My older daughter spent Saturday morning at the horse farm getting judged on her riding and then the afternoon back home trimming the sheep’s toenails. Or hooves. Whatever they’re called.

I didn’t go to the show-test thingy, and since my daughter couldn’t really explain to me the purpose of the test (that she spent 45 of her dollars to take), I still don’t know exactly what went on. But she told me that the morning of the test, both she and her riding girlfriend (they had a sleepover at girlfriend’s house) were nervous sick. My daughter reported that her friend was so nervous that she only ate five spoonfuls of yogurt for breakfast. “I was sooooo nervous, too,” my daughter said, “but I ate two eggs, two pieces of toast, juice, and yogurt.” That’s my girl, people.

So anyway, back to the sheep. That afternoon I was standing in the kitchen chatting on the phone with a friend when I looked out the window and saw my daughter flipping sheep. So I hung up, grabbed the camera, and went out to watch.

First she caught them by driving them into the corner of the pasture using the wide-open gate as a trapdoor.

Second, she attacked…

and didn’t…

let…

go.

Third, she yelled for someone (in this case, her brother) to hand her the halter.

Fourth, she danced a jig with the sheep that…

ended with the sheep laying on the ground belly up.

Fifth, she trimmed the hooves.

It was all highly entertaining. If laughter is the best medicine, then sheep wrangling is downright therapeutic. (At least for the onlookers.)

Note: this post makes it sound like she’s tossing whole herds of sheep on their backs. This is not the case. She has only two sheep. Still, even with just two sheep, the task somehow managed to look like A Serious Operation. Or a blog-worthy one, at least.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (4.14.14), the value (or not) of the workbook. and chocolate-covered peanut butter eggs.

This same time, years previous: Mr. Tiny, deviled eggs, on fire, lemons and goat cheese, flour tortillas, my prego husband, in all seriousness, and Easter chickens.      

There’s nothing more disappointing than popcorn that won’t pop.

Well actually, flopped cakes, a rained-out wedding, a lie-to-your-face child, receiving an order of expensive shoes that don’t fit, planning a Netflix night only to have the internet go out, putting sour half-and-half into your coffee, etc, etc, probably all qualify as more disappointing. All things considered, non-poppy popcorn is rather minor. Still, in the moment it can feel rather crushing. 

Because we buy our popcorn by the truckload (practically), we were rather miffed when, a couple months into a fresh sack, we started making dud-corn instead of popcorn. We figured the seller stored the popcorn in a damp place. Or maybe he never dried it properly in the first place?

After stewing a bit, my husband hopped on the Internet to research the problem.

And guess what! The reason is the exact opposite of what we both thought. Popcorn doesn’t pop, not because it’s too wet, but because it’s too dry. The popcorn’s pop is caused by moisture inside the kernel heating up and creating steam. When there’s not enough moisture, there’s not a good pop.

The solution, we were delighted to discover, was easy. We put the dud-corn in a jar, added a bit of water, let it sit for a day or so to absorb the moisture, and voila, the freshest, poppy-est popcorn you could ever wish for!

How To Rejuvenate Popcorn Kernels

1. Put the not-doing-their-thing popcorn kernels in a jar.

2. For every cup of kernels, add one teaspoon of water.

3. Lid the jar, shake well, and let sit for 1-3 days. (It’s advised to let the kernels sit for three days, but we waited just one and they were perfect.)

For a longer shelf life, store the rejuvenated popcorn in the freezer. (But if, like me, your popcorn never quite makes it into the freezer, no worries. You now know the remedy.)

This same time, years previous: the greening, an evening walk, the things that go on around here, new territory: grief, and cream of tomato soup.