I milk the goats twice a day. Its my job but I expect the children to help. This morning my son decided to get started without me. Its possible he believed I was about to start anyway. But no matter, he didn't wait for me. He went on out and got started.

I have a friend whose baby didn't speak until he was 3 or so. Everyone wondered what was wrong. I never wondered. They would not acknowledge a word until they heard an actual word. Perfectionists! Bah! If the baby said "buh" they didn't reply with "Book? Did you mean book?  Book! Good job!" They didn't reply at all because they hadn't heard a word.

It should probably be admitted here and now, publicly. I really hate perfectionism. Its the root of evil. Brain surgeons are allowed their perfectionism. Everyone else can suck their ego driven neurosis, self included. Anyhoo....

My last goat chore this morning was raking out their yard. I moved the stock tanks we use to hold their hay, so I could rake behind. And there, with the effect of a miniature lightening bolt, I found a coiled baby copper head. This is a creature born potent and perfect. What to do? Should I kill it?

I called my son over and gave him my tall boots. We crouched behind the snake to see more clearly its triangle shaped head and pointed nose. We stared at the pattern. We noted where it was found. We looked and looked all the better to sear recognition in our neurology. Then we went on about our business. What good in killing this one? There is a nest of babies close by, so obviously, a breeding pair as well. As there always has been and so mote it be. Live and let live, I say. But its time to mow the lawn.

Later I walked into my son's room and told him initiative is its own reward. But I'm proud of him. And I handed him five bucks. Praise the attempt with positive reinforcement. Train them in the way you want them to go. Ignore failures and missteps. Believe in their best intention.