If you live in the metro Detroit area, you've probably seen some form of the ad campaign launched by the Detroit Zoo regarding its "Giraffe Encounter."

The photos depict happy, smiley children standing face to face with nature's tallest creatures in the rare opportunity to feed a giraffe--who wouldn't want to do that? I pictured my children, 3-year-old Noah and 14-month-old Cecilia, grinning brightly as they broke bread (or the giraffe equivalent) with their new giant friends. I could even picture the pictures I would take!

Perhaps this would solve the annual Christmas photo card dilemma! What could be cuter than my two little monkeys happily feeding a giraffe? Perhaps I would caption the photo "Merry Christmas from our neck of the woods!"

But first back to August, which is when my brother and 4-year-old niece decided to come to Michigan for a visit, and we knew what we had to do: Encounter giraffes.

I had not yet taken my little animals to the Detroit Zoo as it is quite large and I feared it might be too much for them (and me). But we had made several trips to the smaller, more manageable Potter Park Zoo in Lansing with varying levels of success. In general, Noah loves animals, as long as they don't get too close. Or make too much noise. Or any sudden movements. So basically he likes pictures of animals in books.

Cecilia, on the other hand, would like to reach out and cover every animal she sees in copious amounts of baby slobber. She has even managed to maximize her budding vocabulary by efficiently dividing the animal kingdom into two categories: bears and ducks. Anything furry with a face (including, but not limited to bears, cats, dogs, bunnies, certain family members) is a bear while hairless creatures (ducks, frogs, hippos, certain other family members) are in the ducky species. She really seems to like going to the zoo, except for the whole being trapped in the stroller thing. But of course they will love the Giraffe Encounter, I reassured myself.

Coordinating this excursion took slightly less planning than the invasion of Normandy. My brother and I exchanged a series of e-mails, mostly trying to decipher the vague information given on the zoo's website. Between the two of us we have more than a dozen years of higher education, yet we were still unable to figure out how to have a Giraffe Encounter.

You'll note that the website doesn't actually indicate when the giraffes actually eat, only that 50 people/session will be allowed to feed them the special $5 "giraffe food item."

Urban legend (other moms) had led me to believe we had to be at the zoo promptly when the gates opened if we wanted to secure the highly coveted tickets to Giraffe Encounter. But what if it turned out the giraffes weren't hungry? What if they sold out?

I spent 45 minutes listening to hold muzak trying unsuccessfully to get those answers. The more I dug for information, the less clear it became, and the more crazed I began to feel. It might as well have been a quest to find a Tickle Me Elmo on Christmas Eve. Oh, you better believe we would encounter giraffes.

Eventually, my brother was able to get a human on the phone who explained that the giraffes are fed at 11 a.m. and 1 p.m., and thus our battle plan emerged: my brother and niece, who had a much shorter commute to the zoo, would get there right as the gates opened and purchase our Giraffe Encounter tickets.

Noah, Cecilia and I would join them just as quickly as I could pack up all our diapers, wipes, sunscreen, hats, spare clothes, water bottles, sippy cups and snacks on 3 hours of sleep, as I was working late the night prior.

As I loaded up the car and rallied my mini-troops from their slumber, I was no longer sure if we were heading to the zoo for a few hours or on a 10-day trek through the Himalayas. But none of that mattered: we had a date with destiny. I mean a Giraffe Encounter.

Upon arriving at the zoo we found my brother standing next to the Giraffe Encounter ticket booth, which was inexplicably empty. I felt panic and rage surge through my body: Had we missed it? But my brother explained that when he tried to purchase a ticket he was told that on this particular day you didn't buy the Giraffe Encounter tickets from the Giraffe Encounter ticket booth (because, I assume that would make far too much sense).

No, you had to instead find the Giraffe Encounter ticket salesperson wandering through the zoo, and purchase tickets from him/her which I could only imagine requires knowing the secret Giraffe Encounter handshake and perhaps a digital thumbprint or a retinal scan. Next time I will know to check WikiLeaks for any classified Giraffe Encounter documents before leaving for the zoo.

But none of that mattered: We had our tickets for the 11 a.m. feeding, so only 2 hours separated us from encountering giraffes!

Two hours is just about what it takes to push a double stroller from the entrance of the Detroit Zoo to the point where you actually see an animal. Don't get me wrong, it is a lovely, wonderful zoo but it is big. Really, really big. And it was hot. Really, really hot. And the stroller was heavy. Really... well, you get the point.

Still, Noah and his cousin seemed to enjoy seeing the animals, as much as toddlers with toddler-sized attention spans are capable of enjoying seeing far-away creatures that were for the most part, asleep. Cecilia occasionally popped her little head out of the stroller to yell "BEAR!" or "DUCKY!!!" depending on the particular exhibit.

