Cowgirl Up!

Lightning McQueen (in Sam's left hand) and Sammy on their first mule ride.
A little slow for the superstar race car, and Sam wasn't sure what to make of the ride. He did enjoy saying a very authoritative and commanding "No!" to Becky if she got to trotting too fast. Never let go of McQueen, though.


Giving some sense of scale to Sam and the horses. And yes, he's feeding them rocks. "Humry, humry" he kept telling them. And yet, they never sampled his offering.



My favorite tractor warning sign. I'm not sure if it's supposed to mean that heterosexual partnerships are forbidden, or if there are amoeba or protozoa in the engine, or if there's a men's room nearby. Or maybe I should tell my kids to get the hell off the thing before they lose an arm. Maybe.

My other favorite sign was on the "Arbovirus Study" pen. But I can't post that and eat the fresh farms eggs in my fridge. It's taken me nearly ten years to handle the poop on the eggs, I just have to pretend that I never saw the sign.

What sign? La la laaaa....


Who needs to watch the deer and the antelope roam when you've got these two barnyard monkeys?

Plenty o' room to roam.


Hay!


The thing about Sam is that he does nothing without intention. If you're going to wear the hat, wear it like you mean it. And this kid owned it.

So, we had one interesting developmental milestone loom up during our trip. Max, who normally finds me to be the most fascinating, scintillating and entertaining person in his universe, decided that I was a "naughty Mommy". And that I made bad choices. And that I shouldn't be with him and Daddy. Or ride the horse with him. Or go in the truck or tractor.

Gulp. I had a moment of panic and wondered if we had crossed some strange time travel vortex in which we skipped ages four through 12 and were delving right into adolescence. Mr. Wonderful kindly and wisely suggested that it had more to do with some sibling rivalry business finally showing up now that Sam is more mobile, vocal, and competes for tractor time. And since I wasn't about to let Sammy out of my sight with about, oh 420 things within 12 inches that could kill or maim him, the little guy was constantly with me.

Conversations were held, needs were met, and we eventually got our sweet little guy back. And when we got home and I was doing my 12 step laundry recovery program, there was a knock on the garage door.

I opened it, and this is what I saw:



My little guy came home.