Ellie and the (dirty) Goats

Today was one of those absolutely gorgeous days on which it is imperative that one Do Something out in the beautiful weather. So I called a mom-friend whose daughter, Finley, is eight months older than Ellie and the five of us (including Josh) packed up the kiddos and headed to near-by Simmons Farm.

Simmons Farm is one of those great places with seemingly endless family-friendly fun: pick-your-own strawberries, flowers, apples and pumpkins depending on the season, hayrides, farmers market goodies, and a small petting zoo. It's early in the farm season so we had the place to ourselves and we wandered through the greenhouses, pointing out pretty flowers (and trying to eat them, in some cases), and popped into the goat pen to say hello.

Inside the goat pen, I had one of those moments of parental schizophrenia. I had Ellie down at goat-level and she was reaching out a little paw to pet it. In my mind, I was thinking "aw, that's so cute, she's petting the goat -- I hope Josh gets a picture..."

...and at the same time, there was this other voice in my head (that sounded a bit like my mother) shrieking "ack! She's going to touch that horrible dirty creature and then she will immediately stuff her germ-infested fist into her mouth!! Do something!!"

Fortunately, the slightly-more-experienced mother in the group (not me) had a supply of antibacterial handi-wipes at the ready and we were able to enjoy the moment in relative sanitation.