I’ve been reflecting a lot lately on my parenting views while the school start date quickly approached. Honestly, I would hate to be a school administrator right about now. Too much at stake, too many opinions, and not enough money to go around to make a good go of it. My prediction is that we’ll be in school for a week or two. It’s just my take so don’t kill the blogger, but I’m here to tell you, I’m going to make every last moment of this time while they are in school count. I’m going to hit the ground running. I’m going to drop them off on the first day with hugs, kisses, masks, and a reminder to wash their dang hands. Then I’m going to peel out of that parking lot like my house is on fire because I’ve got a to-do list a mile long and a ticking time bomb just waiting to destroy it. If you would have asked me pre-pandemic if I would have sent my kids to school during this crisis, I would have said no. I would have homeschooled for their safety, for other’s safety, and to minimize the number of students their teachers have to work with. The teacher in me would have seen the smaller class size for other kids as a sacrifice that I could make because I knew my kids would be okay learning at home. Not now. I’ve had five months of cancelled camps, social distancing, no sports, mommy-led activities, screaming matches, no’s, more no’s, slamming doors, and a heck of a lot of stress eating. Now I’ve become the parent I was always meant to become. The hands off parent. This started with a very slow progression. When my oldest, Aiden, was born, I was a mommy warrior and mommy worrier all wrapped up in one tight anxiety burrito. He was a few weeks old the first time I left him with someone, which happened to be Grandma so it shouldn’t have been a big deal, but I had a sobbing fit that lasted 30 minutes and left me completely drained. I was sooo worried that something would happen to my baby. It was traumatic. Did he cry? Nope. Did he ever cry when I left him at his first babysitter’s house, at his first camp, his first day of preschool, his first day of kindergarten. No, this kid was very happy to loosen the helicopter-mom grip. “See ya, lady!” And he’d be off in a mad sprint to whatever awaited him while I cried at the door with some of the less sociable kids. Of course, when I got to the second babe, I was a little bit better. I was staying at home at this point, so my every day and night was devoted to my kids. Leaving them somewhere else was much, much easier. I’d leave Owen, the youngest, at Grandma’s house and he’d know it was coming. We’d drive up to Grandma’s house and he’d cross his arms to make it more difficult to get him out of his seat. “I’ve got Popeye arms, lady! You’re not getting me out of this pumpkin seat without a crowbar.” And then he’d cry and cry and I’d feel oh so guilty but manage to break away with fewer tears. When I realized this stay-at-home mommy stuff was the hardest job I’ve ever had and decided that Owen and I needed a little break, he went to a local day care two mornings a week. The first time I dropped him off, I sat with him and we both cried for about an hour before I finally left him to play, using up half the time he was going to be there that morning anyway. It was amazing this time around though. As soon as I walked out the door I was in full speed and relished my time alone. Now, I’m dropping them off for full days at school (a first for the preschooler) which means I will have a full day at home to work on a massive list of goals. I have so much I want to accomplish that not even a million full work days are going to do the trick, but I’m going to be happy with any time I’m given. Five months of Elementary WWE will do that to a mom. There are parents in larger towns who don’t even have the option to take their kids to school. There are teachers who are parents and have to learn a whole new way of teaching while also taking care of their children full time. There are people who still have to quarantine ALONE. So I’m here preparing for a couple of days of “me” time, praying that it’s more than a couple of days, hoping for the best, and appreciative of whatever I’m given. To keep this school year as long as possible, let’s work together. Please wear a mask, please wash your hands, and please no hugging. Many of us don’t like that anyway. 