I Volunteered For All The Outdoor Field Trips - Returned Promises of Farm Images

The morning Lena's preschool went to Springdale Farm was hectic.

Getting all three children up, dressed, fed and out the door before 9 is a feat, for me.

Then it's off to a friend's with the boys, and the baby needs to be put down for a nap there too, otherwise he may very well scream the entire time.

I spend the morning rushing around like a mad person. I don't like feeling so out of control.

As much as I complained about how much involvement parents were required to do this year in her school, I was always glad once I did make the effort.

(Are parents supposed to like going into their children's school that much?)

Maybe the PTA isn't in my future.

But another trip to Springdale Farm probably is.

Ricky. What a pig!

What is it about farms?

Is it the air? It sure stinks more.

The spark in my children's eyes when they see open land perfect for running free and wild?

For some reason I romanticize farm life. I don't want to be told how much work it is because I want to just be in love with it from afar. I want to believe it's the answer to all my problems. Something magical about working hard and living by the land. The farm life, to me, is what is pure and good in the world.

It's my celebrity crush.

I know I'll never have it, but that won't stop me from putting up posters of it on my bedroom wall.