“Hello cow” I say as I drive in the driveway and see the beast casually swaying his jaw and staring at me literally feet from my back porch. We are not in LA anymore. We left over a month ago and have been living in Massachusetts on a farm about thirty miles from Boston. This stark contrast from Venice Beach hit me more now than ever as I placed the car in park and rested my chin on the steering wheel. “What do I do now?” The cow had obviously been enjoying his freedom after escaping through a hole in the fence and now roamed our yard like a boss. I excitedly called the Mister who calmly advised me to “get him back in the fence.” I hung up the phone, told the boys I’d be right back, and channeling my inner Laura Ingalls Wilder I approached the cow with rugged determination. After a little coaxing and I’m sure a hilarious display of flailing arms the cow returned to the fields. I’m pretty certain the cow knew the routine and was very cooperative, but I felt victorious none the less. I proudly went back to the car where the two boys who had been thoroughly amused watched the whole show from their car seats and now flooded me with questions as I opened the door. “Do it again mommy!” “Can I chase the cow?!” “What did you tell him?” Bless. Their mama is a cowgirl. I love how easily I can impress them right now. Do any other mama’s appreciate that their kids think the world of them in these early years? I love that in my son’s eyes I’m so good at throwing a football and playing sports. Like really I’m pretty much Tom Brady. I dread the day he realizes how terrible my spiral is.
Safe to say we are not in LA anymore. We bought a farm. We are settling down and we are living with cows.
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