I made French toast for breakfast, packed lunches (tuna salad with some chopped boiled egg on bakery buns, hacked-up watermelon pieces, plums, and bananas for those that wanted), shooed the chillins out the door, washed dishes, hung up laundry, straightened up, did email, and walked to town where I a) met a goatherd, and b) talked to a bakery saleswoman who pleaded with me to take her to the states.
The goatherd encounter was kinda funny. I was following him through the streets, admiring (wincing at) the one mama goat’s almost-dragging-on-the-ground udders, when I noticed that the guy was carrying a bag of paper cups in one hand and the lead rope in the other. And then I noticed that he was saying something. Specifically: Goat milk for sale!
It kinda gives new meaning to the phrase “fresh milk,” don’t you think?
I caught up to the boy and asked if I could take his photo.
“If you buy some goat milk,” he countered.
“Oh no,” I laughed. “I don’t like goat milk all that much.”
“It’s really good with honey,” he said. Was there a honey bear in his shoulder bag?
I laughed and made to walk away.
“Okay, you can take my picture anyway,” he said flatly.
So I did.
And then I turned the corner and there was a bakery that I’ve been wanting to photograph.
So I did.
The girl, unlike the goatherd, was all sorts of chatty.
At school, I checked out the cookies that aren’t selling. They’re not moldy yet, and people say they like them, but I’m kinda left with no option but to believe they’re just being polite. Because come on, every cook knows that if something is good, you eat it.
I took photos of my husband’s carpentry class.
They are making two tables, via the mortise and tenon method (whatever that is).
My husband fixed the table saw yesterday, so now there’s that.
I made photocopies of tomorrow’s math problems for my baking class (simple fraction reduction), visited with the teachers (there was an interesting discussion on when’s the best age to get married), and made the first inquiries into finding another group of students to tutor. I waited in the library for an appointment with a student who never showed. I attempted to improve my crocheting skills and ended up dropping a bunch of stitches. I planned supper, made to-do lists, and texted my husband.
After a couple hours of Being Present, I caught the bus back to town where I bought two avocados, a flat of eggs, and a bag of bread.
At home, I fixed myself lunch (tuna salad on a bun, a huge, juicy-sweet mango, and some leftover cake and coffee) and settled in for a whole two hours of writing, emailing, work planning, etc.
When the children come home at 2:15, there will be chores, homework, outside playing time, baking experiments, laundry, showers, supper cooking, and bedtime reading…but that hasn’t happened, so I shan’t write about it just yet.
Ps. Speaking of udders and milk: on the bus ride home, I happened to glance out my window and saw a woman. Actually, I didn’t see the woman per say. All I saw was her one enormous breast—nursing baby must of just been detached and shirt not yet pulled back down—dripping milk. I saw the white droplets falling to the ground. Now don’t you wish I had a photo of that?
Thursday Morning Update
My husband just phoned.
Him: “There’s a honey bear in his bag!”
Him (giddily): “The goatherd! He’s here! He has a honey bear!”
Me (incredulous, because he’s lactose intolerant): “You bought some?!”
Him: “No, but the bus driver did! The goatherd squirted honey into a cup and then milked straight into the cup! It was frothy and everything! You should buy some milk just to see it!”
Maybe I will. Guess I better pack my camera…
That poor goat! I know just how she feels.
Love, love, LOVE the picture of the bakery girl. What an infectious smile!
P. S. Those baked goods look heavenly.
What amazes me is that she had such an abundance of milk. I had a hard time with production; I was always told that breast size didn't matter, but I think overall size might – I'm just under five feet tall and at that time I weighed about 100 pounds. It was always a struggle to produce enough for my babies, and I weaned them early, reluctantly. Oh, to have milk galore 🙂
Re the idea about overall body size: I don't know. The women here are super small. My 9-year-old is as tall as many of the women. It's rare to see a woman over, oh, I don't know, 5 feet 2 inches maybe.
But I sympathize with the low milk production issue! I never had that problem, but I imagine it would be dreadfully frustrating.
Yes, I do.
So far I have not had to censure your blogs before showing them to students!
Uh-oh. Does this mean you had to censure this one? Really? Over lactation? (Then you must not have shown them the babies and boob post, I take it…)
Oops! I meant "censor." I was referring to the thought of the milk-leaking breast. That I would have had to censor. The "babies and boob" post I could show, but I only show one or two posts a week; there's just too much good material and I chose others instead.
I can see the pink arrow now, "Hey, what mama's never felt like THIS?"