Something is not right there.
Today, we means all three of us as Louise has the day off as well.
Molly got to choose where we were going and came up with:
It's a farm attraction, with a great hour long farm tour and an indoor play barn. We got to do all the usual farm stuff; held the mice, held the rabbits and the guinea pigs, fed the calves and brushed the pigs. And then spent a couple of hours watching her get hotter and hotter in the indoor play area. Great fun.
I've written about before:
Tarquin.It is not okay to have your stupid, spoilt ignorant children push, punch, throw balls at and verbally abuse not just my daughter but at least 6 other children.
Noun but used as Adjective.
Any pampered offspring of the class of parent commonly known as "Harbourne Mum". Uncontrollable, spoilt, ignorant, obnoxious.Normally found anywhere I decide to take Molly to.Running around like a monkey on speed kicking things at random, including my daughter. Also found in any restaurants we go to.Usually running around my table screaming whilst Harbourne mom discusses the latest marble kitchen design with her friend.Bad behaviour on the part of the "Tarquin" is either completely ignored or excused as acceptable behaviour because "that's just Tarquin's nature".Normal parents consider Tarquin's "nature" to be worthy of a good hiding at least. Unfortunately Harbourne mom believes in letting Tarquin do whatever he feels like doing, because it's good for his development.Normal parents feel like letting Tarquin run into their outstretched fork because that would be very good for his development and teach him a valuable lesson. Namely that his parents are complete fuckwits.
It is also not alright to look at someone else's crying child and casually say: "Did one of mine do that?" in a manner that implies that this is a regular occurrence.
But apart from that little hiccup, everything else was a delight.
Highlight of the day - the very last thing. As we're coming out at 5pm, the farm dog is in the courtyard. I'd seen her playing earlier and she was obviously a very well trained sheepdog.
I start petting her and then Molly comes out and pets her. Then the sheepdog gets a stick and drops it at Molly's feet. 10 minutes of fetch ensues.
In the car on the way back: "I can't believe it - I played with a real dog". We have to keep explaining that it's not possible for us to get a dog, no matter how much we want one, and that it wouldn't be fair on the dog with all of us out of the house all day.
Bless her, I think her heart would burst with joy if we could get one.