This morning we took 200 flyers to Firth and stuck them in people's doors. I'm sore. Firth is really hilly, and I already had sore calves from yesterday, because I took the dog for a walk and was chasing him. I knew better. I know better. And I'll probably do it again someday. And I was already a little short on sleep, because at about seven this morning, when it was still kinda misty and golden outside, I woke up hearing the sheep yelling unhappily. Turned out one of the lambs had a bucket on its head. Minor, but it was still just as well that I woke up, 'cause Honey had just decided that it was a threat and started butting the lamb, which had realized that moving around made things worse and wasn't about to run away. But I still don't like waking up that early.

B came by today. She was hoping that Owen could help her with Eastin again, and was very tragic when she heard that we're doing school today. It is true that Dad has decided that Owen's spent enough time at B's for the present, and that Owen's probably being spoiled (which he isn't, not when he's babysitting) but B still gets on my nerves. So did her reaction when she heard that the neighbor, Mike, is now a dad. They live in a somewhat run-down trailer, and B does not approve. This news is the cause of some gloating on my part, though, because I thought she looked pregnant and Mom disagreed. Enter B again. She says when she was my age she "could always tell." I can't "always tell." Anyway. It's a boy, according to the sign that I think the hospitals always issue, as advertisement for the quality of their OB/GYN staff or something.

Since the Suburban is Dad's work vehicle, and it's what we took to Firth this morning, a bucket of stain in the back got spilled when we were getting the seats back together. Dad was very carefully not hitting the roof about anything during cleanup, which is currently paused. It's strange and worrying seeing him in that mood and not mad at any of us. Actually I think it may have been my fault, but he hasn't asked or anything. Is strange. We're running out of baking soda. At least the bucket that I was offering to livestock is safe.

And we have a nest of wasps in the window cavity next to the front door. Mom got stung on her forehead, and Peter and Owen are running around calling for the insecticide, which we're currently out of.

Busy day, huh? And it's only one o'clock.