😂😂 A lot of people have been doing a lot of crazy things since self-distancing began. From the looks of my social media feed, TikTok is the killer of boredom, or the result, I’m not sure, but since I only see TikTok from other social media accounts, I’ve had to find my own ways of finding sanity. At first I was making ridiculous lists and not accomplishing anything, so then I threw out the list completely and that was much worse. I need structure and I’m just not getting it right now because this is not normal and because my kids are in my face at all times. Parents spend hours, days, and years creating structure for our kids because structure is good and in return they steal every last bit of structure we need for ourselves. And yet, we would gladly let them pull our own scaffolding out from under us because we feel guilty for yelling at them about daydreaming instead of completing the paragraph assignment you handed him or her for crisis school 30 minutes ago. UGH! Now I’m just trying to find the easy things I can accomplish that are useful. That’s my step back to sanity. I’m focusing on things that I can do and do them well. Surprisingly, that thing for me has turned out to be cooking. I actually hate cooking! Well, at least I normally do. If I were a millionaire, I would never cook again. The local restaurants could just put my order in every day at 5:00 P.M. Monday - Big Easy Pasta from Emmet’s Tuesday - Enchilada Supreme and a Chile Relleno from Dos Primos Wednesday - A large pizza from Muddy Mo (A different topping every week but no green peppers. I might even just order a plain crust because I’m not sure I’ve had better crust anywhere.) Thursday - Grilled Chicken Pita and Sweet Potato Fries from Beckett’s Friday - Loaded Grilled Cheese Burger and a side of fried pickles from Miknan’s Saturday - BBQ Nachos from Damron’s BBQ Sunday - Back to Dos Primos for a light dinner of chips and salsa and a jumbo mango margarita. Obviously I have thought about this a lot. Sadly, I am not a millionaire and I must make dinner every stinkin’ night. I used to rely on large recipes, casseroles, and doubling ingredients, but that no longer works. With two growing boys and two gluttonous adults, the leftover dinners are becoming more and more scarce. Not because there’s not enough for leftovers, but because we treat dinner like a competition on who gets the last serving. During self-distancing though, making dinner has become a little less stressful. I have more time and more ingredients because I just grab one of everything to get in and out of the store before my mask drives me nuts and the rebel no-mask shopper who wants to hang right on top of me during the whole trip gets germ-xed in the face. Most importantly though, cooking is a task I can complete, and that’s a glorious feeling. With so many other things just not working out, things I have no control over, it feels good to make a plan and complete it. These are my top three foods during the pandemic:
I may very well go back to hating cooking when this is all over. I know I will, but for now, it is a sense of glorious completion that I need. Also, the COVID-19 (as in pounds) are here to prove it. Hence the picture I posted the other day during a run. I’m trying to manage it with sweat and tears. I hope you all find something joyously comparable to survive these crazy days. As this first phase of self-distancing seems to be coming to an end, I have learned a few things that I hope I will remember in this time ahead. For some people this time was torture, and honestly, it was sometimes torture here too as I tried to make unrealistic goals for myself, while also trying to make sure my kids stayed on track for school. In my head, I had this lofty idea that my kids were going to learn so much if I could work with them one-on-one. HA! They would only learn that my patience is not as good as their own teacher’s patience. Once I let those ridiculous ideas slide, I realized I have enjoyed most of my time self-distancing so maybe I should probably make some of these things a priority. I really feel bad for some people who are social butterflies and self-distancing is mentally draining them. I think a lot of people might think I am a social butterfly, but I am absolutely not a social butterfly. I am a well-rehearsed costume of Eric Carle’s butterfly stuffing myself full of crap to make myself emerge from my cocoon. I’ve read the steps and made it my mission to not be a weirdo at school pick up. 82% of the time, I succeed at this. So this time of self-distancing has actually been really good for me. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still a struggle because I would like to go do things, but I’d like to go do alone things, and that never happens anyway. I find myself very jealous of my husband still getting away from the house, sitting all alone for hours in one type of work vehicle or another. I would like to leave the house just for the sake of leaving the house. I would just like to leave the house because someone said I shouldn’t and my natural 80’s kid instincts are to say, “No one puts Baby in a corner.” Otherwise, this has been a somewhat productive time for me. Not a profitable time by any means, but productive, and I’m thankful that I’m in a position to just focus on that. I have spent a lot of quality time with my kids, my husband and I are working together on some projects, and I have created a massive list of things I can do to prepare my writing adventures, and I’m checking them off daily. I started out working on my own in the mornings