Farmers Market Outings...

"I go see Farmers!" he yells with excitement, as we start to load into the car.  

I snatch him up from the driveway,  turning to place him into the car seat. 

"I do it Mommy! I do it!" he shouts, wriggling out of my hands. 

"Okay, Okay... you can do it," I say, putting him beside his seat. 

He ensures I'm giving no help by placing his hands out toward me, as if to say back off.  He turns, pulling himself up into the seat, places both feet on, then turns and plops. 

"I got it Mama. I got it," he brags. 

"You sure did sweetheart. Wow, you're a big boy," I brag back. 

We pull out of the drive, heading toward West Chester, moving along at a clip, because I'm unsure what time it ends. It's a hot summer Saturday morning but not as bad as last Saturday. Last Saturday, we were sweating before we'd even gotten out of the parking lot and it wasn't even 10:30am. Today, we're running behind and to miss it would crush me just a little. The kid too - he loves to see the farmers. 

Parking is not easy 'round these parts. Anywhere. Philadelphia - Ha. West Chester - Ugh. Conshohocken - Pft. We roll into the borough, scanning the little lot nearby the market. Full - but a few folks looked to be heading to their cars. We do the roll and stalk, ya know, roll sslloowwlly, stalking those walking to their cars. The moment we see where they're headed, we stop, put on the signal and wait. Ahh the wait. You're holding up the lot and wishing Mary Jo Slow Po would just put her bags in the back already and Leave! How long can it possibly take pull OUT of your spot?? 

"What ya doin' Mama?" He asks from the back. 

"We're trying to park," I explained. 

"We park?" He shouts. He loves shouting lately. Anything! Words, Phrases, Sentences. 

Finally, Mary Jo has managed to back out, and we whip in, before someone else snags the spot. 

"We park Mommy!" he announces, grinning from ear to ear. I nod and begin to unstrap him out of the restraints, repeating it back to him, "you're right Abram, we just parked... you are so so smart sweetheart," and i give him kisses as he tries to dash away into a parking lot. I grab the hands, reminding him we must hold hands. I'm such a drag, I know! 

For once, I was behind the camera, so husband made it into some pics. Take note of the kids shopping bag, strapped across him, ready for purchases of melons, beets, watermelons, tomatoes, green peppers, the like.

But before he could begin pointing out the veggies and fruits he wanted to buy, he spots a huge sign in the shape of an ice cream cone. "ICE!!" he shouts! He's always called it Ice. forget the cream, just gimme some ice.  On said ice cream shaped sign, it read 'ICE CREAM SOCIAL: FREE CONES.' Well, how could I say no to that! I mean after all, it was Free. I love me some free stuff! The boys indulged and I observed, a job in itself.

Here's the kid, receiving his cone graciously from ice cream cone lady. I think I even heard him tell her 'thank you'. My instructions to husband regarding the cone were "get him a flavor without colors. Just go with vanilla." and the kid came away with a rainbow ice cream cone. What the?!?! Turns out, it was the Only flavor of the day. Well. So be it.

We scanned all the tents, comparing prices, produce, and options. We usually end up buying most of our stuff from this stand here though, where they boys are headed to pick up our seedless watermelon. Its not certified organic, so its cheaper than the organic guy two tents down, but they claim it is all naturally grown (no pesticides) and I believe it. Why? He's Amish. See above. The Amish don't lie. So, we roll with it and buy most things from him. When the kid is shouting, "I go see Farmers!" this is what he's talking 'bout. Loving the Amish farmers. I think it might be the beard. And the hat.

*note - for those of you who can't hardly see the amish dude and wonder why i wasn't closer, i stood just outside his tent to snap the pic. amish round these parts aren't fond of having their picture made. And I like this guy. And see him weekly. So, I was respectful and took the picture from afar, instead of in his face. Isn't that nicer? I thought so.

We came home with our bags loaded up with goodies. Abram even managed to carry two tomatoes all on his very own, in his very own bag, though I believe the bruising on those two was a result his dragging the bag on occasion. But, I ignore the bruising as I cut them later that night for 'snack' and remind him they are HIS tomatoes.

"MY tomatoes Mama?" he asks, digging his hand into the bowl. The one bowl he wants all of his snacks served in.

"Yes Baby, you're tomatoes."