It started a few months ago. Burn out. Mommy burn out. I woke up just done. Cooked. Fried. It was a glorious Saturday morning and the desire to sleep in was stronger than the black coffee I would need to wake up and get motivated. I could here the sharp voices of my four older kids in the front room bickering and fighting. The first words out of my mouth to my husband were....."Do you remember that show Dirty Jobs? Well I would rather shovel pig poop on a rainy day than to make breakfast for that bunch." Gary laughed. But I wasn't joking. Since then on those special kind of days I think to myself.... I would rather...... fill in the blank, clean rendered fat out of a grease trap... etc.
Well I have hit that wall again. Moving to the farm has been fun. For Gary. Me, well I am watching from the sidelines with a 20 something pounder on my hip pulling my hair and spraying me with various mashed maliable foods, breaking my back and sciatic nerve, fighting the running list in my head that gets bigger and four wild children who refuse to wear shoes and shirts.
Today I got my chance after several meltdowns on my end that resulted in some yelling and dramatic driving and a few frustrated tears.
Gary was busy with a pick ax and I was watching the sun go down with each ray that sunk behind the mountains dinner was growing into more of an idea than reality. The chickens were pecking and being their usually entertaining selves. I asked for help so I could just get dinner going. (this baby is a full time job, she finds things only a microscope could find and then finds a way to choke on them, full eyes need to be on her at all times, and I don't trust the kids for this job when I am distracted.) I got lost, watching the chickens peck around the grape vines things I couldn't see, hoping they were eating lots of bugs. When Gary saw this he stopped swinging his pick ax and said in a sarcastic tone that was too much for me to handle... "hey you want a job? why don't you come over here and dig this trench!" Well I didn't really feel like digging a trench but I didn't feel like contending with dinner sans baby on my hip either so I chose the trench. Plus I got enough of my mom's southern piss and vinegar to not let that one slide. So I traded the 20 pound baby for a 5 pound pick ax... hello duh?? He thought I was joking. I told him to get to it and the kids needed to be in bed early as they had acted up in school this morning. Have fun.... toodle loo, get busy. Well in a few minutes he came out laughing at me, bringing me a half a beer hoping to call it quits, on his end, made a joke that said he didn't have all night..... blah blah blah. I took the beer and ignored him, sweat dripping from my brow, heart rate up... no wander he has lost 10 pounds. I felt good to accomplish something, to be alone, to have a job where you could just not think of solutions to everyone's problems. No tattling, no fighting and a beer... hello! He came out again 10 minutes later with a sobbing baby her lips covered in white sugar and a pacifier that was obviously not working. He said he got the point and making dinner was harder. I made him say sorry took my angry baby and proceeded to make dinner one handed. I managed to get melons cut, stew reheated, bread buttered salads chopped and baby food ground. At dinner time Gary led the kids in a round of "For She's a Jolly Good Fellow!" He told the kids they need to help me more and they all promised emphatically that they wouldn't leave their dishes at the table for me to clear. Well it is 10 pm, dishes are piled and nobody cleared the table. I am going to have a bowl of Apple Jacks and go to bed so that I can wake up at 4:30 with Mr. Sun and take care of the chickens and get the kitchen clean, spend time in prayer and if I am lucky make breakfast for me all before getting five kids fed and ready for summer school. A pick ax is looking mighty fine right about now.