Our favorite thing to do is walk the trail. There are bridges and a little brook. And lots of weeds and flowers for little hands to pick. After we pick our fill we feed our gatherings to the goats at the petting zoo.
Last week my mom spent a few days with us while my husband was away. We went on our usual little walk, picking little weeds and flowers to feed the goats.
"Amy," she said. "You'd better be careful. There's probably poison ivy out here."
(Do you know where I'm going with this?)
As a direct result of my mother's comment I am now covered in poison ivy for the first time since I was a kid. There's a thick patch on my chest that crawls up my neck to my jaw line. Little spots are bubbling up on my arms and fingers and toes. My armpits. My legs. When read stories to Brooke she sits and stares at the poison ivy instead of looking at the pictures. I'm itchy and yucky and miserable.
On a positive note, I will say that I am sososososo glad it's me and not the kids. Also, I learned from Fancy Nancy: Poison Ivy Expert that people with poison ivy are not contagious, so that's good too. (I get my medical information from only the most reliable sources, you know.)
Anyway, moral of the story: listen to your mama.
The end.
That pic of Brooke with the flowers is breath taking!
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