Sh*t Happens

by Dale Grant

This story is a recount of something that happened when my kids, who are now 8 years old, were still in preschool. Back then, they were energetic three-year-olds, and we had some unforgettable adventures—like this one.

It was almost the perfect day. It was 80 degrees and partly sunny, which meant there were just enough fluffy white clouds in the sky to provide the occasional cool breeze. While it was a Monday, it was also a holiday, which meant we got to spend the entire day together as a family. We packed up our three-year-old twins and headed to Cherry Crest Adventure Farm in Ronks, PA.

It was our first venture to this particular venue. My wife had stumbled across it during a Google search of things to do with toddlers in our area, and the website seemed promising, with reasonable prices.

We’ve done the pumpkin patch thing with our boys in the fall. While we’ve had some good experiences, some places did not live up to their websites. That was not the case with this spot. I cannot say enough good things about this place. The grounds were beautiful and clean, and the staff was friendly and courteous.

The activities were numerous and perfect for a place like this: stimulating for young families but juvenile enough to disinterest unaccompanied teenagers. The boys got to ride down a huge tunnel slide (the walk up the hill only made me momentarily dizzy). They rode toy tractors and bounced on a large trampoline-like device. There were goats and chicks for them to pet. There was a pit filled with dried corn kernels that the boys could dig and play in, and it was so entertaining that even my toddler with minor sensory issues couldn’t help but love it. There was even an animatronic “Singing Chicken” show that my boys found absolutely captivating.

The absolute shining star of the whole farm, though, was a place called “Sproutsville,” a miniature make-believe town with its own pretend ice cream parlor, farmer’s market, veterinarian clinic, post office, and garage for preschool-age children to enjoy. The smiles on my sons’ faces as they donned mail carrier hats and delivered mail or strapped on a stethoscope to check out a stuffed puppy’s heartbeat were worth every penny of admission. We could have spent the entire day and never left “Sproutsville,” and my children would have left happier than ever. It was perfect. Too perfect.

My boys had so much fun that one of them, who was still working on potty training, let forth a more solid endeavor. Unfortunately, the size of this particular deposit and a misplacement of his pull-up led to a Threat Level Midnight caliber code brown just outside the entrance to the Sproutsville Garage. Remember: this wasn’t the perfect day; it was only almost the perfect day.

When this type of situation happens to you as a parent, you sort of slip into crisis mode. Your fight-or-flight instincts kick in. Basically, you’re fighting your urge to flee to the safety of the minivan and hope you’re back on paved road before the first person discovers what’s happened to their new flip-flops.

Yet we stayed. Well, I stayed anyway. My beautiful wife took our son out to the car for damage control and to inform the staff what had happened, while I stood guard over the “scene of the crime” and kept an eye on the other toddler now shopping at the Sproutsville Farmer’s Market.

A year before, we both would have been mortified by the whole situation. We would have spent the entire car ride home contemplating the number two reason we could never go back to this wonderful farm that had brought so much glee to our children. But at that point, we were three and a half years in; we were grizzled veterans of the parenting experience. Let’s face it, there’s one irrefutable fact when it comes to raising children….

$#*% Happens.

And that’s the thing; in a place like this, surrounded by parents of preschoolers, they get it. They’ve all been in our shoes when children do something out of our control in public. At that point, they’re just glad it’s not them standing vigil over the remnants of a true accident. There were no dirty looks. In fact, there was a mom with a handful of wipes (ours were in the car) and a comforting “I got you, bro” smile. The bond between parents of young children is a real thing, and there is definitely a level of respect given to those who steer into the skid marks and deal with the situation rather than leaving an anonymous mess.

Looking back on that day, it’s one of those family moments we’ll always remember—not just for the fun we had but for how it reminded us that parenting is about rolling with the punches (and the occasional code brown). Never forget, today’s hardships make for the best stories down the road.