Thee Farm Wife

Thee Farm Wife

Thursday, May 14, 2015

Ramen and Grape drink

If you walked in my front door right now...first of all, if you could get to the front door. You would have to get past Big Dummy, our English Mastiff, who is laying on the steps because he has bad gas and I don't want him in the house.

Welcome to the foyer - "foy-yay" - a jumbled mess of muck boots and tennis shoes and single mittens. We have a mud room. In the basement of all places. But now my front hall has transformed itself into one. Apparently, going down the steps in the garage to the mud room is too much for my family. That, or the fact that there are BATS in our basement. Real life flying rodents. Don't ask my why or how. No one goes down there anymore. If we have to get meat from the deep freeze we put a basket on our heads and run. Real fast.

Thee Farmer is telling the boys to go to bed for the fourteenth time. He finally gets up and goes in their atrocity of a bedroom and tells them to stay in their room. I just made their bed and I can guarantee the blankets and pillows and sheets are already on the floor and they are jumping.

Our thirteen-year-old is in her room watching "Doctor Who" and doing her homework on her iPad. She hates not having text books and printed worksheets. The feel of paper in her hands. Her neck is strained from staring at the screen. I take her to the chiropractor weekly. Progress. She shares all that she is learning with me and I am amazed at her 13-year-old knowledge. Something about eco-whatchamacallits and biospheres. Biology in 7th grade. The world at her fingertips. Maybe iPads and Google are not so bad after all. I can tell it is the end of the school year because her trash is overflowing. The bottom of her closet is covered with clothes - tossed aside because of a whim. Her desk overflows with non-desky type things. A dozen purses and totes full of her stuff for each activity or event. Track. Dance. Pointe. 4H. Youth group.

Jaiden is in her half of the room. Already asleep. Because this weary seven-year-old had a very dramatic day. Riding the bus is awful. Rain at recess is awful. Not being able to eat all of her lunch because she ran out of time is awful. And by the way, why didn't I buy her little garden tools for her flower planting field trip tomorrow? It's just awful. And I praise God anyways, because our little mute girl can say "awful" and a whole lot of other words that she picked up from her not so patient mama.   

The boys are out of bed again and Thee Farmer is giving them drinks and fruit snacks and more hugs and one last chance. They ignore him and run for our bed anyways. He stops them midway and herds them like cattle to their room. They broke the French doors to their room months ago so there's no way to corral them. I have pinned barn doors on Pinterest but there's no way that project will be completed before they graduate.

Dishes are on the table. mug is dirty. Ramen noodles decorate the chairs. Grape Kool-Aid makes the white tile floor sticky. A backpack hangs off of a chair that hasn't been emptied. Shoes kicked off that won't be found in the morning as the bus pulls in the drive.

Yep. I fed them Ramen and grape drink for supper. No veggies. No fruit. Just flour and sugar and salt and artificial color. Mom of the Year? Nope. But they love me.

Little Man is out of bed again. He has to pee because Thee Farmer gave him too much Kool-Aid. Before bed. And they didn't brush their teeth. Oh my.

I tell you all this because this is real life. It's exactly why I need Jesus. Time outs for me. Strong coffee and my hidden candy stash. As they s-l-o-w-l-y fall asleep I find time to pray. My heart pounds. I want to scream. Really loud. But my Savior comforts me. Tells me this is exactly where I'm supposed to be. And the two-year-old yells, "I gotta pee!" and I yell back, "You don't even know how to pee! Now go to bed!" and I finish my prayer. For now. AMEN.

No comments: