Monkey1 liked hearing the words "Mount Vernon" because we biked there last summer; Monkey2 liked that George Washington rode a horse. Of course, we were also driving on the George Washington Parkway, to add to the interest level.
I'm surprised the Miss Nelson book was so popular; we listened to it ALL the way home too. This tells the story of a very badly behaved class whose mild teacher is suddenly replaced with a very strict substitute teacher. Was it the ugly pictures? The naughty class? The ending? I haven't yet asked Monkey1 if she understands why Miss Viola Swamp's clothes were in Miss Nelson's closet or why she sang to herself, "La la la ... I'll never tell." I think the continuous repetitions of the audio CD were partly because she was trying to figure it out.
Our friends' minivan passed us a few miles off the highway, and we parked together at the end of a strawberry field that ran up a little slope, over the horizon. Her three mobile kids piled out with sand buckets at the ready. Not that they filled them. The oldest, who is Monkey1's age, got a huge kick out of stealing picked berries out of my box, to the wailing screams of Monkey2. Monkey2 does not eat strawberries, and her idea of picking them was to let me pick them and her to put them in the flat box. However, theft of our strawberries was injustice beyond belief. Meanwhile Monkey1 picked about ten strawberries into her box, ate them, ran around with her friends, picked another dozen, ate them, ... These pick-your-own places really ought to weigh the kids on entrance and exit, and not just what ends up in Mom's basket.
I came home with ten pounds of strawberries, according to our bathroom scale. Right before bedtime I weighed the box again, noting it was four pounds lighter. Monkey1 should be able to tip the scales and qualify for a booster seat tonight.
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