Have the goats become the straw that broke the blogger's back? Is that a mixed metaphor? We have settled into summer. The nine chickens are starting to free range a bit and thankfully still put themselves in the run in the late afternoon and inside the coop in the evening. They have yet to lay an egg, but they are blissfully simple to care for. The goats are characters, Daisy has worn several 'sticks of shame'. She pushes her head through the fence, then her horns hook as she tries to pull herself free. I came home Sunday to find her doubly stuck, she tried to do a u-turn once stuck. She is unsettled when I milk her, having been spoiled with treats every time she fidgets, but I have made many batches of goat cheese and have begun selling it, so Daisy is beginning to pay her own way. I think she knows this and is claiming her diva status. I went from no plans for summer, to scheduling two weeks of swimming lessons and two weeks of morning camp. Something to give a bit of structure and time with other kids and grown ups. Today I let the kids swim in the lake while I sat on the beach with Aya, they ran free around the field with their friends during a concert and walked up to the ice cream vendor by themselves with money in hand to buy an ice cream. These seem like minor things, but it is a bit of freedom this small town has afforded us. I did not fear that they would be lost in the crowd or snatched in front of my eyes. I can picture a future where they can ride bikes to a friend's house and I like it. Aya is now nine months, four teeth, pulling herself to standing, feeding herself and otherwise just being generally cute and sweet. She gives big wet open mouth kisses and claps her hands if she's happy, or if she sees other people clapping. She has a great belly laugh that the kids can easily bring out of her. Iman and Tayeb are reading independently, and such that it isn't painful to listen to anymore. They learned to ride bikes without training wheels. Adam updates, still resisting becoming a big boy when it comes to potty training, but he is more independent than Iman and Tayeb ever were at his age. He is my little farm boy who is happy to be barefoot in the backyard or naked in the kiddie pool. He is a flirt with all the older ladies, whether they be six or twenty-six. Although he hates to hear it now, he is still my love bug, my cutie patootie.
I am not sure what I have missed, but I am exhausted writing. We are finding our way in life, in our town.
