Going to the Zoo, Zoo, Zoo

How about you, you, you? You can come too, too, too.

Yes, we're going to the zoo, zoo, zoo.

First, we had to finish breakfast, a plan facilitated by Grandpa's spooning the oatmeal into the face.

Again with some help from Grandpa, 

socks and shoes were added, with FlapJilly supervising.

We drove to the zoo, paid our admission fee (their family membership requires a photo id), rode the little train around the periphery of the exhibits, and made straight for the goats and the alpacas 

and the miniature donkeys.

It took two quarters to release ten tiny pellets of appropriate food; FlapJilly had no fear of being bitten or otherwise touched.  She fed them until I ran out of money.

Then we went to the playground in the zoo.  It had big slides and little slides and slides in the sunshine and slides in the shade.  One try on the big and sunny slide was quite enough for the grandkid.  "It's very hot there."

 

Calling Grandpa once again, she located a cooler, twistier, longer slide,

and spent the next few minutes congratulating herself - "I did it!" - as she climbed and slid and climbed and slid, over and over and over again.

After a brief stint as a Princess in the castle (Belle.... Elsa.... all the princesses)

and making some meals (and some friends) in the little house behind her, we rode the carousel (No pictures, Gramma!  Hold me!) dophin until Gramma was just a tad nauseous, and then we hit Panera for some mac and cheese.  Or, as they say in the nearly-3-years-old-universe, mac-a-noonoos.

She's napping.  Grandpa's napping.  I'm not far behind.

It's hard work, being a little kid.

Hard work, indeed.