Wednesday, May 28, 2014

These Ducks...They Don't Stay in a Row

I'm struggling.

I am having a bit of writer's block with this blog.

We have been running in 500 different directions between finishing the barn, first silage season, and ball season. Everyone is busy. 

My brain feels jumbled with what I need to do, where we need to be, how we are going to get there, did I forget a kid? Our school still isn't out...we have a week left. It's overwhelming.

I need to write something, but by the time I sit down I'm beyond coherent words. Seinfeld or the Community with Joel McHale is on and it's 10pm or so and I'm beat.

Trying to fit in a blog post lately has been impossible. Rubik's cube impossible....

There is one of those pinterest pictures that talks about seeing all those moms doing everything and I'm over here thinking, I should have her do some stuff for me. That is exactly how I feel. I try to get stuff done, but somehow I never quite get it done. It's become a give and take. And I'm starting to take a little more and give a little less. For instance....normally I don't go to bed with dishes in the sink or dirty clothes on the floor. I spend all my time trying to keep it all done. The whole time thinking something like, "when this is done I can sit down with the kids and enjoy some time with them AND a clean house." I've been telling myself this lie for about 8 years now. But tonight...I sit in bed typing this at 11:08 and there is dirty laundry by the door and dishes in the living room, the sink, and I didn't get that pan washed after the award winning hamburger helper meal I cooked.

Then there's another one of those pinterest things that says something about how cleaning your house with kids at home is like shoveling snow in a blizzard. Yep. Right here. It's a white out and I'm in my comfy pants and bleached shirt shoveling the crap out while it piles up behind me. When it's all done....that's funny. It. Will. Never. Be. Done. Till it's done, that is. And then it won't matter.

Reading this blog makes it seem like I spend a lot of time on pinterest...I could probably give it up and spend some more time cleaning up. Or working out. Or meal planning and prep. Or gardening (ha. who am I kidding.) Or alphabetizing the can goods. But I'm not gonna. You see, I'm learning...slowly....that the house won't be clean as long as my kiddos are here. And when they aren't here anymore it will be clean and I will wish for someone to make a mess.

No. That probably isn't true. Because when the Milkmaids outgrow us and move out I will still have the Milkman. And He is about as messy as the Milkmaids plus one or two. But I won't have tiny mirror hand prints or little pairs of socks laying around. And the hair brush that the 8 year old Milkmaid is always leaving in her room, will stay right where I put it in the bathroom. And as much as I wish I could keep it all cleaned up, I know I will miss it.

This is all pretty humorous because I'm not all that maternal. I didn't cry when Milkmaid #1 went to kindergarten. Well...I kinda did, but I blame it on the hormones...I was about 6 months pregnant with Milkmaid #2. I don't long for another tiny baby like most moms do. I don't think..."Oh...my babies are growing up." I don't miss diapers or formula or nights, oh the long nights, or trying to figure out what hurts while the tears flow from both of us. I'm not good at baby books or thinking about how this is the oldest Milkmaid's last year in primary school. That's just not how my mom brain works.

I beg for the independence of my children. I enjoy them most after they are potty trained and can eat whatever is on the table. When I don't have to carry a bag full of bottles, clothes, pull-ups, pacifiers, teething rings, or baby food. Milkmaid #2 is potty trained and has been for probably 9 months. She is 2. She tells me exactly what she wants...sometimes she demands it...and she does whatever the rest of us do. It is awesome.

Don't get me wrong...I love me some baby love. Someone else's baby. Someone else's spit up. Someone else's alarm that goes of fairly often. I love a baby I can hug and cuddle and maybe feed and then return to its rightful owner. But my friend's or sibling's babies don't give me baby fever. No sir-ee-bob. I have been vaccinated and am immune to baby fever. If God said, "Hey Cassie, you need to have another baby." I would say, "Please God...no." But we all know he would win out and I would follow his plan and love it....but I would long for the full nights of sleep and no more diapers. We are baby free for (we'll say) 1 year. We can celebrate monthly. Like companies with no accidents.

Another thing...Milkmaid #2 has some terror tendencies. She is one cute little turd. She has to be. Big brown eyes and red hair, chubby cheeks and fat little legs. If she wasn't so cute it'd be all the easier to go mad. She is a rotten mess. A cute rotten mess. My friends laugh at me and I call myself "the meanest mom in the world" because we have wooden spoons in the car, in my purse, and in every room of the house. You would think I regularly beat the kid with a wooden spoon. Truth is, the Milkmaids have never been truly spanked with one. But if you so much as lightly touch it to #2 she screams like the demons have taken over and an exorcism has begun. I have no idea why...but the words "wooden spoon" cause her to stop whatever naughty behavior she may be engaging in and "Sowwy Mom" to come from her lips. It's almost amusing...poor kid.

Milkmaid #1 has always been a pretty easy one. She was a super baby and her terrible 2's more closely resembled cute TV babies. They leave out the tough parts on TV. She has always been good. Then she went to school and it took her all of 2 days to learn that she is smarter than me. And nosey...good grief she is like a reporter with a press pass and a recorder...Who? What? Where? When? Why? How? She is a also very cute. The same big brown eyes as her sister, hair to her behind, and almost as tall as her momma. Well...that isn't saying much, but she's 8 for Pete's sake. Mrs. Fancy Pants and I have decided she is a misplaced child of the early 90's. She likes color, side pony tails, and being overly dramatic. I can't even make up some of the stuff she comes up with. This kid, though, has a heart the size of the United States and feelings that get hurt so easily and every single emotion shines through those huge brown eyes. It's heartbreaking sometimes, but also good to know she cares about others.

I am so thankful for the two Milkmaids. Those girls have completed our lives and make them interesting and fun. They give meaning to the word LOVE that I never understood before. I couldn't have been blessed with more fitting chillens than the ones I have.

Moms- It's OK to go a little crazy. To think your little ones will put you in an early grave. I'm convinced they have that ability. It is OK to give them hamburger helper (with beef that isn't free range & grass fed.) It's OK to want a clean house, but give up that pipe dream for piled up laundry and a Netflix marathon.
Most of the time the only person putting so much pressure on you is yourself. And if it is someone else...well, you don't need that kind of negativity. You don't have to be perfect. You don't have to use organic (more on that later), you don't have to make it to the gym or the laundry room every day.

My house may be a little neglected...and I may go to sleep tonight with dishes in the sink...but my kids got bathed, fed, and loved on before they went to sleep and that will be a far better memory tomorrow than going to bed with a clean house and a half absent mom. My brain is jumbled trying to keep track of everyone and where we need to be, what time, and what to bring, but I know what's important and the rest of it can wait if I need to spend some time with my Milkmaids. Everything else will be waiting for me when I'm not so busy, but these girls will be grown before the house stays clean or the yard stays mowed.

My ducks may not be in a row, but they are all alive and well. That's winning, right?



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