We attended a pumpkin patch outing last night. The weather was beyond compare. The farm was perfect. The hayrack rides were continuous. But, in the fun and corn crib, Son lost: a silver ring, with celtic knot. His absolute favorite possession. He was devastated. We left a note with the owners, but in reality we know the ring is on its way to the bottom of the corn, where it will stay until it is scooped up and thrown away at the end of the season.
At the car, Daughter then realized she no longer had "her favorite" sweatshirt tied around her waist, either. She wanted to go back in and look for it. But, the place was now officially closed, and in any case the item in question could have been anywhere in the corn field, or in one of the mazes, or... well, anywhere. Still, Son pointed out. She is more likely to see the sweatshirt again than he the ring. But, she replied: It is my absolute favorite! I don't have another red sweatshirt!
As soon as we got into the safety of the car, both burst into tears. I drove home to the sounds of wailing, thinking we would have been better off not going at all.
Then, in the kitchen, the moment I found truly heartbreaking. The two of them hugged, sobbing. "I'm sorry you lost your sweatshirt!" Son wailed. "I'm sorry you lost your ring!" Daughter howled. It was truly tragic.
W is for Winter and Wool
13 hours ago