and when that became unproductive, I switched my routine and became productive in other ways, nonwriting ways, and I’ll tell you one thing - our yard looks UH-MAZING! I was flexible with myself (or tried to give myself some grace). I have even been exercising. Like not all out, sweating like a beast exercising, but enjoyable exercising, so I feel pretty energetic too. More importantly, I have learned the importance of how much I need alone time. There’s nothing that centers me more than that. I don’t mean alone time as in I’m upstairs and the kids are downstairs with my husband. Ladies, let me tell you, that is not alone time at all. It might be for a man. They are much better at turning their ears off. Moms will hear every argument, every stubbed toe, and every first moments of antagonizing a sibling before an all out brawl breaks out. That’s how we’re wired. Alone time means you are too far away to save them in any situation. That is a freeing state of mind. For example, I started this blog entry a couple of weeks ago, and have worked on it multiple times, and today finished 90% of the work in a matter of minutes because no one is in the house. They aren’t even in earshot of the house. At first I thought it was routine that helped me get my act together, but no, it’s been alone time because when the routine started showing cracks, having an hour to myself is what puts me back on track. My normal days are running here and there for my children, running errands, and then hoping to get a little time in during the afternoon to work on my thing. I need extended periods of time to accomplish things, and when you’re handed thirty minutes here and there, you’re going to be moving at a snail’s pace. And that’s mentally exhausting. But it’s not the routine that I need to hold on to, it’s the me time. That sounds very “self-help” for me, but this could also just be a disguised blog as a warning to the grandmas in our lives that I will be calling on you more often when I feel that it is safe to do so. I will be calling on you a lot. I will be annoying you. Just a heads up in case you need to let my calls go to voicemail. :) If you’re one of those people that have noticed how awesome it’s felt when you have gotten five or ten minutes with real alone time, maybe you should hang on to that as well. Also, on the other hand, keep being vigilant even if things are opening back up. Remember this is also a time game. We want to see our elderly family members again sometime soon, so don’t be acting crazy and run around like a toddler in the toy section of Wal-Mart. It’s better to stay at home if you can. Thank you for listening to this PSA! Now go about your day. :) “Man, I wish I was ten years younger! This is exhausting,” I have told myself this week as I was running from two little boys chasing me with Nerf guns, regretting that I didn’t wear sunglasses because the two demons on my heels were most definitely aiming for my face. More than a couple of times during this self-distancing period, I have caught myself wishing that I was younger, more able to focus, and more energetic when I’m self-isolated at home so I could breeze through some of these things that I NEED to do like exercise these kids into exhaustion. Luckily, I have a whole trove of new things that I’m jumping into so I can take advantage of this time I have to work quietly, to spend with my kids, and to save time with fewer showers and no makeup. It definitely saves a heck of a lot of time, and so far, my husband hasn’t complained. First off, I’ve had to change my thinking about that idea of “need” to do. I have to remind myself that I don’t “need” to do anything. My book signings and author visits have all been canceled so I don’t have an income, but I also don’t have any obligations. Instead of focusing on that scary no income thing, I’m focusing on the time I’m now allowed. I “get” to focus on the next project. More time to write! School is out and I “get” to be with my children. At first that was a nightmare, but we’re in a routine now. Routine is key! My husband is following self-distancing as much as he can since he still has to go out and work, so he’s actually in the house MORE and I “get” to spend time with him. It’s a struggle to change my “needs” to “gets” but it’s the first step to be grateful for this time, and if you can somehow feel grateful for it, it feels like less of a hindrance. Do I “get” to think like that all the time? Heck no! It’s hard, but I’m trying to slow it down and remind myself of the gets. But wishing that this happened 10 years ago, or 20 years ago, is complete insanity. After thinking more on it last night, I realized that this would have been a wasted time of reflection in the year 2000 or me in the year 2010. And here’s why:
