The lamb is still alive and kicking. I did bring it inside yesterday morning to give her (yes, definitely a girl) some milk replacement by the fire. I figured it couldn't hurt her to make sure she had some food and got warmed up a little. I saw her nursing later in the day, so she should be okay. No more lambs have been born yet on my solo watch, for which I am EXTREMELY grateful.
And continuing with some more things you most probably don't care about, but since you're here you will read what I write (AND LIKE IT) . . .
I just canned seven quarts of pickled beets. A local farm is still pulling beets and turnips from their gardens, and the MiL bought a bushel. Each. That is a shitload of root vegetables. They're delicious--thanks to the very cold temperatures we've had that have made them very sweet--but goddamn are those things filthy. They are literally caked in mud. Washing them takes almost as long as prepping the cooked beets for the canner. But I do love pickled beets, so I did it anyway.
Canning in January is WAY better than canning in July. For obvious reasons of kitchen temperatures and boiling pots.
I bought Cubby his own backpack from L.L. Bean for his upcoming third birthday, and while I was on the website, I checked their 2-a-day daily markdown. It's this thing they do, uh, twice a day, where there's just one item they sell for way cheap. When I happened to check it, the item was a big flannel-lined corduroy shirt for twenty dollars. I have a big corduroy shirt that I have owned for more than a decade now. I've worn it a lot, and it's past time that it be laid to rest. So I bought the one from L.L. Bean as a replacement. It just arrived. I tried it on and it fits. I have worn it for less than five minutes so far, but I can already tell I'm going to live in this shirt. It ain't gonna win me any fashion awards, but holy hell is it comfortable.
In preparation for a seriously frigid stretch of weather coming our way, I cleaned the ashes out of the woodstove today. Then I had to re-start the fire. Man, do I ever suck at starting a fire. It took me a few days' worth of newspapers and probably six matches before I finally got it going well. I would never survive in the wilderness.
Both of my children have colds. It's gross. Snot everywhere. I have not yet been struck down myself, though I pessimistically anticipate the pestilence will be visited upon me anytime now.
So maybe on that note, I should go to bed. You know, get a good night's sleep to boost my immune system.
HAHAHAHAHA. A good night's sleep. Oh, I kill myself*.
* But only if Charlie doesn't kill me first. The sleep battle rages on.