I Try My Hand at Milking

I am finding that, mixed in with cooking for the family, or making salves, or reading to the boys, cleaning the house takes me most of Saturday. We all headed out late in the afternoon to see a ballet version of Little Red Riding Hood. We had two friends dancing in it, and dancers performed three short works. One was meant to be like a Jackson Pollock painting—it was unlike anything I'd ever seen before, and I got lost in it. Amazing.

As soon as that was over, we headed up to another in town thing. A church was having a CD release party and invited our worship leader to play with them. The boys, now five hours after eating a couple of hot dogs, and pushing up against their bedtime, started to melt down, so Phil took them all to Chipotle and I stayed and sang and prayed. So we were all happy.

Perhaps Caleb is getting ready to teethe, but he is not sleeping well these days. I had less than three hours of sleep total Saturday night, but I drank part of a cup of coffee at church and was fine until about 6pm. The boys woke me after a seven minute nap.

I actually dreamed an entire poem in the middle of the night. That was very weird. I wake up with lines on my mind, and as I'm going about my day I think of new topics. Maybe I'm getting a hint of what it is like to be Abraham, with a deep desire to create. I can't say I find it entirely comfortable.

Phil showed me how to milk the cows with the milking machine. I am so not mechanically minded, it took me longer than I care to admit to get it all assembled, but I finally did. The cows must be a little hungry for alfalfa, because they hop right up into the milking stanchion for me.

Abraham went up to the road and practiced riding a bike. He and Isaiah spent several hours up there, tootling back and forth on the gravel.

And the rich green of the trees and fields screams richness. It's lovely.