So if you’re struggling, just think of how terrible this would be for you if you didn’t have a game plan. If you're struggling because you don't have a game plan, get one, and if you're struggling to find a game plan, contact me and I'll assign you one. Remember, I was a high school teacher for a long time and I love assigning things with a step-by-step guide. I will be your mean high school teacher that expects no lates! If you were still young, you might have more energy, but what’s the use of energy if you don’t have the maturity of planning and goals. Maybe you’re one of the lucky young people with goals or maybe this will make you think, “Maybe I should put down my Nattie Light and come up with a plan for that idea I had.” Yeah, you probably should. Nattie Light is cheap, but dang, it adds up. If I only had all my Nattie Light money back, my house would be done, my retirement account would be better than on track, and I could afford to have a teacher live with me during this stressful time. No, not really, it would just be about $100, but that’s how it feels. Have a great week and think of the positive! Keep it moving! XOXO, Elisha After only a few days of Coronavirus self-distancing, I’m starting to think we have been on quarantine for years. I’m guessing a lot of people who live in the country are starting to think that. We’ve been on self-distancing for as long as I can remember, either out of distance from town, laziness to head to town, or by design. The only thing actually giving me anxiety is the fact that I’m supposed to stay home. I’m supposed to. I haven’t left the house since Monday afternoon. I usually do my best to stay at home during good times, but now that someone suggests that I do it, and it’s not even mandatory, it kind of makes me feel like I need to get out of the house. My normal daily schedule of going out in public looks like this:
That’s it. I know, there are other days when I have meetings, or when I sub for a local teacher, or I go shopping, but this is the gist of my days as it pertains to leaving the house. I do a lot of work from home, but those three things are my usual schedule, and even with those, I only see people sparingly if at all. If I can get my husband to run these errands, I will, because I don’t even like running these most basic errands. So it’s really not the media, the government, or local cases of the virus that are giving me anxiety. It’s the fact that I’m being told to stay at home that’s giving me anxiety. My problem is that I don’t like to be told to do something. I feel like that’s a problem with a lot of us. We don’t want to know about danger, we don’t want to be told to stay out of danger’s way, and we definitely don’t want to be told to do something that some of us actually might enjoy, like staying in the house for awhile. We’re a three-year-old at heart. Don’t you dare tell me to eat a whole gallon of ice cream! I will throw a fit right now. Oh, okay, I’m not allowed to eat Brussel sprouts. Fine! I will jam ten in my mouth as you’re telling me repeatedly not to do it. Done! If you’re feeling this way too, know that there’s another stubborn person out there as well who is feeling anxious about someone telling me to do exactly what I do every day. Also, I don’t like driving the kids to school because I have to look halfway presentable. That chore has been taken off my plate and yet I’m still anxious about not being able to go to town. For example, when I do go to town on a regular basis, I try to get all my stops done quickly and efficiently because I don’t like to go to town. It’s 10 miles away. I don’t want to forget something. That would mean I have to drive 10 miles into town again, looking presentable, and pick up whatever I forgot. You have no idea how forgetting a can of beans for chili can send me into a tizzy. But right now, what I wouldn’t give to need a can of beans, to change from my holy leggings to a pair of clean jeans, to put a hoodie over my inappropriate t-shirt that my sister-in-law bought me that I can’t wear anywhere else but at home like I normally do and be on my way. But no, I’m doing the right thing and hanging out at home for as long as it takes. I have elderly family members that I pray won’t get this and immunocompromised family and friends that I beg with God that they don’t get this. It’s not really about me anyway. I remind myself frequently, that in a few months when things are back to normal, I will wish that I didn’t have to change from my stained cut-off, college t-shirt that is over 15 years old into a thicker sleeved t-shirt in the middle of July just to get the butter I forgot in town. God forbid this gets worse and I have to pull out my 1st grade homesteading unit knowledge about how to make butter. Let’s not go there! Maybe this time of looking a mess (how I really would prefer to look at all times but I have an inner shame of looking sloppy in public) will proceed all other feelings and I will lower my standards after this has passed. I honestly think other people look completely normal out and about in their “don’t look at me” clothes. Maybe I’ll finally