So Much For Ordinary

I met some friends at the local Berry Patch today.  Its a family owned and run Berry Farm and they grow acres and acres of blueberries, boysenberries, etc.  You can go out to the patches with a bucket they provide, pick whatever you want, or purchase berries they’ve picked and their amazing home made goodies in their shop.  Its fun for the kids, its an outdoor activity, its a great way to get cheap berries.

I am such a fool.

Its been raining here for four strait days.  The patch was one big mud wrestling pit.  I half expected to walk around a bend to discover Spike TV had convinced some twenty-something college attendees in desperate need of cash to be wrestling in a filthy pit in bathing suits I would have mistaken for a kleenex.    There has been so much rain that we were on the National News for flooding, so its not like I wasn’t aware there had been rain.  The weather promised morning showers with total clearing by 11am which did not happen.

It was terribly humid, so humid that my knees were sweating.  I had Ainsley in the Bjorn on the front of me because I realized when I stepped out onto the drenched ground that a stroller would not be an option.  So the boys had strict instructions on what color and density the berries needed to before they made it into their bucket.  I forgot to explain to the boys that the berries on the ground were NOT in need of squishing, were NOT grenades, and did NOT need to be mashed into their brother’s faux hawk.    I also was so intent on my berry picking that I neglected to realize Ainsley was perfectly capable of picking berries for herself and consuming them the ripe ones while masticating and rejecting the sour ones right down the front of her shirt.  Super.

We had lunch at the picnic tables provided by the farm, which would have been a delightful experience had the Farm owner’s several dogs and cats  not been milling around.  I used to love animals, until Max was born and we discovered that a simple lick from a Dog or a cat rubbing against his legs could stop him breathing in less than five minutes.  I now hate them.  So my lunch time was spent shooing an ancient cat away from my hyper allergic child and hovering over him with an Epi-Pen, should he react unfavorably.

Finally the kids were totally spent and all that was left was to allow them to ride in the jerry rigged train cars (cut open plastic barrels with wheels) pulled by a tractor.  As soon as I purchased tickets for all the kids a monsoon began.  Ten minutes later the children arrived soaked to their underwear, caked with mud from the barrels and they all wanted to “go again!”  Not going to happen.  I dragged all three back to the car with blueberry candy canes staining their fingers and faces while they whined and begged to stay because they were NOT tired, even though ten seconds after the car started they were all snoring and dripping blue drool down their shirts.

I’m wondering how a blueberry Margarita would taste… or maybe I’ll just use the berries for the cobbler and muffins and drink my booze strait from the bottle.  I hear its more effective that way.