Apple Festival

This Saturday Chris was going to be digging many holes and planting my plant sale purchases (our having eradicated the underground nest of aggressive yellow jackets after three treatments!). It was work I couldn't help him with (being pregnant), so the best I could do was keep the kids out of his way. I knew there was an apple festival at Windy Hill Orchard, so that seemed like a pleasant, inexpensive outing.

But it turned out to be such a frustrating day, I wonder if God just wanted me to stay in bed! We got a late start getting out of the house, so we were all off routine, leaving right at snack time, making more food for me to pack. John kept refusing to do a potty check before we left, so I was refusing to start the car, and that standoff lasted a while. Then I tried entering the address into the GPS system and could not find the town or the zip code, so I figured this must be incredibly rural! I finally had both kids strapped into their seats when I had to march back into the house to print out a map from the computer. I got myself all seated when I realized I had lost my car keys. At that point, being two hours behind my hoped-for schedule, I would not have taken the kids at all if I hadn't already promised John.

We drove off and it was now lunch time, so I stopped at a fast food joint (awful food, expensive). I stopped at an ATM for cash. Then I noticed I had no gasoline, so I had to stop at a gas station. It was now nearly noon and we were still within two miles of home. And this was when I realized that I hadn't found the address because it was in South Carolina, not North. At least the GPS system would work now.

Then I missed my highway entrance. But I figured I knew a "back way" to the next highway entrance, so I'd get there . . . and, of course, I got lost in a rural area near our house. Finally I found a highway exit . . . and missed that one too, having to make another complicated U-turn to get back where I needed to be. Then I drove for 45 minutes . . . and missed my highway exit. (And you must envision that the kids are singing at the top of their lungs the whole time, and it was a time when it wasn't endearing to me.)

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and all these small irritations were making for one mama just about out of control with upset! It all seems so silly now, but not at the time.

We got to the orchard and had to park way down the country road. I realized right away that a stroller wouldn't work on the rough walking surfaces, so I strapped Mary onto my front in the Ergo. While traipsing along, I realized that my knee-high socks had lost all of their elastic. I hadn't realized there would be an entrance fee to the event, and only after I paid it did I find out that it was optional. I had bought us tickets to do various activities, so now I was determined to get our money's worth and do all the activities.

The orchard was cute enough. John had the most joy climbing atop a line of hay bales and running back and forth on them with some older boys. Frankly, if that's all he had done for the two hours, he'd have been really happy. But I had purchased those tickets, so I doggedly hauled the children from one activity to the next instead.

There were goats.

We picked pumpkins (came with our ticket price).

There were pigs . . .

. . . and chickens.

We stood in line for 20 minutes to ride the hay ride (came with our ticket price), but the line got halted right before we could get on. We were informed that the next ride would be a whole 30 minutes away and I simply couldn't stand my pregnant self in line with 30-pound Mary strapped to me for that much longer. So I took us to the Johnny Appleseed story time (came with our ticket price). We got a seat (and above is Mary "smiling).

The most fun the kids had at the story time was bouncing on the bench as in this video.

But I had forgotten a cardinal rule when parking our car: I should have required John to do another potty check in the little (clean) portable potty I keep in our vehicle. But, no, I thought of it and didn't do it. And as soon as we got our seats at story time, John needed to find a restroom. I asked the ticket lady if we could leave and come back, and we could, but we had only five minutes to do it. I raced us to the only potty option (our car being parked way down the country road): horrible, disgusting, revolting Porta-Potties. I begged John not to touch anything, but, not being able to help himself, he did. I washed his hands with Purell afterward but my mind was racing with the fact that alcohol-based washes do not kill Norovirus, which is exactly what is carried in the kind of stuff one would touch in a Porta-Potty.

With cross eyebrows, I marched us back to the story time in the nick of time . . . and there were no seats left. So we sat on the dirty ground. And the story teller's microphone was not loud enough so my children (now seated way in the back) couldn't hear anything that was being said. I must add that I had a humorous "I live in the South now" moment, as I could strain to hear what was being told. The story of Johnny Appleseed emphasized how he carried the Bible with him and evangelized wherever he went. And then the story teller presented us with the Gospel plan of salvation, down to the Jesus Christ nitty gritty. I thought it was all a wonderful hoot (because I believe it) and, of course, being in the South, nobody seemed the least bit bothered or offended. Let me tell you, you would not get the same response in my home state of California!

After story time, we raced back to get in line for the hay ride (pulled by a tractor). We had to wait through two rides (oh, Mama was tired of standing) and then it was our turn.

Then we picked a half peck of apples. John is not smiling here because he insisted he was strong enough to carry the bag, but he wasn't and his pride was wounded.

Now, two hours later, it was time to leave. But John was having such a good time that he wanted to stay. I explained gently but firmly that Mama was really tired (each phase of pregnancy has its own brand of tiredness!), we had done every activity there, and we simply had to drive home. He refused to walk. He balked. He jerked his arm away from me. I threatened various punishments. I crouched down and gave him a lecture about gratitude and that instead of throwing tantrums, he should be thanking me for taking him on such a fun outing. One of the punishments was that I held John's hand while we walked ("if you're going to act like a baby, you're going to be treated like a baby"), which caused him to walk along weeping bitterly, and many mothers clucked their tongues at us (whether in sympathy or condemnation, I don't know). When yet one more time John refused to keep walking (down that long country road, remember?) and lost the privilege of walking without holding my hand, I took his hand again. We were now at the parking lot surrounded by people and John shouted, "You hit me! You hit my back! That really hurts!" I growled back, "I did not even touch your back, John!" He reiterated repeatedly and loudly that I had "hit" him (as if I ever do that) and it "really hurt." If there was a time that I wanted to say, "I'll give you something to cry about!" this was one of those times!

And finally an hour's drive later we made it home. Unfortunately, Chris had not received my text message that I was on my way and wanted a vodka prepared for me. Just kidding, I wouldn't drink a vodka while pregnant . . . but I did text him the request!