jump a hurdle and not give a crap anymore too. Or maybe this is a warning to you that I’m sliding there fast and you should lower your expectations. You probably already think I’m there. I have been caught wearing my PJs twice this year after driving my son to school in the morning. Either way, hang in there, introverts, who are also wondering if they’re trapped because of their own stubbornness or if this is paradise. I’m here with you! Thanks for listening to my ramblings! XOXO, Elisha “I miss the goats.” I never thought I’d say those words. I never thought we’d ever have goats. Never in a million years! We’ve always had cows, we’d had sheep for most of the time that I’ve lived on this farm, once in a while we’ve had some pigs, and very rarely we’ve had some chickens. We don’t stray much from the usual herd, and the pigs and chickens have been for our own deep freeze purposes, so we really haven’t strayed much, but one fateful, later seemingly magical day, my husband brought home about 30 goats. His parents have had goats for awhile, in what they seem to think is a retirement choice, but I guess after running a dairy and raw milk delivery service (my father-in-law) and being an elementary school teacher (my mother-in-law), having 200 nanny goats is actually retirement. The dairy and the elementary school are both scary industries to be in these days. So my husband came home with 30 goats and learned quickly that they need more attention than his sheep and cows. A few died within the month, but they were not healthy goats when they were purchased (he loves a steal), so he was climbing an uphill battle from the start. The remaining goats were a tough bunch. They survived his learning curve and survived the two little boys that were downright certain they could turn those goats into pets or horses. “Mom!” I could hear from across the holler that separates our house from the goat barn, “Owen is riding the goats!” My oldest would call, tattling on his younger brother. “Wait for it,” I would tell myself. And Owen, the youngest would defend himself, “Aiden was too!” And without me even responding, I could picture them whispering an agreement to each other not to rat the other one out and continue riding the goats even though they were told not to. “Nevermind! He’s not riding on them!” They would both yell back in unison. Now, I probably should have gone out there and put a stop to their shenanigans, but I didn’t. You see, the goats turned out to be the most amazing childcare providers I could have ever imagined. It turns out the goats provided ample water to hydrate my children as they would come tattle to me that they were both drinking out of the goat water trough. It also turns out the goats provided ample food for my children as well because when I’d ask them what was on their faces when they’d return home from the goat barn, they would explain that they were eating grass, feed, or hay like the goats. It’s okay, you can say it...my children are gross. And did I then decide to put a stop to their shenanigans...Nope! It was so clean and peaceful in my house that I just couldn’t bear the thought of my children again becoming interested in 500 piece puzzles or Lego that would be scattered all over the house. It was like they were at camp and I could live in an organized house and actually enjoy them on their return for at least a few hours. These goats also seemed to enjoy all the company of these weird little beings who seemed to act like them, eat like them, were probably starting to smell like them, but were not quite them. Yes, they should have hated all the riding, petting, or just general loudness of two little boys. Our cat knew what was what with these two boys and decided to be a feral/loft garage cat. I see our cat once in a while and leave out food for him, but those boys will never see that cat again as long as they are still living at home, I guarantee it. These goats were smarter though. Deal with a little bit of little boy hysteria, and you’ll be treated to an extra serving of feed when the boss man is not around. I’m certain that that is why these goats fattened up as quickly as they did. Although our boys have not admitted to feeding them more than when they were with my husband, the feed did disappear at an alarming rate. That’s where my glory days of goat babysitters ended. When they get fattened up, they head to the market. A few weeks ago, my dependable babysitters made their way to China. Not really China, but that’s what my youngest calls the sale barn in Tina, Missouri, so now we all call it China. And just like that, my clean, almost organized home jumped back into a state of chaos. I miss those goats. Lord, do I miss those goats. This is the time of year that I feel some severe guilt about being a farm wife who doesn’t really want to get involved in the farm. I technically should feel this guilt all the time, but I have my thing and he has his. When either of