We were building a hay pen. After cutting cedar trees for the posts, placing them in the ground, and filling in the holes, Matt lopped the tops off and sent the boys around to pick them up. Ethan was enthusiastic. Evan got a few, then wanted to go play. Matt told him to keep working. He threw a fit. Matt wasn't impressed. So there went our then-2-year-old carrying logs, tears streaming down his face. Good thing no one's around to call CPS on us, we remarked.They're getting so big, so fast. The days seem to be slipping past us. I haven't taken any pictures lately- I can never find the camera, or my hands are full with a child or a calf or a rake. What if I look back on these weeks and can't remember why? We are floating along on a rhythm of chores and playing with friends, of reading piles of books on the couch and helping Matt. We have 3 baby calves hell-bent on destroying my internal organs or breaking my bones. The boys love them, though. (The calves, not my bones & organs.) We are glad for the occasional sunshine and the more-than-occasional mud.
We are fine. My heart is full. I don't know why the words won't come. Or the photos. I want to remember these days.
