Every year, I say we’re going to the Wye Mountain Daffodil Festival, and (until this year) every year I’ve ended the festival by saying, “Well, we’ll make it next year.”
This year, we finally made it.
I got some pretty good pictures, which was the ultimate goal.
But the pictures don’t show … a true picture. Know what I mean? We all have family photos that show everyone looking happy and relaxed but have memories that tell a different story, right?
Beans did not want to go and grumbled all the way to the car (and off-and-on throughout the entire trip). Tallulah was her usual thrilled-to-go-but-hey-why-aren’t-we-there-yet-already?! self on the way and when we arrived she couldn’t get her feet on the dirt fast enough. She ran and ran until she was tired and then she fell face first into a clump of daffodils. (She’ll be so thankful later that her father took a picture of that, I’m certain of it.)
I handed her one of the daffodils she broke off when she fell, and she pondered it for a while before ditching it in favor of a … a handful of rocks. So not in keeping with her girly-girl self, but still so Tallulah.
Beans wailed in misery when we told him we were going to eat dinner (with ice cream for dessert, no less) instead of going straight back home so he could continue playing with the Wii we got just a couple of days earlier. (In all fairness, Sunday was the first day he got to play it and I know the novelty will wear off and he’ll return to a normal life. Eventually. ; ))
It wasn’t an awful day, by any means. Everyone had fun, in spite of the periodic bad spirits. It was impossible not to, I think, out there in the fresh air with the beautiful flowers and the gorgeous weather.
At the end, we had a great family dinner – in addition to good food, we played Trivial Pursuit while we ate, and that spurred some fun conversation and even a few belly laughs.
And while the pictures show mostly the happy-go-lucky moments of what could have ideally been a carefree day, I think I prefer to remember the way it all really went down, warts and all. For me, the reality of our outing is far more precious, with all its texture and sweet triumph.