Last night, I milked the goats. In 84 degree weather. On May Day. I'm not complaining.
Eva played in the barn with the baby goats. I couldn't see her from where I milked, just heard her giggling and squealing with delight.
"Mama, they are eating my hair!" she yelled happily.
"Don't let them do that!" I yelled back.
The giggling and squealing went on for the 20 minutes it took me to milk the goats. When I finally set eyes on my four-year-old daughter, her hair looked dread-locked and slimy from being used as a goat pacifier. You will be appalled to know that I did not wash her hair that night since it was so late, and since I was too exhausted to do almost anything. This morning, as I tried to tease out her tread locks, hair came out in chunks. The baby goats had used her hair not as a pacifier, but as a teething toy.
It's not too bad, really. Her hair looks a little frizzy in a couple of spots, but she is very happy, and so are the baby goats.
A few days ago, a whole gaggle of kids came over to play with the baby goats. (If you are a mama friend of mine, please don't be upset that you didn't get invited. It was totally impromptu, and there were too many kids already. We'll do it again, okay?) All members of the two different species enjoyed themselves immensely, chasing each other, jumping and snuggling together. Several moms e-mailed me after the playdate that their kids refused to go down for a nap - they were so excited.
The babies have learned that it's extra fun to use our bodies as trampolines. Sometimes, I sit with them after chores and get a little back massage when they jump on me and work my spine. It feels kind of good, although they are growing rapidly, and I don't know how much longer I can let them do this without breaking my back.