Baby's First Farm Store

We live in the boonies. I mean, THE BOONIES. As in, Deliverance-style, banjos-playing boonies. A trip to the feed store was almost an all day event. And when you have over 55 animals on the property - well, that was quite a hassle. About 15 minutes away from our house is a 20-year-old mall that has not much left standing in it and had recently been in foreclosure. So, imagine my surprise when I drove by and noticed a sign being hung on the outside of the building: 

COMING SOON: Rural King

I immediately whipped out my cell phone and called my husband, "Honey, did you see it?? They're putting a Rural King in the mall!!" I don't think I've ever been so excited over a store coming into our area before. It was 15 minutes from our house. A Rural King! Feed, supplies, clothes, boots, tack... everything I could want! I just couldn't believe it. I watched the building transform every day when I drove the kids to and from school (which is a 40 minute drive, one way!) and reveled as they changed the shape of the roof, the doors, the paint went up and the sign was hung. 

No word of an opening date had leaked yet and I was getting anxious. It looked ready, it had LOOKED ready for some time now. I couldn't understand. They'd already done their hiring event and still no word of a date yet. On my farrier visit that month, I spoke to him about it. He always seems to know the ins and outs of the farm world in our area. He told me that they were having issues getting product in and that it would be a while longer. I was getting impatient, but what was there to do? I just had to wait it out. 

Finally, the day came. They had hung a sign for the grand opening and the doors were open for the soft opening two weeks prior to that date. I could hardly contain my excitement. We needed horse feed anyway, so I picked the kids up from school and we made our way to the store before going home. 

It seems silly, but I felt like it was a thing of beauty as we walked towards it. All I could think of was how much easier this was going to make our life. How much cheaper their prices were and how much gas we were going to save instead of driving 30-40 minutes to get all the feed that we used. The farmer in me was so excited that the Mommy in me wasn't thinking... 

I had three kids with me. Two of which had been in school all day and were as hyper as chickens at feed time. One was 6 months old and hated the car, shopping, and anything that didn't involve being with her farm animal buddies. What the hell was I thinking? As we entered the store, directly to the right of us I saw the toys section. I selected a shopping cart, strapped Baby Farmer in, and veered off to look at the toys. We found all sorts of fantastic wooden baby toys and farm play-sets. The children started a mental Christmas list. After about five minutes, Little Man Farmer announced that he needed to use the bathroom. 

Now, this is where the trip to the farm store took a turn for the worse. The second those words came out of my son's mouth, I knew we were headed for the danger zone. We only had a limited amount of time that Baby Farmer was going to be distracted by the new surroundings and remain content. We searched for the bathroom as quickly as possible and located it in the back of the store, buried in between the garage tools and the dog beds and kennels. None of which we needed. 

I warned Little Man Farmer not to pull his usual bathroom stunts and to be quick, that Baby Farmer wouldn't last long. I reminded him that we still had to strap her into a car seat and drive home - neither of which she enjoys and tends to protest heavily - and that we needed her as calm and happy as possible before doing so. He huffed and puffed and responded with, "I know, Mom." In he went... 

 

Now, just a quick explanation to my son's bathroom habits. He is a 30 minute pooper. He always ends up having to use a bathroom in EVERY public place we go into. And he can't just drop 'em and go - he has to take off every single item of clothing to do so. He's a quirky little fella. However, this becomes quite an ordeal sometimes. 

So, ten minutes goes by. Little Missy Farmer (My 6-year-old daughter) starts getting antsy. She wants to go find the baby chicks in the big metal troughs. She can hear them, but can't see them. Baby Farmer starts fussing. Fifteen minutes goes by. Little Missy Farmer has disappeared. I start yelling out her name. I hear a response and follow it down the dog kennel aisle. There she is - in one of the big dog houses. I sternly tell her to get out and come back and wait for her brother. Baby Farmer has already attempted to climb out of the shopping cart restraints and I have had to take her out and hold her. I am now attempting to push a cart and hold a fussy baby on one hip, all at the same time. As she's squirming around in my arms, all I can think of is, "We still need to get the feed. Oh, dear." 

Twenty minutes goes by and both of my daughters have had it. Baby Farmer is growling and squirming and fussing her head off. Little Missy Farmer is pacing in circles and talking to a cardboard cut out that has been put up in the garage tools department. I've already had to reel her back in from the dog beds and kennels several times at this point. She's whining about going to see the baby chicks. I already know this isn't happening. 

Finally, at twenty-eight minutes, Little Man Farmer emerges. Immediately I ask him, "What part of quick did you not understand?" He says to me, "But Mom. I was quick. It's not MY fault the toilet clogged." Oh, hell. What did he mean the toilet clogged? I pry for details... apparently, Little Man Farmer stripped off, did his business, used half a roll of toilet paper and clogged the toilet. After looking under the stall door, he spots a plunger. Now, Little Man Farmer is a big fan of The Mario Super Brothers and decided that he knew how plungers worked. So, as makes sense in a 9-year-old's head, he redressed and attempted to take care of the toilet issue himself. 

He claims he did a good job and it was all taken care of, but I flagged down a male employee anyway, explained that my son said there was clogged toilet in the bathroom, and then quickly ushered all the children off to the Equine section at the other end of the store. Little Missy Farmer starts giving Little Man Farmer a lecture about how she's not going to get to see the chicks because he pooped "Forever" and they start bickering as siblings tend to do. Baby Farmer is beyond fed up and wriggling as ferociously as the pigs, when I carry them off from something they're not supposed to get into. 

Now comes the tricky part - Getting the feed. Have you ever tried picking up a 50-pound bag of horse feed and putting it into a shopping cart with a super-strong, determined, wriggly 6-month-old on one hip? I'm not exactly a beast, either. I'm pretty teeny and a 50-pound bag of feed is a lot for me on a normal day! Somehow, the Super Mom in me pops up and I manage to load several bags of feed into the shopping cart and wrangle the kids to the check-out counter, all the while muttering reminders to myself as to why I don't leave the farm very often. Oh, did I mention Baby Farmer is an excessive spitter-upper? Yes, I am covered in baby puke by this point. 

After all that, and a 15 minute drive home with Baby Farmer wailing her little head off in the backseat, we pull into the farm. My husband comes outside as we climb out of the car - all slightly worse for wear - and immediately asks how it was. Where do I even start? 

Moral of the story? Never let the Farm in me overrule the Mom in me. And NEVER take the flock along when you really want to poke around and explore a new store. Get in, get out and move on.