Virginia is positively beautiful in the Autumn!
As I stepped outside this morning, my nose picked up the sweet smell of blooming mums mingled with the pungent scent of fallen leaves touched with dew. The sky was reminiscent of a hidden bay on some distant Caribbean island. What could be more perfect for this beautiful Fall day than an apple festival?
I got the children dressed and fed, made The Skink cry trying to put a brush through her hair and chased Iraq through the house yet still failed to brush her hair at all. I contemplated a diaper bag and then threw 2 pull-ups in my
knock-off Chanel purse replica, grabbed my camera, forgot The Skink's cup and bustled the girls into the car only to realize if we planned to go more than about a mile, we would require a visit to the local gas station.
Then we set off to rendezvous site where we were to pick up Mimi (my back-up since 'da hubby was working today).
I had been very relieved the night before when Mimi called me to tell me she would be able to go to the apple festival with us. She had initially had a prior engagement and had attempted to talk me into venturing out with my precocious girls alone. Of course I told her we would go, but secretly I was thinking up possible excuses that would "force" us to stay home. Once I learned she would be coming along, I somehow thought the festival sounded far more doable.
As I navigated my car through the stunning Blue Ridge mountain range toward our planned meeting site (about 30 miles from home) I pointed out the beautiful hues of red, orange and pink to my angelic daughters, the younger of whom asked for the 43 bazillionth time "apple-o-dirt?" which translates to "apple orchard" in Skink-speak and the older of whom responded, "I'm
boorrrrrred!" It was a moment I will cherish for at least... 24 seconds.
We picked up Mimi (who was a more willing participant in the "Oh, it's so beautiful" sentiment), and wound our way up the narrow mountain road. The sun shone through the leaves sending cascades of shimmering shadows onto the road before us. Behind us there was much grumbling about not having stopped at a McDonalds for food and more requests for the apple-o-dirt.
And
finally we were there, for had it taken any longer, I'm quite certain at least one hungry 8-year-old might have expired of ennui (which is a far more appropriate way of saying "died of boredom" when one is in such exquisite surroundings).
We saw apples... duh...
and crafts...
and an alpaca.
We gave big, cheesy smiles for the token "pumpkin patch picture" for the year,
and (mom, at least) thoroughly enjoyed the scenery while The Skink ran off into the crowd... again.
Having captured the wayward Skink, we successfully kept her occupied (for a minute) with food.
Iraq looked all pretty and stuff until she saw the camera come out and then jumped up to show us her best...
Jesus pose.
When The Skink got up to pose for a picture or two, she just couldn't seem to get the spotlight for herself. Shocker.
And more random pretty crap...
It came as no surprise to me that the entire time we were there, Iraq found no shortage of things to beg for. First it was for food, then to get her face painted, then for popcorn, then a balloon, then to make sand art, then for food again... Mimi and I were able to narrow her down to making sand art, and then popcorn on our way out of the festival. Yet... the begging persisted, regardless of the reminders and reassurances. I'm used to it, but I think Mimi was about to scream.
So we made the sand art and purchased the popcorn. I told Iraq she could eat it at home (the last thing my car needs is an entire bag of sugary-sticky kettle-corn spilled all over the floorboard, and then smashed into the carpet by little feet.
Melt. Down.
Big, GIANT, hairy melt down. The kind of melt down only a kid with Aspergers can throw. The kind of melt down that almost stopped the music at the festival and had every eye turned our direction. The kind of melt down that spooked the horses pulling the cart and made the rest of the apples fall instantly off the trees while at the same time curdling the apple-butter in the giant boiling pots.
That. Kind. Of. Melt. Down.
All because I wouldn't let the kid who just finished lunch, eat sugar-sticky popcorn in the car.
I'm pretty sure all the festival-goers could hear the continuing melt down as we drove off on the brightly-colored tree-lined lane. Mimi and I ignored Iraq's wails and did our best to maintain a conversation with each other while The Skink cowered in her seat, holding her hands over her ears.
Finally I told Iraq that I would send Mimi home with the popcorn if I got to the count of "3." Most of the time this trick doesn't work, and I end up giving away, throwing away or otherwise removing whatever offending item has had the bad luck to be the focal point of the melt down, but... I made it to "2," and Iraq grew quiet, hiccuping and shaking in her seat. As with all of her other melt downs, after a few minutes a subdued voice said, "Mommy? I'm sorry I was arguing."
Arguing? Is that what you call it? Boy... you'd make one h311 of a lawyer... but all I said (audibly) was, "I appreciate your apology, Iraq."
Somewhere about this time I heard Mimi say under her breath, "Wow... now I understand why you don't want to go to this kind of thing alone with them!"
Yeah... I don't get out much.
So, what do I have to show for my labors?
Yeah, baby! Got us some of that curdled apple butter and some black raspberry jam! Neither of which I can eat right now because I'm on a no-sugar diet, But hey - my
inmates family will love them!
So... what did YOU do this weekend?
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