us needs help, we know we have the other to depend on, but when it comes down to him taking the boys to a place called Bonkers or me helping find a lost cow who is about to calve (or probably already has) in zero degree temperatures, we both cross the line somewhere. But my husband continues on, going out in the cold temperatures because chores have to be done. I try my best to pretend to look busy as he walks in and I definitely try to avoid letting him catch me sitting by the woodstove basking in the ninety degree temps while I wear shorts and a tank top. I pretend to be miserable and run out to get wood for the stove as if I had been doing it all day as soon as I hear his four wheeler coming toward the house. He knows though, oh, he knows. As he walks up to the house with icicles growing on his eyebrows and his cheeks an unnatural red, I still have the warm skin of someone in the tropics because that’s exactly what our house tends to be when I’m left alone to fill up the stove on my own accord. The blessed, beautiful tropics! He always gets his revenge though. The one thing I can’t stand is cold. Give me a vanilla latte over ice cream any day. Actually, I’ll take both, but you get the point. I just dislike coldness, so the first thing my husband does when he comes back in to warm up is to give me a hug. No, not a loving hug! Nope! It’s a bear hug as he rubs his frigid cheeks against my face as I try to scramble away and he puts his freezing hands on my back. He’s a demon. I’m not doing nothing inside this very warm house though. I get my share of chores during the winter months. It comes in the form of muddy and wet laundry because, like recently, Missouri is known for a swing in temperatures. That means that for a few days it will snow uncontrollably and my kids will go in and out to play in the snow and go through multiple layers of clothes that end up soaked. I kick it in full gear and am in a constant fury of hanging up wet clothes, throwing new loads in the wash, and trying to get them all folded before the next round starts and never succeeding. . Then the swing happens and we get a couple of glorious sunny 60 degree days. The sunshine is glorious, but the mud it creates is a straight up ugly mess. I’ve had to prewash around 100 items of clothing for two days of mud. My washer was not made for that. My washer was made for a suburb family in the 1980’s because it doesn’t do mud, and it is old. I spend a few minutes after the prewash, washing out the washer of mud that is still clinging to the sides. Most of the time these muddy farm kid clothes take more than one prewash. If it’s still somewhat warm outside, they get hung from the clothesline and power washed first, which is always a bad idea because it creates a swamp under the clothesline that never gets any better until halfway through the summer after laying out grass seed numerous times. Right now, we’re in a frozen period. It’s cold out! The kid’s trips out get shorter and my husband isn’t tracking mud in from head to toe. The ground is frozen, which is actually a good thing in this case because you can drive over the frozen mud and animals can be fed with some ease, but not this coming weekend, which will be back to a glorious, warm, muddy mess. So when someone posts one of those condescending posts - excuse me here while some people crap themselves - holier than thou posts to remind you that a farmer doesn’t get a snow day and still has to go out in the cold, remember this: My husband expects you to enjoy your snow day, or any day off for that matter. He’s not out there in the freezing cold fattening up some cows so the next time you’re in a nice warm restaurant you can feel guilty about the steak you’re eating. Relax, take your day off, and enjoy it! There’s a reason he does what he does - he likes animals more than people (100% true) and he likes to be his own boss. Yes, it sucks sometimes when snot freezes to his nose and he doesn’t even realize it, but you might have to deal with customers or a raging boss, and that’s something he would dislike greatly. We all have our thing. I actually like to do laundry. I like my laundry system and all the neat little piles when I get to fold them all. I’m a weirdo! In my husband’s spare time he reads about the latest grazing techniques; basically he reads about grass...about grass! You may be doing something crazy on a cold winter day like learning an instrument, or knitting, or, if you’re my hero, taking a nap! Let’s just remember that we can all agree on two important facts: 1.) We all have our own thing and 2.) This winter weather needs to get the h#&% out of here! It’s the last day of 2019 and the last day I’m going to waste on organizing this $%&*hole. I know I’m not the only one who is feeling this way. Since it was on my 2019 resolutions list to get my home organized, and I’m always a procrastinator, I’ve taken a few days to completely devote myself to organization and