It was just a short one hour and thirty-eight minutes up road (Whatever happened to field trips to locations within a twenty-mile radius of the school and only two or three chaperons were needed and everyone rode in the same vehicle, eh?) and where cotton, pumpkins, Christmas trees, corn, and ducklings grow.
On this day and for this particular field trip, we abandoned standard field trip dress code and our better judgement to leave sibling at home, and if you remember a few posts back me saying that my mom was still here...well...we added her to our lists of guests as well.
He giggled like mad as he weaved through the maze...
and tumbled down a "mountain" built from bales of hay.
He picked cotton
and picked out "the very biggest" pumpkin he could find.
We watched as calves drank from bottles, ate a picnic lunch with classmates and other parents, and basked in the very warm October sun.
What is it about a sitter (you know that age between six months and nine) and his pumpkin?
And his drool and his new teeth?
And his big brother snuggled right next to him in this photograph that makes my appetite large enough to eat him whole?
And what is it about seeing my children in the arms of my mom that assures me they are loved beyond what my words can express?
We survived. And so did the pumpkin Jake picked straight from the vine (Others did not. One and a half of the two boxes his was laid in for the ride back from the pumpkin patch and for us to pick up on our way out were hit by another car.).
It's been four days now. The pumpkin we brought home has an "angry face" drawn with crayon, he still reminds me that baby cows are called calves, and still asks if and when we can make a run to the pet store for "one of those baby ducklings just like they had at Baker's Old Farm."
I love that he's becoming an age where he doesn't forget. Bring on the heat, the extra long bathroom breaks so students from four different schools (no, make that five) can take their turn, sneezing, finding our lunch that we packed in a white plastic sack like everyone else did with no name on it stored in the hay loft at the very top of the barn, hand-washing, and the glorious moment of realizing his pumpkin wasn't in ten pieces and bearing the marks of tire tracks. He'll remember everything that was good and fun about this day.
So will I.
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