Country Blues

My 2-year-old daughter is destined to be a city girl. Long drives in the country stress her out. Yet, she is totally okay with a diseased one eyed pickle singing about friendship on Yo Gabba Gabba. I don’t get it.

Our trip this weekend to my in-law’s house was beautiful. There are rolling hills of wildflowers. The puffy white clouds were straight out of a Bob Ross painting. However, unlike the calming effect of The Joy of Painting our 30 minute show was filled with tears and shouting. “He is looking at me!” Well, this is the United States of America, if the Kardashians are allowed to speak, surely he can look wherever he wants.

There were horses and farm stands alongside the road. Well, the horses weren’t on the side of the road. That would be disturbing and tragic. Sure, we also saw the occasional trailer decorated with plastic flowers, broken toys and tires piled in the yard, but for the most part the scenery was gorgeous. Does my daughter care? Nope. She is more concerned about the declining population in the sticks. She will ask me a dozen times, “What happened to all the houses?” as if David Copperfield was in town. “Where did they put them?”

Beaming with excitement she will shout, “There’s one!” The space between the next home frustrates her once more. “Mommy, the houses are gone again.” Beware tree huggers. I’m predicting she will be a successful real estate developer when she grows up.

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