My Generation

There's Colostrum in the Fridge

A night away is lovely. Then, back to reality. It can be lovely, too.

I went away this weekend, to the Hearts at Home conference in Bloomington and a quick overnight with a dear friend I've known since kindergarten. Which is to say, we stayed up far too late talking for two women in their mid-30s who needed to get up and function with society the next morning. But that's OK. Somehow, we still have topics to discuss that we haven't already thoroughly covered in the past 30 years.

And can I just tell you how nice it was to sleep in a bed I didn't have to make and that I couldn't be called out of to help pull a calf at
3 a.m.? Because it was nice. Very nice.

Then I came home Saturday night. John and the kids faired very well on their own. In fact, I opened the refrigerator and saw a mixing bowl with saran-wrap on top. Instantly, I recalled the dishes in the sink and thought, "Maybe they baked something. Maybe cookie dough?" Then I picked up the bowl and its contents swished around. Too runny for cookie dough. What in the world?

Then it hit me. It wasn't cookie dough, or any other baked good for that matter. It was colostrum.

Welcome home.

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