living with sheep

If you’ve ever loved a sheep, then maybe you will understand.

I had never loved a sheep before these two. And now they are on my couch and it’s somehow fine (but also not really), and every day I think, “today I will figure out a way for the lambs to sleep outside,” and every day I run out of hours and the sheep sleep inside, and I love them so much.

You could have been born a sheep. You could have been born a snail. These lambs are just as alive as anyone. These lambs are on the couch, and getting a shampoo in the twins’ bathroom.

I have become an expert at diapering sheep. I threaten to make a YouTube tutorial about it, but so far none of the children has filmed me in action. Instead they roll their eyes. When I was a teenager, if my parents had brought home a pair of newborn twin bottle-lambs for us to snuggle on the sofa, I would have been over-the-moon delighted. I’m sure of it.

You can wonder about next week and if the diapers will still fit, or next month and if the neighbors will complain. Or you can just live this day today, with your sheep.

The After-Dinner Kitchen Salon

On Monday at dinner, Leo asked if he could have a haircut later, and Meg said yes after many days of saying not tonight.

I wish now that I’d gotten an official “before” picture of Leo’s hair situation and what it had become. His hair had basically grown into its own self, separate from the rest of Leo. I didn’t hate it. When he was really small, his baby hair curled in loose rings at the base of his neck—and on humid days the curls would tighten into real ringlets—but for most of his life, his hair has been straight. It’s only been a few months since the hormone shift that turned his hair into curls again, seemingly out of the blue.

The last picture I have of him pre-cut is from a couple weeks ago. I took it with my phone on an afternoon hike and texted it to my ex with the caption: “Leo, Edith, and Leo’s Hair on the rock behind our house.”

Meg asked Leo for some clues about what he was wishing for his hair to be and suggested he do some googling. A few minutes later, after looking over his inspiration ideas, she had to clarify that he ought to include “curly hair” as one of the search terms if he had any hope of it working out.

He went back to the laptop and searched again. It worked out.

My favorite part of hair cuts is the piles of hair on the floor after. Maybe it’s gross, but maybe it’s art. From all the years of Meg cutting hair and me taking pictures of her cutting hair, I could make an album just about hair snips on the floor.

Also there are plenty of photos of Meg’s legs. Because I am secretly a teenage boy.

Other things happening in our house right now are Sister Mary Agnes and Sister Bernadette, the lambs.

If a pair of lambs come barging into your room when you’re in the middle of doing your homework, it’s lucky if your five-year-old sister comes running in after them and herds them back out.

Liesl was clearly delighted and grateful.

Wake Up

I have this new-ish life, and a new-ish lease on life, and I’ve been wanting to write about it.

Driving to work, driving Leo to school, driving home—yes, there is a lot of driving these days—I am often writing in my head. I think about doing this, what I’m doing right now. So here I am.

Last summer we bought this new house kind of on impulse, still riding the tailwinds of my near-death-experience, still learning how to be still-alive, still learning how to thrive.

Just now Edith came in and held her fists out in front of her face, presenting them to me. “Mom, I lost my pinkies. Mom! I lost my pinkies.”

She’s tucked her pinkies into the center of each fist. She’s literally beaming with pride.

”I didn’t used to be able to do this!”

Wake up, wake up. Today is another new day.