westonbirt redux

I thought we went to Westonbirt Arboretum last year. And that we were going back a year later. But I am a dummy because apparently we went in March and I am just unable to accurately gauge the concept of time.

Anyway, off we go in the car for an hour with this romantic view of how wonderfully middle class we will be with our wonderful children and how they will frolic and gambol through the woods joyously taking time to stop and tell us how much they love us and how amazing we are as parents.

Now the reality – we hit the treetop walkway and the kids love it. Great start!

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But then the treetop walk ends, and the boys make their displeasure at being somewhere fun and exciting known in their own unique way. Crying, endlessly.

Crying because they don’t want to walk. Crying because they don’t want to go in the pushchair. Crying because they don’t want to be carried.

We press on, dragging two sobbing little chaps with us.

Eventually we get to the old arboretum and convince them that collecting leaves is the most fun they can imagine, and we get twenty glorious minutes of neither of them crying. So I roll about on the floor taking photos of them.

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Then it’s time to leave and the crying starts again, so we slog back to the car with our dreams of middle class parenting perfection shattered. Nevertheless, it was a pretty good day out!