Be it ever so humble... jk, that is a barn!

Be it ever so humble… jk, that is a barn!

Hello, dear readers!  I feel like I have been gone for so long that Ryan Lochte is no longer a topic of conversation!  I completely underestimated how long moving a household of 9 people plus 2 cats would take.  We are officially moved into the new house, here forth the Farmhouse, and boy do I have some stories to tell.

First, moving sucks.  I am glad that we have moved and while I miss the convenience of having stores, gas stations, and fast food within 2 miles of my house I am adjusting to it.  I unpacked my last box of crap about 2 days ago so I guess I can say that I am done unpacking.  Except for the garage and that is going to remain S.O.’s bailiwick.

We moved over the Fourth of July weekend and not only was everyone too busy to help move (not everyone, to my family members that helped, I love you and owe you.  To the family members that didn’t, you suck.) but Mother Nature decided to help by having torrential rains.  Love you too, bitch.  #2 had to work that weekend and while #1 is an organizing guru, her heavy lifting skills are questionable.  #3, #4, and #5 gave it a valiant effort but between them standing around not knowing what goes where and #6 and #7 acting like their juice boxes were spiked with meth, it was not fun.  S.O. and I argued, fought, decided we hated the new house, and somehow kept our marriage intact.

So, yes, I am glad that we are moved in.  The Farmhouse is starting to really feel like home and I am slowly getting adjusted to life in the country.   The first week involved trying to find my box of everyday clothes (#2 had them in his car for a few weeks), deciding that well water was not going to kill us even if the smell at first almost did (turns out you have to prime well pumps), having no internet and no possible way of getting internet, and deciding that Dish TV was a godsend.  Thank god for Peppa, Mickey, and Ben and Holly.   They managed to keep the toddlers busy enough that we were able to unpack and put up beds and not sleep outside in the car.

I learned that I still have too much junk, you will always have a missing box or two never to be seen again (I’m looking at you, box full of Tupperware lids!), and that next time we are hiring someone to move us even if I have to sell a kid.    I learned that there are not enough lights out in the country to not remind me of very single horror movie that I have ever seen and that our neighbors are curious about this large brood that moved in a ½ mile away from them.   The stars are beautiful at night with no light pollution to block them out, the sounds of crickets and cicada’s are pretty at first but after 2 solid hours will drive you to drink, and I learned that this new move tested us all.   We pretty much passed and are all still speaking to each other so that counts.  And in case you don’t know what a cicada is, allow me to present to you this picture below.  Ewww.

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I missed you, dear readers and now that I have internet (mostly) and the monsters are back at school (mostly) I will do a better job of entertaining you with my stories of what not to do as a parent, sister, daughter, wife and farmhand.   Till than, toodles!

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I have had a pretty okay week. That’s bad when it is just pretty okay. Not horrible but not great. I however, cannot really complain because two of my siblings are having a much worse week.  So, in tribute to one of their worst weeks ever, here’s to you C & M.
My older sister’s car decided to stay in alarm mode and refuses to start. She sucked it up and decided to just ride her bike to work.  Upon examination of said bike, flat tire. She is very into walking so she walked to work. In Mississippi.  In the summertime. Good times.  And as if having a car that has decided to lock you out is not bad enough and a flat tire on your bike isn’t an absolute joy, came the medical emergency.  Her daughter and granddaughters went camping and her youngest granddaughter tripped and fell into the fire pit full of embers. She was sent to the Children’s Hospital in Mobile with 2nd degree burns on her poor little hands, arms, and neck. She’s a trooper though and isn’t letting her bandages, lack of eyebrows or bangs bother her.   C, you have officially won the unofficial Worst Week Ever award and no, it’s not transferrable.

My youngest sister, M, learned out that her beloved oldest daughter moved to Arkansas over the weekend.  Without stopping by to say goodbye.   Bad start to the week.  Kids have got to find their own path but that path really should include letting your parents know when you’ve decided to move very far out of state.  Then, her husband’s brakes went out on his truck on his way to work.  He managed to careen into a ditch and avoid hitting others but now they get to look for replacement vehicles.  She was edged out of winning the unofficial Worst Week Ever award by not having a child trying to spontaneously combust.  Better luck next time.

I feel bad about having a cruddy week involving #6’s inability to ever not talk, #7’s bad attitude, #5 thinking that being a teenager involved being disrespectful, and the continuing saga of attempting to move an entire household.   All in all, it’s not cruddy at all compared to my sisters.  So, here’s to me for not having a vehicle crap out, a child not move out of state without notice, and not having a child lose any hair to a camping trip.  And here’s to my sisters for not completely losing their shit.  I love you, I’m here for you, and I’ll gladly take 3rd runner up in this contest.

 

 

 

 

 

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My ode to Father’s Day.  That day that children and moms across America come together to honor the man that already gets away with a lot of shit.  I love my husband.   He is a great man.   He is loving, he works hard, and he sacrifices so his kids don’t have to.  But he also gets to nap.  Like at the drop of a hat.  In any chair in the house.  Without making sure the little ones are sleeping first.

He also gets to leave the house without getting said children ready.  He can literally be napping, wake up, and the kids are miraculously dressed and ready to go.  It’s a freaking miracle.  Almost like somebody else is putting in all the dirty work.

He gives the kid’s baths.  I wash their hair and bodies and he gets to help them out of the bathtub and dry them off while I mop up the bathwater that is all over the floor.  He gets all the fun stuff.   He helps with dinner, but doesn’t set the table.  He never clears his plate from the table and I can count on one hand how many times he has done dishes.

He can get a shower and go to bed anytime he wants.  He can play video games for up to 10 minutes without interruption.  He gets to wake up and enjoy the quiet of a house full of sleeping children.  I am not bitching. I am just stating facts here.

Do you know what else he gets to do?  He gets to work 10+ hours a day no matter what the weather or holiday.  He misses out on school events and family functions because he is working to provide for us.  He has to depend on us to make sure that the yard is mowed, the cars are serviced, and the drains are unplugged because he is not home to do it.   He will start his day before the sun rises and everybody is asleep and on some nights he comes after the sun has set and everybody is asleep.

He will wear old boots because he doesn’t want to spend the money on himself.  He will take leftovers to work for lunch and eat leftovers for dinner.  He will eat in a tractor, in a farm shed, in a truck without the luxury of going out to lunch or even a cold drink.

And he does all this because he wants to make sure we have everything we need.   He works outside when it is 95 degrees in the shade and works outside when it is -10 degrees in the sun.   If it is pouring down rain, he is working on farm equipment.  If it is nice outside, he is in the fields.   If it is in the middle of spring, summer or fall he is at work when we are playing.   He can take vacation in the winter as long as the work is all caught up at the farm.

He gets to hear second hand about what his kids have been up to and what they have accomplished.  He gets to be a bystander to the little moments: #7 going potty like a big boy, #6 losing her 2nd front tooth, #5 bringing home a bunny, #4 taking his first behind the wheel spin, #3 picking out his prom tuxedo, #2 dropping by to visit before work and #1 moving into her first house.   He missed these not by choice but because he was doing what he has to.

He dries tears, his own and theirs and mine, and he tries to make the most of the time he has at home.  He is not perfect.  He will become impatient.  He will be grouchy and cranky because he is tired but refuses to go to bed.  He will not want to go anywhere on a rare day off because he only wants to be home.

So, Happy Father’s Day to the man who has blessed me with my children, helped me make our house a home, and naps at the drop of a hat.  I couldn’t do it without you, wouldn’t want to do it without you, and love you.  You are the best!

 

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