I’ve only created a bigger mess. To completely get my home organized would take a full month, a construction crew, and a psychiatrist for this hoarding problem. Does anyone else think the answer to their cleaning and organization problem would be to take everything….everything!....out of their house and bring it back in one piece at a time? I fantasize about this. I picture our yard filled with all our junk, the inside perfectly clean, and how quickly we could go through the mess outside and put it away correctly and start fresh. What a circus that would actually be in real time?! It would absolutely not work! Yet, I still wish I could do this. Surely I’m not the only one. This is what I call the organization trap. Every new year or springtime I get the urge to start over and organize, organize, organize. Rubbermaid, Michael’s, and Rachel Hollis convince me every year this can be done. I love them all, but they do not know me and they do not know my mess. I’ve put up a good fight these last few days, and I’ll continue that fight this evening, but once it’s midnight, and let’s be real, I’ll be asleep waaaayyyyy before then, I’m giving up on that organizational streak I had going. It was really a dumpster fire anyway! So here’s what I’m going to realistically try to accomplish in 2020: 1.) When something comes into the house, I’ll put it away immediately (and encourage everyone else in the house to do the same). And then I’ll repeat, God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, The courage to change the things I can, And the patience to not lose my sh*& with those in my household who don’t comply. 2.) Understand that as long as I live on a farm, my floors will never look great; as long as there are Legos on this earth, they will be found scattered on every surface and floor of my home; and it’s okay to pitch a half completed craft or project if it’s been sitting out over a week. The kids won’t even notice until three months later anyway. That’s it! I have a lot more goals, lots of to-do lists, lots of things I need to start, or complete, or throw out, but I’ll do them in my own time. My resolutions this year are all about grace, acceptance, and giving my family a heads up that trash bags are starting to seem like a much faster solution than organizational totes. Happy New Year! I know some of you might be wondering at times why my poor husband married me since I haven’t turned out to be all that great of a farm wife. I’m no 1950’s farm wife, making homemade biscuits to be interrupted to run out and milk a cow. Ain’t happenin’! I tried to make biscuits once and it was not a success. I only do things I’m good at. It’s also crazy cold out right now, so I’d have to go outside to milk a cow, and I haven’t done that since the snow started falling three days ago. My husband obviously married me for my good looks and charming personality. Also, it was the fact that he thought I must have some money since I drove around in a Mustang and had long windblown hair like any other supermodel. He didn’t notice the complete lack of grace. He learned quickly that any money I had, I had foolishly wasted on a sports car that I didn’t need, and my mom was a hairdresser so I had all the things that Miss America needs for big Texas hair when I want to impress...or entrap. He’s lucky if I wash my hair now, let alone condition, curl, tease, hairspray, etc., etc., etc. It’s nice to be a woman who is comfortably heading to 40. He married me for love, and vice versa, so once in awhile I repay such overtures with a little help around the farm. If you thought that sentence was going somewhere dirty, you’ll just have to wait until my book Fifty Shades of Green - What the Heck is That on your Laundry? A Farm Wife’s Love Story with her Laundry. A couple of weeks ago, as I was hustling around the house trying to catch up on laundry, I heard him yelling from outside. “Hey! I need some help!” It kind of sounded frantic so I ran outside as quick as I could, but I couldn’t see him anywhere. I looked around, trying to see through the tree line that separates our house from the corral, but I still couldn’t see him. “Over here!” He was just 20 yards from me, on the other side of the fence line by our house, but some weeds have grown into full-fledged trees and bushes, so I couldn’t see him right away. “I need help moving the cows, but the sheep keep following and I need them to stay here.” I’m guessing the frantic I heard when he first yelled was just a way to get me moving because he now seemed pretty calm. “Alright,” I shuffled toward the gate like a little kid who is told to make his/her own bed. Again, I can be helpful, but he did just interrupt my happy place - laundry galore. Also, I never want to seem too helpful or too excited about farm chores or it will be expected on the regular. This is a well taught lesson that children everywhere have mastered. Sometimes asking them to make their bed isn’t worth