Then Atticus disembarks from the giant metal twinkie, marches up to me, and sweetly asks, "Can we go to the orchard?"
But I am a big girl with big girl panties of my very own, so I figuratively change into those and literally change out of my orchard shirt so I am not accosted within moments of re-entering. Besides, I tell myself, I do so enjoy mentally adding up the "saved" cost of all these complementary visits we make, kind of like all the money you "save" at Kohl's. (Side note: Does anyone else want to demand "Exactly how stupid do I look to you?" when the Kohl's cashier tells you "You saved X dollars today!" Not to worry, I do not, as despite what I may lead you to believe on this blog I do have some interpersonal skills, not to mention a healthy respect for all the garbage our friends in retail have to stomach on a daily basis.)
So we jump backwards into the corn pool.
We swoon over our son's profile. (Maybe just me doing that.)
We hold baby goats, despite the fact that they won't stop trying to eat our clothing and hair.
We go down the combine slide.
And we do our homework in the van on the way there and back- one my stipulations for being allowed to go immediately after school.
I promise, we do still have a third child, and he is allowed to come to the orchard with us; he does not have a cupboard under the stairs. Here is a photo of him and Derek reading on a tiny red couch at the library, instead.