I LEFT THE STAGE AS A BALLERINA—NOW I MILK GOATS AND HOMESCHOOL EIGHT KIDS
I used to wake up to the sound of pointe shoes scuffing against marley floors. Now? It’s chickens screaming because the twins let them out. Again. If you’d told me five years ago that I’d trade silk leotards for overalls and Manhattan for a mountain valley with questionable Wi-Fi, I would’ve laughed mid–pas de bourrée….
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