In the words of one of our favorite books we’ve found this school year – it seemed a fitting title. I found a letter slid underneath our bedroom door last night. It read:
I love you. I wish you could have some time off work so we could go on vacation to grandpa and grandma’s.
I love you very much and I hope you don’t die until you are at least 90.
There was a hand-drawn maze in green crayon on the back to occupy him as well.
My kids decided they do like goat’s milk. Even Blaine agreed it tasted fine, good even. I don’t know what was up the first time we tried it – except Roany was new on the place and likely getting different feed here than where she had been – but it’s actually good. I made banana bread with it, Sterling told me he wasn’t going to like it, and of course couldn’t tell the difference. He told me I should use it in the French toast this morning. Since we now own four goats, liking their milk is kind of a good thing, I’m thinking.
The other day we were walking down the main aisle in Target when Ruby broke out into the Alleluia chorus at full volume. Over and over and over and over again. As if the 5 kids 7 and under wasn’t enough to get us all the looks. I assure you, the two year old evangelizing for all she was worth got us a few more. I kept walking going, “Laugh? Be embarrassed? Pretend everything’s normal? Ask her to quiet down, just a smidge?” I didn’t come to any solid conclusions. There were about 20 people peeking out the aisles around us, watching it. And Ruby did a beautiful job.