it. Where were our kids, you ask? I don’t know. We’re at that stage now that my helicopter is wearing off, and as long as they aren’t fighting, it’s worth the quiet to deal with the fiasco they quietly create later on. In this instance, they were digging a very large hole on the other side of the house that someone would fall in later and hurt themselves. No one has fallen in yet, but since I haven’t made them fill it in, it will happen eventually. It will also probably be my husband who falls in it. Historically speaking. First, my husband and I just tried to Bud Williams it, and in case you haven’t read my other blog about Bud or the book Desperate Farmwives, this just means patiently and slyly staying behind, but yet still in their vision, and press them ahead with your proximity to reduce stress on animals and humans. It’s a lot like handing out an assignment toward the end of the hour in a high school classroom. Proximity makes the difference if they’ll get anything done or forget about it and turn it in the next day with just their name on it. As we got started, my husband decided to then warn me, “Watch out for that bull.” “What bull?” I hadn’t even seen a bull when I went out here, but of course, that’s when the cute cows parted and a very menacing big black bull started taking steps toward me like Valiente from the movie Ferdinand. Sorry if you’re not a connoisseur of children’s movies, but that’s the latest action movie I’ve seen in a while. This bull looked at me as if he was saying “Make my day!” and I looked away, playing it cool. My husband just kept on moving though as we cornered the cows toward the open gate. But the Bud Williams approach doesn’t work when your husband then screams out “God D*@& it!” as a sneaky little calf changes direction and bolts away down the fence line to hang out with the sheep a little longer, followed by his mama, followed by her girlfriends, followed by the bull. So I suggested the parenting method of separating the sheep from the cows. Send both kids to their room in opposite directions so you can enjoy a chocolate bar without anyone seeing you. I walked down to the sheep and since I’m a stranger to them, they immediately went in the other direction. Sometimes it’s good to not help with farm chores often. Stranger danger saved the day! Well, technically, not right at that moment. As I pressed the sheep down the hill toward another pasture, my husband grabbed every cow’s favorite candy bar, a bucket full of corn, and with just a little shake, they were all heading in the opposite direction from the sheep and me. Except that menacing bull! He gave me the eye for a few seconds - seemed like minutes - and pawed a little on the ground. I slowly walked farther down the hill toward the sheep and quickly scanned my surroundings to see if I had a good place to hide or climb in case this bull decided I was dead meat. I did have some woods nearby, but I doubted I was fast enough. He looked in that direction as well, telling me clearly that I definitely wouldn’t be fast enough. Thankfully, all his ladies started mooing and directed his attention to the gate that he would need to exit if he wanted any fun for the evening. He took another look at me and turned to run through the gate. So see...I do help once in a while. I do try to avoid it at all costs, but when it’s necessary to have a woman’s take on patience, thinking outside the box, and separating troublemakers (the sheep, definitely, the sheep), then I will take my natural role as problem solver. A true problem solver always does it in pajama pants because that’s the problem with the world. Blood flow is cutting off your circulation to your brain from jeans. In pajama pants, I’m a ninja. CLICK HERE TO BUY THE BOOK!The title of this blog sounds like something exploded and it certainly did. My brain...it was definitely my brain. I released a book and then went on vacation, so if you think I was asking for trouble, then you are certainly right. I had all these big ideas and was on a roll before vacation, not completing nearly half the things I had planned on completing, and now that I’m back, I have checked my email, my texts, my voicemail, and I have a mountain to climb. Here’s my apology list because you know I love a good bulleted list. You should have seen it in the gel cyan-colored pen that I used as the first written draft. It was colorful, glorious, and very conciliatory.
I’m sure there are many more people that I need to apologize to for my absence and absentmindedness. I’m just glad that I have the opportunity to be so busy that I need to apologize for my busyness. I’m one lucky lady! I’ll get it done one thing at a time. Now if anyone knows where my keys are, I’d love some help with that! We all know that’s something I cannot do alone. Buy the Book! |
AuthorThis is my therapeutic release for all the things that annoy me about living on a farm. If I can make it humorous, I can survive it. |