Down on the Farm

This past weekend we went to a "Yay, you're one year old!" birthday party. The sweet little man whose birth was being celebrated belongs to a very old and dear friend of mine who now lives out of state. I was excited to see her, meet the baby, and visit her parents' diary farm where much of my early childhood was spent.

During the forenoon of the appointed day, my son anxiously awaited our departure for what promised to be a splendid party. He was aware that there would be lots of cows milling about the place. During the warmer months our little family has taken to fleeing the city that we live in for a drive in the less populated areas nearby; the highlight of those dusky rambles is the sighting of deer, chickens, and sometimes even a cow or two. Needless to say, farm animals are associated with much happiness by us all.

The morning of the party had dawned moist and drizzly. A person who has any experience with farms knows that rainy conditions equal lots and lots of mud on said farms. Thankfully when we arrived there were quite a few cows dawdling near the roadside just over the fence.

Better yet, it was quickly discovered that the living room window afforded a clear view of the cows standing around behind the barn. This was cause for much joy on the part of my daughter. Every five minutes or so she would point her little finger out the window and exclaim rapturously, "A COW!!! LOOK AT THE COWS!!!" Actually, it more closely resembled a hysterical scream than an exclamation. It was a bit frightening to watch the veins in her small head come near to bursting, but it is certain that she was the life of the party in our little corner of the room.

Having thusly drained her energy and exhausted her emotions she was near a nervous breakdown by the time we packed up our little family for the short drive home. In the delirium that seemed to continue into the next day she still hadn't realized that the cows hadn't followed her home: she oft ran to our own living room window to point and shout about cows. Her brother had some cow-ish excitement as well; he was pretty exited about one of the cows licking his hand; another cow even mooed at him. Not every birthday party can be as thrilling as that. No sir.

Party Manners

This past weekend a friend of mine had a birthday party for her youngest who had just turned one year old. She decided to have the get together at the home of her husband’s grandparents; dependent on the weather the party was to be held out of doors. It had rained the night prior, and not being sure how that would affect the set-up I decided to put my son in wind pants and a long-sleeved tee just in case the kids would still be playing outside.

I did consider dressing him in good clothes, but I was pretty confidant that if I did then he would most certainly be outside and rolling around in the mud. So, as I said, I took what I thought was the safer road. We piled the kids into the car and began the thirty-minute drive.

When we exited the highway and made the few turns that took us closer and closer to our destination, the homes became larger and larger and larger still. A glance into the rearview mirror confirmed that BoBeans was still wearing the windpants. Not only that, but his shirt was still too big and his bed-mussed hair stubbornly stuck up in places even though I had tried to force it into submission with a comb and some water.

When my husband stopped the car in front of the biggest house mansion I have ever laid eyes on I just knew that the kids would not be playing outside. I’m not sure what emotion I was feeling, but it was pretty close to mortification. God uses all kinds of situations to keep a person humble. At least my little guy behaved himself admirably. I’d rather belong to a messy looking child with good manners, than a fashionable toddler who throws himself screaming onto the floor when he doesn’t get his way. However, next time I think I will aim for nice clothes, freshly cut hair, and good manners. It never hurts to try.