A good friend of mine bought a camp in the past year about 30 mins away from where we live. We thought it would be fun to take the kids (she’s got two boys close to K in age) along with another friend and her son (also close in age) up to camp for the day yesterday. We agreed to spend the night as well so we could have time to enjoy ourselves since we would also have today to get the kids back home and all oriented before it’s back to the grind Monday.
Anyone who’s ever tried to take a group of small toddlers to the beach for a day knows that this is akin to playing a game of russian roulette. There’s really no way to know how it is going to end. You cross your fingers and hope for the best. I’m not joking.
These boys. Four boys (which means we were outnumbered!), behaved beautifully. We were on that beach for probably close to 5 hours, and any time one of us started to comment on how well they were doing, the other two would promptly “shush” them for fear of jinxing ourselves. Not a single fight between them or any of the other kids, they played well in the water, actually ate their lunches (!), paid attention when one of the adults spoke to them. At one point the beach got bombarded suddenly by a large group of people, and not even this phased how well they did. It. Was. Awesome.
This may never happen again, so I feel the need to publicly acknowledge how truly lucky I am to have such a good kid. And to have friends with kids who are just as good.
To dovetail this story, I have really begun enjoying car rides with K; he likes to point out all of the different cars/trucks/motorcycles we see, tells me about the landscape, and gets excited any time we see either a construction site or cows/horses/sheep.
On our way back from camp, we passed several farm areas with cows. After exclaiming about the number of cows at one farm we passed, K states with conviction: “I don’t want all of the moo-cows, mama, just one.” “Is that right?”, I say. “Yes.”
Maybe I need to have a small farm.