We enjoyed some smoked meats and drinks and friends on Saturday. We did not enjoy the Georgia football game. Emma took a two and a half hour nap. (insert Hallelujah Chorus here). It was a fun day, you know, except for the painstaking dismantling of the Bulldog defense by a team from Missouri. That kinda ruined the rest of my day. So, I drank Apple Pie and wine, cause I'm festive...and a lazy bartender.
And then there was Sunday. The day that we were to be initiated into the parent-trap known as the PUMPKIN PATCH. I felt it necessary to drag Emma, who would probably be just as happy to terrorize the Apple store or Harris Teeter, and take many pictures of her doing the Halloween thing that kids her age make their parents do. It was all pumpkins everywhere and corn crib and feeding the animals and hayride through a questionable corn field and a housing development. They must be lucky homeowners to get to smell tractor smoke and body funk from patch-goers all day.
But we headed to Ganyard Farm with the idea that Sweet Cheeks would experience pumpkin picking and all things fall for the first time. She fell asleep on the way there, dispelling any myths that the patch tired her out, since it was the clearly the riveting morning activities her mommy planned that tuckered her out. She ate spaghettios in the middle of the cornfield, along with teddy grahams. Just like they did in the olden times. When swimming pool sized vats were filled with corn, and stroller parking was a necessity.
There were fathers everywhere with babies strapped to their chests, reminding me of a Chris Rock movie set to rap music. There were mothers running down to the end of the slides (big pipes set up on bales of hay) fearing for their child's safety. There were grandparents and farm workers, all sucked into the fact that kids these days require a place to pose with a pumpkin and some goats. I like to conform, so there we were with Sweet Cheeks in tow - complete with her Halloween "Boo" shirt on. Again, I'm nothing but festive.
David took her over to feed and pet some goats. "Don't feed the pigs - they have sharp teeth" the sign says. Well then, ok. Not trying to get my baby killed by a pig living in the city limits of Durham. Emma stood there and kind of petted the goat while David fed it a dried out piece of corn. It was a touching moment. Those are gonna be some fat goats by the end of pumpkin pickin season.
We then tried our hand at the "bales of hay" maze, cause it wasn't a corn maize or the amazing maize maze or what have you. It was a little kid maze that you could circumvent by just climbing on top of the hay. Emma needed some prodding to keep walking, but she finally made it, managing not to touch the bales of hay. Because it did not feel like her satiny blanket.
The three of us headed over and hopped in the little kid corn crib and I very much kind of enjoyed it. Because, pool of corn yall. It was comfortable and I could probably watch a football game there. Emma, however, did not like it. Miss Prissy Pants didn't like that she couldn't move and was not equipped to handle the fact that corn = not satiny blanket. We made her go down the slide and tried to cover her in corn. It ended with me covered in corn and Emma just cackling at the demise of her mother. Some of the corn made its way into Emma's diaper and my pockets and...
This is when
Made some lovely memories that Emma won't remember, but hey, free pumpkins. (free meaning the low, low price of an admission ticket)
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