We ventured out to a Civil War battlefield to walk off lunch and overdose on fresh air and sunshine. It had rained heavily a few days earlier and puddles still pockedparts of the trail.
Natalie, wearing her rainboots, tromped into the mud puddles, hiking up her knee-length skirt needlessly. (The puddles weren't quite so deep, and her skirt wasn't quite so long.) Connor found himself a nice walking stick, so, of course, Natalie needed one, too.
She thought she'd found one and then another and another, but they were either too thorny, too short, or too gnarled. I spotted a perfect walking stick in waiting that rested just partly in a mud puddle. That could be the end on the ground, I'd figured.
Natalie rejected it outright. "I'm adventurous, Mommy," she explained, "but I'm not messy."
Natalie held her stuffed Llama Llama Red Pajama toy as we drove from ballet class along a backroad that she has named "Horse Hill Stallion Road" for all of the horses roaming the hills. There are plenty of cattle, goats, alpaca, and llama, too.
"Hey, Natalie. We'll go by a llama farm in just a few minutes." I had to give her fair warning: Natalie has what we call "Aunt Bobbie Syndrome," where we point out an interesting sight while driving and two miles down the road, once the sight is long gone, she pipes up, "Where? I don't see it."
"A llama farm?"
"Why are we going to go buy a llama farm? Does Daddy know?"
Mama wants to be a farmer, darling. Hush, now. Go back to playing.