Maybe the title of this blog is telling. It clearly does not say "farm mom." Gods, the kids can get on my nerves. Mostly Jez, unfortunately. She's in this rut, following me around saying "up, up, up," arms outstretched, refusing to allow me to do anything.
No, I don't have a job. Yes, I could spend the whole day just holding her, playing, tickling, reading books, and otherwise being a completely dedicated mother. But my house is already falling to shit as it is. What would happen when I used up all the dirty dishes making lunch? (And it's hard to spread peanut butter with a thirty pound child on your hip.) When I used up all the clean clothes? When we started stepping in dog doo because I didn't pick it up? When the chickens died because some cute toddler moved their pellets into their water, where said pellets absorbed all of said water? I can't just be a full-time Fun Mom. I have stuff to do, and it drives me crazy that she won't let me do it.
There's no solution for this, no fixing. Some things just have to be said. Not all days are perfect. Some are crammed with mommy stress, the kind that doesn't go away even with no sirens and no traffic.
But at the end of my day today, Gabe came in the door like a young yellow sun, and the kids were both drawn smiling into his gravity. I love it when he is vibrant and full of ideas and vigor. He's so excited to open the deli, and is chock full of thoughts and enthusiasm about a space he viewed today. I was able to calm down in the cool quiet while the kids romped all over him. Now they are finally in bed and I can wind down, get ready to start another day. Farm mom.