Alternately Titled: Different Strokes for Different Folks
The kids and I went to the zoo last Friday.
It was actually our second trip to the zoo last week—the first being on Tuesday—but the behavior on Tuesday was such that we were obliged to return home early. (Some of my children were being stinks, if you must know.) The offending persons received a stern talking-to by their father that evening, and Mom was willing to try again on Friday.
It went much better the second time around.
The highlight was definitely the Medtronic Minnesota Trail, where we saw such gorgeous local critters as a pair of wolves, a bald eagle, a puma and a fisher. (Had neither seen nor heard of a fisher before, but then again, I don’t get out much.)
The kids raced along excitedly, stopping at each of the eight different stations to stamp their guide with the corresponding animal. Me, I ambled along happily behind them, breathing in the crisp, winter air and sipping my Caribou cappuccino.
(You see why this was my favorite part of the trip.)
At one point—this was before the Minnesota Trail—we visited an interactive tide pool, where the kids could stroke a starfish should they so choose. Felicity looked up at me, hands clasped demurely under her chin, and exclaimed, “I don’t think I dare, Momma!”
Angela, however, didn’t give it a second thought. She plunged one hand into the pool and grabbed a starfish by its arm. She then held it triumphantly over her head.
Parenthood is such a crapshoot, isn’t it?
I love that God keeps us guessing.
AMDG,
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