PRADA MOM DOWN ON THE FARM

I'm a country girl.

Well, I'm from Minnesota. And that's close enough.

I am one of five kids. "A litter," my mom used to say. She used to say this on Saturday morning with a psychotic glint in her pale blue eyes as she speedily got us dressed and ready to go out. Every week was a long week and by Saturday my mom was done. My father totally got this and wouldn't complain as he stuffed us all in the car and dragged us to one of his three favorite saturday morning haunts.
(As I'm sure you're asking yourself, "what could these haunts be?" I will list them below)

1. The car dealership.
aka, A young child's paradise where one can always count on a fabulous nutrient-free brunch...hotdogs, popcorn, donuts.
Oh My!
While we kids sat inside the largest Chrysler in the showroom, my dad would wander around and pretend to be interested in something topless and cherry red. Of course, the car salesmen all knew he would never part from the frugal little forest green Omni he'd sold them five years before.

2. The airport.
aka - Super cheap fun.
We all sat, scrunched up on top of the Omni and drew handfuls of peanut M&M's from the pounder bag my dad always had stashed in his glove compartment as we watched planes take off and land.
(fun as a kid, but at 14 I seriosuly wanted to throw myself down in front of a plane and end it!)

3. Apple Picking!
My favorite. My sister's favorite. My brother's favorite.
Whether it was apples, raspberries, beans or tomatoes, nothing was more fun than going to the farm. The fresh air and perfectly ripe whatever just changed our whole outlook on Saturdays...until we returned home anyway...but that's a story for another day.


Living in L.A. you'd think that finding a farm would be a next to impossible task, unless it's a farm of the FAT variety. But after living here a few years I actually found one. A real farm, and it rocks! I take the kids there all the time, and we pick the same kinds of things as my sisters and brothers and I picked - tomatoes, beans, raspberries... (my brood are great fruit and veggie eaters because of this farm.) It's a great way to get out of the actual city of Los Angeles and breathe some smogless air.

There's just one small issue.

Other Moms in L.A. have also heard about the Farm, and these chicks weren't raised in Minnesota so they don't understand the rules of working outdoors. Rules like, TALKING ON YOUR CELLPHONE IN THE MIDDLE OF A STRAWBERRY FIELD MAKES YOU LOOK LIKE A TOOL. Or this one, IF THERE'S MANURE WITHIN A ONE MILE RADIUS, DON'T WEAR YOUR HIGH HEEL JIMMY CHOOS. And their poor kids.. They walk around like little freaked out robots..."There is mud and animal smells here, Mommy."
Listen people, the Farm is a place to get dirty, talk only to your kids and leave wanting a nap. Get it or get out!

Of course, the Prada Moms will never abide by these rules, and will most likely keep wearing their Manolos instead of their shitkickers, but hey, I'm in L.A. - I'll take what I can get...


p.s. REMEMBER - MONDAY, PHOTO CONTEST - BORDERS GC