I took the kids to a Thanksgiving event at our zoo called “Talkin’ Turkey,” an education opportunity where they could do a craft, participate in games, hear a story, and actually meet a live, feathered friend. What could go possibly wrong with that? So glad you asked.
In the car, Squish began to refer to the event as “the Turkey Patch.” Like, pumpkin patch. You know, the place where you pick one out to take home? Ever tried to talk a toddler out of an idea they have come up with on their own? I knew I was screwed.
We had the same discussion 45 times on the way to the fun. “We don’t get to take one home,” and it’s variation “Do we ever take animals home from the zoo?” Turns out, I was worried about the wrong things.
And we have the makings of the youngest self-imposed vegetarian in history. Way to go, Mom! Make the connection between a living thing and tomorrow’s main course!
In the meantime, I didn’t notice my older son.
I couldn’t even crop the picture. That was as close as he got. Apparently some of his little buddies at school told him stories about being pecked in the head by turkeys, so the whole time the feathered guy was running around, my son was convinced he was about to meet his maker. The reason he was begging to leave was not because he was cold but because he knew that bird was out for revenge for his kindred. It was the most terrifying half-hour of the kid’s life.
So there you have it. Holidays leave scars, and I managed a trauma-twofer without even trying. I rock.
Photo credit for the dead turkey carcass: addictedtosaving.com. I have to take the blame for all the others.