Many of the goats have become particularly fond of Reese. She must be some sort of "goat whisperer."
Brady . . . well, the sign says it all . . .
And then, there is the infamous Monkey Hill. In the summertime, it is filled with half naked children splashing around on dangerous rocks in water that has to be predominately urine. (shudder) They love it. I try to avoid it by distracting them, but they are too old for that now.
In the winter, it is a climbing spot. Brady immediately tackled the "spider web" design, and Reese cautiously sized it up from the bottom.
After quite a bit of coaxing, she slowly joined her brother up the ropes.
It didn't take long for me to hear a terrible cry from the top. I guess she realized that she was going to have to get back down by herself, and she sounded terrified. Panic filled my heart, because it was going to be difficult to navigate through all of those children to get to her before she had a complete meltdown.
I spotted Brady. I asked him to hurry up and check on Reese, and he didn't hesitate. He had a worried, but calm look on his face. I was hoping that my voice didn't scare him to death, but he is familiar with his sister's timid personality. In less than a minute, he was walking her down the ropes, hand-in-hand, until she could get to me. When I lifted her off, she clung to me tightely.
Tears were pouring down my face, but not because I was worried about her safety. The way Brady helped her down the ropes and comforted her in his own way was touching. He has never been known for his super-sensitive personality or tender nature. Seeing him respond that way made me so proud and grateful.
Maybe we are doing something right as parents. When I have days that I feel like I have been the worst parent in the world, I think I will just try to remember that we are helping cultivate a relationship between the two of them that is not dependent on us. What a relief.
