Let this stand as proof that we were alive in the months of May and June. Barely.
The calendar ticked over from April, and suddenly, The Dirty Life that I long for turned into the Life of a Crazy Person. The truth is, there’s plenty out here in Bangs to keep me busy BEFORE the fulltime job writing my stories for the paper, but ah, well. My postnatal return to working mama has a history of being slightly insane, doesn’t it? I should have expected this.
Here are a few snapshots of my world right now:
First, let’s start at the dining room table.
In this photo, you can make out a drill, some exterior deck screws and wire cutters from futile attempts to secure my goat milk supply from three hungry triplets (with a pen that separates goat mother from her offspring at night, if you must know). There’s Molly’s uneaten vegetables from the night before, (see related photo, below) a towel that did not succeed cleaning up a can of spilled peaches, some goat minerals (expected) and Borax that arrived from amazon.com. In my delusional Benedryl-infused state, (poison ivy covers my body, thanks) I thought it would be cute to make my own laundry detergent. It also looks like someone forgot to do dishes last night.
My dad told me that when he reflects on his 50 or so years on the planet thus far, the years in his late 20s when he was raising two young children were the best. He calls it the Good Life and says that during that period, he felt he had a clear purpose: To go to work, to earn a living and to keep things alive. He said he remembers he felt exhausted and stressed out most of the time, but that if he ever picked a time to relive, he’d go back to those days because it was then that he felt most alive. And nights. Because he went to night school while mom kept his babies alive.
This sounds like something a crazy old man would say!
Admitedly, right now, it’s tough to imagine looking back on these days fondly. We’re doing what we need to do to keep mortgage paid, and to keep those seven, eight, nine or ten doctors who all want $50 a month happy. But I’m covered in poison ivy, I think I have pink eye, I’m exhausted, and I’m losing ground. I am enjoying those few precious moments as hard as I can — the mornings spent milking Rose (seriously!), the times Eleanor giggles when I’m washing her neck. There are joyful bookends to the days. But the middle is a little hectic and we don’t really have a Plan B right now. Although, at times, bankruptcy sounds WAY more fun.
For those thinking, ”oh, shut up.” take heart: I DO realize that things could be much worse. When confronted with my version of mini-catastrophes, the Lord presents to me a path with two clear options: I have a choice to lose my shit or to keep it together and keep trudging forward. I am blessed in a thousand ways every single day, and it’s these blessings that keep me from choosing the former. Although I have hollared more swear words into the night than country air was ever intended to hold.
I’m just afraid that I’m going to look up from this laptop and my girls will be in their late 30s and I’ll just get around to taking Ellie’s picture. I’m blogging, I know. But only once a month. This is a severe reduction in theteet.com!
I have to go because Molly is eating fence staples. I’m not joking.
I’m pretty sure I heard Seth’s car door slam about five minutes ago, but with all this screaming, I’d stay in the car, too. It’s safer there.
I love you.
Bare with me.
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