Being new to Minnesota, it has taken me a little while to get used to the Fall Break concept, but when you think about it, it makes a lot of sense. Take a break from school and get outside, before everything dies and freezes for the next six months. Yep, Fall Break makes a lot of sense.
As a result, the boys and I decided by taking a trip to the “A Maze’n Farmyard,” which is sort of a small farm theme park. The A Maze’n Farmyard, is kind of odd, but strangely delightful, which also describes me on my best days. Well, any who, the farmyard has almost everything you could desire in a pseudo farm mini theme park experience, ice cream, putt putt golf, a giant slide, a petting zoo (which always sort of cause me to be hyper hygienic… Purell, please), and course a big maze, which of course makes it an “A Maze’n” farmyard.
Getting our priorities straight, we first enjoyed ice cream and then headed out for fun. After a ride on the “train” and several trips down the big slide, everyone was ready for some putt putt action… although our levels of skill and desire to stick to the rules varied greatly. For a kid like our 10-year-old Jacob, who does not suffer the chaos created by family members with little concern for rules of the game, he found this particularly frustrating, especially when numerous situations calling for bending the rules come into play. One particular situation seemed to foul his mood. 5-year-old Ben lined up to putt and sent the ball into Jacob’s sweatshirt, which was inexplicably draped across the putting green. Seeing that he was actually the cause for concern, Jacob quickly picked up Ben’s ball and rolled it on its original trajectory. Much to the “a maze’ment” off all, the ball landed in the hole. A hole in one! Our first one. “A Maze’n!” Well, to Jacob, this seemed wrong and unfair. Sure he was at fault, but his brother did not deserve a hole in one. Ultra competitiveness beginning to bubble to the surface, Jacob voiced his objection. After pointing out that the situation was really created by his own careless placement of s sweatshirt and that we were simply accepting his proposed solution, Jacob turned decisively toward bitterness. One child broken, two to go.
Entering the huge maze, I was really looking forward to the challenge. My excitement lasted for about the first ten minutes, when I then started to become mildly claustrophobic, tired of the unending maze, and tuckered out from trying to keep track of my three boys sprinting through the maze amongst the other throngs on children out to enjoy sunshine, before the unrelenting Winter blanket descends upon the Minnesota landscape. Turning a corner, I caught up with two of my boys and much to my shock, the stress of the maze was visibly getting to 5-year-old Ben. He had snapped. His 7-year-old brother Sam had committed some egregious wrong in the maze and completely out of character, 5-year-old Ben was now pounding Sam with both fists upon his older brother’s shoulders. The maze had broken young Ben. Given time, the maze breaks everyone. Judging from the height of the Sun burning high above the maze, it was past lunchtime. Ben was also a tad hangry. Blood sugar levels in need of adjustment, an “a maze’n” form of exhaustion was beginning to set in. We needed to get out. For me, for the kids, for mankind. Running with that purpose in mind, we emerged from the maze, back into comparative tranquility of the petting zoo. We all needed lunch. We needed lunch fast. Two children broken, one to go.
Having our “a maze’n” lunch delivered to the table, I began to see a transformation. With each bite of pizza, with each fried cheese curd gobbled, with each sip of blue slushy, our moods began to change. The food had restored us, it had nourished our bodies, and fortified our psyches for one more go at the “A Maze’n” farmyard. We had been fully restored… or so I thought.
Returning to the mini golf course, at the request of Jacob, who was hoping to redeem himself, we settled into an agreed upon relaxed round. Amongst the teaming masses of other families, “relaxed” is a relative word and as a result, I found myself encouraging the kids to play faster, in order to avoid too big of a line forming behind us. Even letting groups play through did not seem to help, we were woefully slow. We had to keep moving (or perhaps it should be phrased “mooving” since we were on a pseudo farm). This new pace however, caused 7-year-old Sam a great deal of stress. You see, Sam found it essential to doodle on the scorecard during the game, but also insist on us waiting for him, as he engaged in a rare and time consuming combination of sketch art and mini sport. Seeing us nearly one hole ahead, the pressure got to him (mini golf can break the best of us). The Sun, the maze, the high pressure mini golf action, the late lunch, it had all taken a toll on poor Sam. Final child down, two fully restored by fried cheese curds.
Leaving the farm, I realized that we could never truly move on. This Fall Break excursion had changed us. It would stick with us forever, sort of like the fried cheese curds, now resting in our bellies. Our lives had been altered in an “a maze’n” way. No matter how much Purell was applied, our souls would never glisten as bright again. We had left the maze, but the maze would never leave us.
Someday, my children will despise me for “A Maze’n” photos, such as this one. Perhaps that day will be today.