But two zoo hours are just about all three kids age 4 and younger can handle, and as the clock ticked closer to our encounter time I began to worry they wouldn't make it. Still, we pushed on ....

Finally, the appointed time arrived! We hurried over to take our places and encounter giraffes ... where we were told to wait some more. Turns out we were just in the Pre-Giraffe Encounter Holding Area (PGEHA), where at least the view was better.

"Giraffes!" yelled Noah and his cousin in tandem. "Ducky!" Cecilia exclaimed.

Giraffe! (AKA, Ducky!)

We stood in line for what felt like hours, but was really only about 30 minutes. Thirty minutes under the hot sun with two children boisterously jumping up and down, crying out, "Is it time to feed the giraffes? NOW is it time to feed the giraffes???" and one baby now restlessly squirming against the stroller restraints and impatiently imploring, "Ducky!"

In a classic move from the amusement park/attraction handbook, we found ourselves forced to stand directly opposite the Giraffe Encounter souvenir booth, where every color and size of stuffed giraffe dangles directly at toddler eye level. Well played, zoo folk.

About 15 minutes into our stay in the PGEHA, a kind zoo docent came through the line to educate us on the encounter that awaited. She shared with us that giraffes have powerful jaws and very long, purple tongues. Noah shared with her that when he goes poo-poo on the potty he can have four M&Ms. Cecilia dozed in and out of a fitful stroller nap, occasionally waking to mumble, "Ducky?"

Then it was our turn. Our long-awaited Giraffe Encounter. I half expected to hear the hallelujah chorus as we stepped to the platform, but instead heard "NEXT!" as we were jostled into place.

Now I don't know if the giraffes woke up with indigestion that morning, or if they had a really big dinner the night before, or if they're hoping to get into a cute outfit this weekend.

But I do know that each child in our group was handed two scrawny little leaves. If you look at the photos on the website, you'll note that the happy, smiley kids are feeding the giraffes entire branches, which I'm guessing takes a little more time for a giraffe to eat than a leaf. No disrespect to the zoo folks, but it seemed a bit ridiculous. While the money we paid to feed the giraffes doesn't grow on trees, leaves in fact do.

I didn't get to see my niece feed the giraffe as I was unbuckling Cecilia from her stroller in the 2.5 seconds during which it happened. When it was Noah's turn, he walked tentatively up to the giraffe and just as he extended his arm toward the giant creature he turned back toward me and said, "Look, Mama! I'm going to feed the giraffe!"

Of course, that's when the giraffe saw the leaf coming (and was probably thinking, "A leaf? Are you serious?") and snatched it up, oblivious to the fact that Noah's back was turned. And before he had finished turning back toward the giraffe again, it had already snatched the second leaf out of his other hand. Giraffe Encounter over. Here's the only photo I was able to snap:

"NEXT!" boomed the Giraffe Encounter person.

"But I want to feed the giraffes MORE!!!!" Noah screamed as we were unceremoniously ushered off the feeding platform.

"DUCKEEEEEEEE!" Cecilia shrieked with her tiny arms outstretched toward the giant object of her affection.

My brother and I looked at each other in disbelief. I was torn between laughing at the ridiculousness of it all and joining my toddler in a tantrum. But we dried our tears, focused our thoughts and conversation on all the fun we had had, and waved goodbye to the giraffes we had (very briefly) encountered. Hot, tired, hungry and covered in zoo residue, it was definitely time to go home.

As we drove away I got to thinking about what had just happened. It wasn't quite how I envisioned it, but maybe that was part of the problem. It wasn't the encounter of a lifetime, but maybe it wasn't supposed to be. The more I thought about it, the more frustrated I got. Which is why from now on I'll try to stick to what I call The ABC's of Young Child Encounters (with giraffes, museums, fairs, etc.):

Accept the experience for what it is. If your toddler is happiest picking dandelions out of the grassy areas between the animal exhibits, do not label your outing as a failure.

Be realistic about what activity will be most appropriate, and thus most enjoyable for your children. You don't have to get in every educational, enriching experience before they hit age 4. You will definitely have many, many years to expand your child's world, but perhaps a small window during which you are the center of it. I'm pretty sure my kids are just as happy going with me to the pet store to buy cat food as they were going to the zoo.

Check your expectations, along with your grown-up cynicism at the door. The experience likely won't turn out exactly how you expect, but remember--your kids didn't have the same expectations.

Later that night I kissed Noah's smooth little cheek, tucked him in with his beloved Thomas the Tank Engine blanket, and told him I loved him. He hugged me tightly and said "I love you too, Mama. And you know what? The giraffe licked me!!!" He broke into the sweetest giggle, which turned into a roar, which ended in the two of us laughing so hard I cried. What a day. To borrow a word from his sister, it was all just ducky.

Mona Shand is a radio and TV news reporter. You can read more on her blog.