As I talked about baptism, Babs joined the conversation: I don't want to be baptized! Fine, I replied, knowing better than to take such a statement from a toddler seriously. But Kiddo didn't, and informed her that she could get baptized when she was 8. There was a fair amount of back and forth, involving many statements about not being baptized by Babs, many about being baptized by Kiddo, and a discussion of whether or not Mommy would be baptizing (let's be clear: I will not be). By the time we got to the farm, Babs was converted, and yelled frequently for the first five minutes "I want to be baptized!" to anyone who might walk within 50 feet of us. Luckily, other kids started showing up soon, which distracted her mission.
We spent the first 20 minutes inside with some other girls from preschool, but then interests diverged, and then it was just me, Kiddo and Babs. There were pygmy goats, which meant they came up to Babs' chest. One was roaming outside the pen when we first got there, so we got to pet it. I finally convinced my kids to feed the animals, "That tickles!" was both of their assessment of it. But they loved it, and went back again and again to get more feed. Babs especially loved feeding and patting the one that was wandering around. I eventually convinced them to see some other things.
We pet baby chicks, and baby pigs. We visited the turkeys, and saw the horses. With a lot of help from the farm workers we got milk from a two cows. And we rode on the hay ride, which was absolutely a thrill.
After the hay ride, I was pretty much done, so I convinced them to do one more visit to the goat, and then go home. Except first we had to go through the maze. And then see the hay bale sculpture. But then I walked them to the pumpkin pile, just before the exit, and had even picked out two of our three pumpkins, when Kiddo heard the announcement. She really wanted to go see whatever fun was happening at the gathering of people. So we went to learn more about heifers (do you know the difference between a heifer and a cow? I didn't). While there we also got to see a short pig race, which is always exciting for Kiddo.
The rain that had gently come and gone throughout the morning started to come down more seriously while we were learning about heifers, and Kiddo asked for my jacket to cover her head. I went to get her own jacket, and realized that we had lost her hoodie.
Sigh, sigh, sigh, for many reasons. It was green, so it wouldn't be obvious on the grass. We'd been a lot of places since I last remembered seeing it, so we had a lot of ground to cover (hilly, grassy ground, with at least one kid in the stroller because they were now too tired to ignore it). And, perhaps most frustrating would be Kiddo's inevitable reaction when she learned it was gone. She is petrified of losing things. She won't watch shows when things get lost (even though she knows they will be found), she won't read books about losing things. She does not like things to be gone.
I was not disappointed. Kiddo was distraught. After a few minutes of fast negotiating, she accepted that, no, I could not make the jacket un-lost just by saying so. And the crying started. And continued. And continued while we wandered around the farm area, looking for a small sage green hoodie.
Kiddo, worn out before realizing the jacket was gone, sat in the stroller while I pushed it around. To her frustration and sorrow, I put Babs on her lap so I could just push both of them. (Wow, that stroller is amazing.) Babs wasn't quite sure why Kiddo was crying, and alternately tried to hug her to help her feel better, or cried along with her. I found neither actions particularly helpful.
Before too long, it was too hard to keep the crying up, so she racheted up the behavior to loud wailing. It was then that I put my foot down and said: There will be none of that. I will accept crying. But there is no wailing in public. And so she returned to loud crying. (She was not happy I took this picture. But I figured after how long she'd been crying, I deserved to document it.)
After walking by all the places we'd been, there was still no hoodie. Babs was now walking. I parked the strolled near the exit and told Kiddo to stay put so I could a) ask at the lost and found, b) pick out my pumpkin, and c) check near the turkey pens. I could do all these things within sight of her, and was tired of pushing the stroller.
About now, this whole experience had moved to high comedy. I had no luck at the lost and found. But I also realized Babs was no longer following me. I turned around to tell her (with very little patience) "Come here!" She looked at me, looked at her feet where she was standing in a dirt patch, and whined "I can't! I stuck in the mud!"
I picked her up (easily, as there was no mud to be stuck in), carried her to the stroller, set her next to the stroller, and informed her she would be walking with me to the car, and started pushing. It should be noted that Kiddo was still crying, and Babs was still whining.
I finally reached the car, and turned around to see Babs had stopped 15 feet back. She put on her saddest face and yelled "I just want to be baptized!"
