We bounded down to Collingwood Farm this morning. It is a sweet children’s farm where you can see and touch farm animals, watch peacocks strut their stuff, milk a cow and have a delightful lunch at an adorable cafe, with or without the kids.
Did we eat at the ever so inviting, cute little cafe? Nope. My kids made me take them to “Old MacDonalds.”
“What’s Old MacDonalds, Claire?”
“You know mommy.”
She’s right, I knew and you know too. “Really Claire? That’s where you want to go? What about right here? Here with the animals? Real, live animals.”
“They have french fries.” She’s been there as many times as I can count on 1 hand (and that’s because Home Depot was next door AND we were stuck in LAX overnight.) I have nothing against McDonalds but we just don’t do it, especially in a foreign country. That’s just bloody awful.
“Ench Eyes,” Colin replies. Him too! I surrender.
So there we were, 2 quiet toddlers happy as clams, munching on “ench eyes” and 1 mum happy because they were happy, also munching on “ench eyes.” Me, the most self conscious American expat eating at McDonald’s and enjoying a day at “Old MacDonalds” farm. What do they put in those fries?