One day at a time.

Last week I had an epiphany of sorts.  It came after a talk with my husband.  And I decided that yes, this year, by golly, I’m going to pull out all the stops, and break my back trying.

What am I talking about? The simple thing of GETTING MY THINGS DONE ON OUR FARM.  Flower beds to weed and then mulch.  A huge lawn to keep mowed.  Our sidewalks have turned black and need washing. And I haven’t mentioned bookwork.   Or the little projects I have in the back of my mind, like painting the porch. 

Previously my attitude had been: There is no way I can get everything done, so I’m certainly not going to stress myself out trying”.

Then I realized that maybe I’m just using that as an excuse to be lazy.  And since a good work ethic is next to godliness; it was time for me to get my groove on.  (Ok that was a stretch. First of all, maybe not true, second of all, I don’t groove when I work… usually)

So I’m one week into this new “get it all done” attitude.  Every night this week I have crashed into bed.   My body is achy and sore, from me running all over the farm trying to get things done.  It’s a little depressing because when you drive into our lane, there is no way of knowing how hard I’ve been working. 

How long do you think I’ll be able to keep this up until I go the full cycle and arrive back at “Now why am I trying to be Wonder Woman?  I’m giving it up, before I have a breakdown”.

It’s amazing how short-term my resolve is.

Miracle of miracles I’ve been having a lot of fun.  The kids have been low maintenance, thanks to six kittens, beautiful weather, and a new sandbox.  Two nights this week I didn’t have to cook.  My spinach is peaking in the garden.  Yes, I had a momentary lapse of reason and planted spinach.  Never mind that we don’t really eat spinach.

 Oh, and before I forget, one weed in the garden had been giving me fits in years past.  I pulled it and it would keep growing and shoot little baby plants everywhere.  This year I discovered it’s no weed, it’s a flower!  See, like I told Gene 2008 is my year.

You all have a good weekend.  Yay!  Tomorrow is Sunday, a day of rest. In which I am thankful, and hopefully Gene will be in the mood to give me a two hour back massage.

 

****For those of you who don’t know me and don’t have a clue if I’m serious or not.  Here’s the deal. I am working a tiny bit harder than what is norm for me.  But you know what? It’s 9 a.m. and I’m in my pj’s on my recliner, drinking coffee, so you know it’s not horrible.  The people who know me well are rolling their eyes because they know the “new attitude” has max….oh, two weeks left.  But I’m gonna show them.  Yes sir.  I’m in it for the whole summer, I am!

Oh, Emma!

Emma is our very pregnant cat.  She thinks she’s a house cat, but really she’s not.  I can’t count the times somebody has come to the door for something, and when I open it she races inside.  It’s, extremely, extremely, oh so very, annoying.

Last night at bed time I was putting some laundry away in our bedroom and straightening up a bit.  I hung a dress up in the closet and as I was doing that, I heard an unmistakable, “meow, meow”.  Tiny newborn kittens, IN MY CLOSET.

Now if you’re wondering what kind of ship I run, I can assure you it’s not a very tight one, since a cat can come inside, have a litter of six, and I’m oblivious.

It turns out, that when Gene came home from work yesterday, Emma slipped in, unbeknownst to me.

Now, a good mom would have seized the opportunity to show her children the miracle of life.  It  would have been the perfect opportunity for an impromptu Biology lesson. (Or is it Science? Or Nature?)  Those ideas did not even register on my Richter scale, as I basically flipped out and forbade my children (and Josh & Danielle, who happened to be here) to enter the bedroom to have a look.  Then I ran to the barn yelling for Gene to come and quick because it is a kitty emergency.

Then I huddled on the couch with Elena until Gene came inside.  I’m not sure why, but the idea of a postpartum cat bonding with her newly born offspring, in my closet, totally and completely freaked me out.  Also, I was worried about my new shoes from Target.

Fifteen minutes later, and the problem is solved.  No shoe damage done.  Instead, I discovered that she had picked my fuzzy blue bath robe to be her delivery room.  I insisted on throwing it away, and Gene thought I was completely insane, but I know I will never wear it again.

 Gene thinks this just proves what a smart cat Emma is, since she obviously planned to have her kittens in our house, the safest place for her.  What can I say?  Emma’s a smart cat.  Tame. Nice Tempered.  Gray and White.  Good Mother.  Anyone interested?