with 5 year olds, they don't get the buddy system, or at least these 4 didn't. But they are confident enough to run around with reckless abandonment, never looking around for reassurance from a familiar adult. I know this because as I'm scanning the playground, I was constantly losing one or the other--(there's Aidan, there's Apollo, where's Alan?, is that Chris?) until finally I did lose one and had to go on a recon mission. I was sure the missing kid would end up with another school, and finally realize he was lost when he was on a bus headed to inner-city Philadelphia. Sure enough, I found him obliviously playing with kids from another school and brought him back to the fold. And then I went back to continuous scanning (there's Alan, where's Apollo?, is that Chris?) I was relieved when it was finally snack time.
I am sure that is much more humane than most "petting zoos" but the kids soon tired of throwing corn through tubes and went to play on a myriad of tractor tires, rope mazes, bridges, barrel slides. The only problem was that there were 5 kindergarten classes from our school alone, and there were at least 2 other schools in the play area. I only had 4 kids to look after--piece of cake, right? The thing with 5 year olds, they don't get the buddy system, or at least these 4 didn't. But they are confident enough to run around with reckless abandonment, never looking around for reassurance from a familiar adult. I know this because as I'm scanning the playground, I was constantly losing one or the other--(there's Aidan, there's Apollo, where's Alan?, is that Chris?) until finally I did lose one and had to go on a recon mission. I was sure the missing kid would end up with another school, and finally realize he was lost when he was on a bus headed to inner-city Philadelphia. Sure enough, I found him obliviously playing with kids from another school and brought him back to the fold. And then I went back to continuous scanning (there's Alan, where's Apollo?, is that Chris?) I was relieved when it was finally snack time.As I handed out snacks, I realized I had forgotten Apollo's snack. I had put in a juice box, but that was it. So here is fifty or so kindergartners opening bigger than usual snacks with apples, cheese sticks, crackers and my kid has nothing. Luckily, I packed a meal replacement bar in my bag for me, so he gnawed on that. Satisfied that he wasn't going to starve, and that all we had left was to herd them back on the bus, I turned to the one dad who met us at the farm because he had the day off: "It was nice that you could come," I said, trying to sound friendly.
"Yeah." Pause. "You look a little stressed."
"Yup," I nodded. Great.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Spinach and sarcasm, sounds like the makings of a great day! Oh the fun of a fieldtrip hehehe!
ReplyDeleteSpinach! What were they thinking? That is W-R-O-N-G !!!
ReplyDeletethat is HYSTERICAL, all of it. Where does the dad get the gumption to say you looked stressed? Every dad I have seen at the park or community center looks like a deer in headlights surrounded by moms and nannys, but I never SAY that to them.
ReplyDelete