So it’s pretty clear that I was a suburban mom for all of Brendan’s 5 years–at least, to date. Yesterday found us running errands all day long, and one of the places we stopped was a local farm to buy fresh eggs. It was a bit primitive, in that I entered the garage and took eggs out of the fridge and put money in a coffee can–maybe “primitive” is the wrong word and “trusting” is the operative word. Or maybe this is what life in the country is about.
Anyhow, the eggs are beautiful and brown, and Brendan wanted to know why we were buying eggs. So the conversation went something like this:
Me: Sweet pea, we have to stop off and pick up some eggs.
B: Where, Mama?
Me: At a local farm. I need to watch for the sign so I know which farm it is.
B: Why are buying eggs, Mom? Are we going to plant them and grow birdies?
😆 😆 😆 😆
Although I couldn’t really laugh aloud because Brendan is in a stage where he’s very aware of others’ reactions to him and he doesn’t want people laughing over him if he doesn’t understand *why* they’re laughing, I grinned from ear to ear as I explained that these eggs were the same kind of eggs we buy at the grocery store. These eggs are just fresher than what’s at Meijer and that all eggs come from farms anyhow. 😉
Do I have a cute kid, or *what*? 😉
And for the record, I think I will be doing some research in to chicken-raising…we might have a couple of chickens this summer/fall to raise. I think it will be a good experience and highly educational, and since we’re out in the country, there aren’t subdivision “rules” about things like this. I enjoyed my poulet raising when I was a kid (we had 65 chickens, 3 geese, and 2 ducks) and it taught me a huge amount of responsibility at the same time. 😉.