The idea of farm life can have a romantic, simple beauty to some, especially if one hasn’t actually seen all it can entail. Life on the farm can be very simple, and can have an old world, romanticized feel, but one must also embrace what comes with it. Hard work, losing animals, scooping poop, and a whole lot of mud comes with the territory. Here on the homestead, we see the not so glamorous side of life on a farm, and while we wouldn’t trade it for the world, I do wonder at times how many people could truly handle all the insanity. Sometimes I wonder if I can. The morning started with a bath for the toddler, who piddled out of his diaper before it got changed. Not really the ideal way to start a day, but it could have been worse. There were no sheets to wash, and the boys were happy to play in the bath. Bananas and peanut butter were eaten as a breakfast placeholder, while I tried to drink my cappuccino, still a bit tired from the restless night of sleep of being kicked by one baby from the inside and one on the outside by another child, whom snuck into our bed in the middle of the night. Eventually scrambled eggs and chimichurri were cooked up. Little noses were turned up at the plates of warm food, leaving it to "eat later" when the eggs were cold and slightly dried out. The daily vitamins were passed out, lemon cold liver oil for one, non-lemon for the other, iron chewables, immunity honey, tummy honey, all while the boys hopped hopefully up and down for cappuccinos. Cappuccinos were served, the grocery order placed, library books reserved, laundry folded, the painters tape removed, and the front room set back in order. The sun was shining and the house got a bit hot, so the windows were opened for some fresh air to blow through. There is just something uplifting about open windows. The outdoors began calling, and Elmer and Danny were out searching for puddles. Eventually Benjy joined, and they had a grand time filling the watering can in one puddle, dumping into the dump truck, and then driving a full load of muddy water over to the oil tank to dump to create yet another mud puddle. They got sticks and went fishing in the puddles, while Elmer waded, pawing at the water, carrying mushy clumps of grass in his mouth. The rattling of vehicle wheels went up and down the sidewalk and slushed through the snow on the patio leaving a thick trail of mud behind. I reminded myself I taught them that there's no such thing as bad weather. They take it to heart. For all the snow complainers out there, nothing is worse than mud season. I can toss my kids in a snow bank, bundle them up in layers, insist it's never too cold to go outside, and not bat an eye at any of it...but mud season causes an internal struggle. The boys love it. They play even longer, fight less, and could be perfectly content with mud season as the only season. However, I don't think I need to explain why, to a mom, mud season isn't enjoyable. I cringed as I saw the play going on, prayed they'd someday realize how blessed they are to have a mom that put up with all of this, and resumed cleaning my windows, while I had the weather for it. Eventually the hunger got the best of them, and they came in hoping to get out of eating their old eggs. After finally gulping down the cold yellow piles they "saved," they ate some pecans, put in a request for scones, and were off to playing with their toys. Squeals quickly started as they saw the rain pelting down outside, gleefully yelling, “We’re getting more puddles!” I rushed to close up the open windows and let in the already sopping dog. The rain flooded the already soggy yard, increasing puddle sizes as it melted the piles of lingering snow. Yes, they were getting more puddles. A delivery truck arrived with a surprise treat from my mom, a brand new snow plow. They took turns plowing toys, until they decided it MUST go outside. Then the mud play continued with now bigger puddles than before. Berry scones were popped in the oven and sourdough prepared to make bread and bagels tomorrow. The kitchen was scrubbed, book club was missed, and the mud trail got thicker. After seeing the state of the mud and not wanting it in the car, a call to Daddy to pick up the groceries saved us a big headache and mess. Scones and cappuccinos were enjoyed, the extras tucked away, and then a mass clean up of "just one clean room PLEASE" began. I chopped up veggies for dinner, having to get creative not having onions and garlic. Thai basil chicken it was, because there was leftover chicken, and rice is easy. The boys cleaned, I chopped, cooked, cleaned, and continuously reminded them to stay focused as they sang Happy Birthday to the toys they discovered under the couch. JUST ONE ROOM! It’s all I’m asking. For my sanity we need one room cleaned because you've completely destroyed outside. They actually did it! One room cleaned before Daddy was home with groceries. They scampered to help put away sweet potatoes, onions, apples, and garlic, always an enjoyable task. Dinner was served, candles lit, and the stories of the day began, filling in Daddy of their many adventures. Only one complaint uttered, no one ate like a goat or nodded off at the table, and it was a nice enjoyable family dinner. The boys were excused, and the play began again, this time hopping on their moose with a bucket on their head and laughing. Chore time came and they scampered to don their muddy gear, not wanting to miss unloading the truck full of wood or feeding their sheep and goats. The logs were brought through the puddles to the window, and the cauldron filled for tomorrow’s heat. The boys spending half the time asking Dad questions and the other half mewing like kittens. Then it’s teeth brushing, no baths, because the system is overwhelmed with water, reading Farmer Small and off to bed. Technically we fit four in a twin bed, because I count for two, but random legos must be moved first, lambs and chickens and bears collected, pillows fluffed, kisses given, and then bedtime snuggles and songs. Finally, the calm sinks over the house. Only God knowing how long it will last. Barking dogs, waking toddlers, baby kicking, and restless leg syndrome all take their turns at messing with a peaceful nights sleep. At some point, the sun will rise tomorrow and we will do much of it all again. With snow still melting, and more rain coming, the mud is here to stay for a while. This is part of life on a farm. Mud in your house, on your animals, sucking to your boots, vehicles, wheelbarrow, and whatever else must venture into it.
Benjy says, “it’s not dirty mud, it’s dry mud,” solid toddler reasoning for why he doesn’t need his feet washed in the sink for the third time. The days are busy. Busy with nothing. Simply busy with just running a home amidst life with muddy boys and dogs. While it is simple, it isn't empty. It is messy, it is exhausting, frustrating, and so ridiculous I can't help but smile at the mess I've put myself in. Sometimes things become such a disaster they're suddenly somehow hilarious.
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