Chore Boot Snowdrift

Chore Boot Snowdrift

Um, yeah.  A real farmer would know to take his boots in before a snow storm. 

Did I mention it was 8 degrees this morning?  Wow, milking goats was so idyllic in my head.

A lot of our conversations in this house revolve around poop.  Yup, not kidding… Poop.

We have one baby, one toddler, and two preschoolers, so poop is a neverending source of conversation.  Some old-time favorites are always size, color, smell, body parts, and the list goes on.  Mom’s least favorite poop topic is location.  Mostly because the conversation always begins with, “Me poo…. or I pooped…”  And ends with me screeching, “You pooped WHERE?!”  It’s not pretty, but I’m convinced it’s normal. 

My oldest daughter, on the other hand, is positive it is NOT normal and we should all pretend as though no one ever poops.  It should not be mentioned.  Ever… That function which shall not be named.   Following one of these conversations you’ll hear her take a deep sigh and mutter, “It’s not okay.  It’s just not okay.  I can’t believe we’re talking about this again.”   And she’ll quietly slink away, pretending not to be listening to the conversation.

Well, I just want to say, “Thank you Tim Hawkins!  I now have the reassurance  I needed to know YES, we’re normal!” 

We got to see Tim perform last weekend in Galena, Illinois.   I’ll admit to being a little giddy at being alone with my husband overnight for the first time in approximately 13 years, but I thought he was fantastic!

His skit on his three year old ds and poop was priceless and I was laughing way louder than I ought according to my husband.  But, gosh, it’s so nice to relate to someone! 

It was with GREAT relief that I came home the next day and reassured our almost 13yo dd, “We’re totally normal!”

She broke my heart. 😦

“No mom, we’re NOT normal.  It’s just that he’s as twisted as we are.”



My beloved goat, Cinderella, has been a faithful little beast.  She’s given me nearly 1/2 gallon (and sometimes more) at each milking.  That’s approximately 64 ounces of milk.  Please imagine my confusion when she gave me EIGHTEEN ounces last night.  What in the world?

Apparently, there are two very good reasons for this.

The first is that the seven and four year old decided to milk the goat.  Silly me, I thought they were in the barn to play with the babies.  They got her up in the milkstand, fed her, and milked her.  They also taught two of the babies (bottlefed) where milk comes from.  No wonder they weren’t climbing all over me at feeding time.  I’ve been robbed!

So, let this be a lesson to you, more is caught than taught! Even when you don’t want it to be.