walking her home. again.
/
Happy Weekend, friends.
xo.
Molly
Love, Jemima
/You know it’s coming.
The date has been circled on the calendar for five months now.
The paper chain hanging over my daughter’s bed, counting down the days, is all but gone.
All the prep work has been done.
She’s been allowed out of her pen, just her, each night to jump up on the milking table, and received a treat each time she has done it. She had her hooves trimmed a month ago. She got her vaccinations at the perfect interval. She was put in her own special pen a week ago. The one with her own hot pink water bucket that clips to the side. Her own feed pan, single serving sized.The pen where golden fresh straw was fluffed just right.
And the signs were all there. Her udder had grown to almost impossible seeming proportions.
Yet as I checked on her before leaving for a morning of appointments, she lay there happily chewing her cud. Her deep brown eyes said to me, “No worries. I’m good. You go.”
And is the part that always makes my heart skip a beat. Just for a second.
The coming home to two, brand new, warm, dry babies in the pen with her. Up on their feet. Licked clean. Drinking heartily.
Then the other best part.
Hearing the bus roar up the hill. Hearing the stomps of their sneakers hitting the deck. A brief second of quiet as they take in the note taped to the door. It reads: “Come to the barn. Love, Jemima” The ear piercing screams of glee as back packs are dumped and they race to the barn. Gently picking up each new arrival and thoroughly inspecting them. Noticing every spot and freckle. Scratches and praise for Jemima. A walk outside for the best spring grass. Laps for the babies to sit on and warm themselves in the bright sun.
The newness of the season.
The delight of new birth.
The hope of a new life.
All of this will never get old around here.
Like little diamonds at the end...
/Thought you might like to take a little peek at our streamside walk last night...(and my crazy diving dog.)
Music : Where The Road Meets The Sun | Katie Herzig & Matthew Perryman Jones
When Birdy went missing.
/
Last week, while I was on the phone with Emily, all the kids were outside playing. Birdy, who jumps at any opportunity to be outside, was standing at my hip crying because she was inside and everyone else was out. When her screaming to go out became too much to talk over, I hung up with Emily long enough to put Birdy in her boots and sent her outside--calling to her sisters to keep any eye on her.
Emily and I continued to talk and I watched as some of the girls wandered back into the house. Finally, much later, Emma came in. Alone.
Where's Birdy? I asked.
She's inside with the girls.
No, she's not. You were watching her outside.
No one told me I was watching her.
And then, there's that parenting moment where you get the immediate pit in your stomach. Deep, deep down you're pretty sure everything is just fine. But in a flash, you've systematically worked through every possible horrible scenario that could happen to your unattended toddler. And what steps you'll take to deal with the emergency. As well as the fact that you haven't showered and if you're going to need to now make a trip to the emergency room, you're looking pretty scruffy and maybe you'll be able to at least wash your hair in the kitchen sink before you go.
Please. Tell me I'm not the only one who manages all these thoughts in course of 12 seconds?
But of course, we found her.
And of course where else would she be but playing in the muddiest corner or our property, where the driveway meets the grass. Where the water gathers after every rain. And mixes with mud and stone and mulch and soil.
And of course, she was wearing one of my favorite sweaters. And her best pair of jeans.
But who was watching her? Her very best pal.
Of course.
