Greg’s Not Home Tonight: A Very Bad Haiku

This isn’t a real post. Just an ode to Greg not being home. In very, very bad haiku.

Greg’s Not Home Tonight

Greg’s not home tonight.
He’s at a meeting for work.
I’m home with five kids.

Three kids are fighting.
I think someone licked the dog.
Two boys are naked.

I’m hiding from them.
In the bathroom. ShhhQuiet.
Don’t give me away.

Shoot. One just found me.
And made me look at his butt.
Hole. At his butt hole.

It’s red and rashy.
His wiping was very bad.
Very, very bad.

Is it bedtime yet?
How about now? Or now? Or
five minutes ago?

When they’re all sleeping,
and the wind blows from the hill,
I’ll miss their bright eyes.

 But I won’t miss the
weird stuff. … … … Not much. … Shhh. Quiet.
Don’t give me away.

……….

And how was your day?
You can answer in haiku.
You know, if you want.

……….

I love hearing from you!
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I Am a Seed

I lost it last week.

I was overwhelmed. I was tired. Only the bra I HATE was clean. You know. The usual litany. And I just completely lost it.

Lost. It.

Not at my kids.

At my husband.

In front of my kids, though, so that was cool.

Whatever the yelling version is of the Ugly Cry, that’s what I did. It was like being 13 again with a tiny kernel of Rational buried inside but powerless to stop the Insanity Train from crashing through the kitchen. Rational kept watch with wide eyes, though, shaking her head and muttering, “The?”

I found a better bra, and I apologized later. My kids got a lengthy apology, complete with what I should’ve done differently. Greg got a barely murmured “sorry” which I’m not proud of but felt like the best I could do. I’m working on it. And, by “working on it,” I mostly mean I’m alternating between being ashamed and practicing defensive indignation.

Imperfection, I am thy servant.

My point is, thank God it’s Spring. Thank God. And not because Spring is beautiful or April showers bring May flowers or any pretty crap like that.

I mean, yes, the cherry trees are blooming outside my window. And yes, they’re snowing blossoms in my backyard. And yes, this is my favorite time of the year. And yes, it smells like earth and joy after the rain.

But no. That’s not it at all.

Thank God it’s Spring because I am a seed.

I am a seed, and the seed, from the seed’s perspective, is totally pathetic. The seed, you see, is stuck in the dark with dirt closing in on all sides. The seed is cold. The seed doesn’t like it when it rains. And the seed is pretty sure — pretty positive at times — that she’s breaking apart, all to pieces.

The thing about the seed? She’s not wrong. She’s not wrong, but her perspective is wonky, you know. ‘Cause she lives from the inside looking out, consumed by her point of view.

But the seed from the outside looking in? She’s FULL. Which Spring reminds me.

The seed is full of life.

Full of grace.

Full of growth.

Full of power and potential and strength.

And the seed almost never believes it, but she’s full to overflowing. So full, in fact, that she’s splitting apart. Coming literally undone. Which, it turns out, is her job. Even sitting in fertilizer of her own making.

Because that seed? It’s Spring, and she is rising up to become a tree.

……….

If you’re stuck, deep in the ground, I suggest you crank this sucker all the way up and put it on repeat.

I Am a Seed
David Crowder Band


Oh, I’ve been pushed down into the ground.

Oh, how I’ve been trampled down.
So many feet on top of me.
I can’t help but sink, sink, sink.

Oh, I am a seed.
Oh, I am a seed.
Yeah, I’ve been pushed down into the ground.
But I will rise up a tree.

………..

You’re invited (*ahem*) to share your own fertilizer moments in the comments below. 
Telling the truth is one of my favorite things we do here.
Welcome to the mess.
:)

……….

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5 Questions for Amber Dusick (about her BOOK!) and an Exclusive Crappy Illustration for YOU

parenting-illustrated-with-crappy-pictures

Parenting: Illustrated with Crappy Pictures
THE BOOK HAS LANDED.
Congratulations, Amber!

……….

Once upon a time, Amber Dusick and I were in a blog contest together. I messaged her approximately two minutes after reading her blog and told her she had my vote. Then I wrote all of my closest friends and said, “Look, guys, I know this means I suck at competition and I’m doing it all wrong, but Amber Dusick is both funny and rad, and please vote for Parenting: Illustrated with Crappy Pictures.” True story.

Last October, at her invitation (woohoo!), Amber and I collaborated in a blog mash-up. I wrote. She illustrated. And the result, Zipper Penis, killed me dead.

zipperpenispixel

The little flesh colored pixel up there? Do you SEE it? I laugh ’til I cry. Every time. You guys, it’s like she was there. (Psst… that zipper penis story has a happy ending. In case you feel worried or sad.)

The thing is, everything Amber writes is like she’s there. In my house. Writing about life with my miniature frat boys. The books. The studying. The brilliance. The all-nighters. The pee. The vomiting. You know? You do. Because Amber writes like she’s in your house, too.

So when Amber told me she was writing and illustrating a whole BOOK, I was ecstatic. Could. Not. Wait. to read it. And now that I have? Still ecstatic. It’s fantastic. Just like her blog, except more, which is what I’ve wanted from her all along. Balm for the parenting soul.

Amber agreed to answer some questions for us. An exclusive Amber Dusick interview right here. I sent her five questions (because she said no to my offer of five children), some from me and some from you. I hope you enjoy chatting with Amber as much as I do!

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5 Quick Questions
an interview with
Amber Dusick
Parenting: Illustrated with Crappy Pictures

Question #1 from Mandy. How do you keep your drawings consistently crappy? Do you ever find them edging closer to good or amazing and have to crappify them? (Great question, Mandy!)

Amber: “If you look at my very first few posts my drawings were way, way more crappy than they are now. So you are right, I’m getting better and eventually I’ll be a master artist and my crappy pictures will look like photographs. That won’t be good. I’ll have to start drawing with my left hand or my foot or something to hide my skills. Or maybe get drunk first. Close my eyes even. Those are all crappifying options. Honestly, I’m drawing with my finger on the trackpad of my laptop and that is where the crappy comes from. Even talented artists find that method limiting. Also, I’m lazy and draw the minimal amount possible to convey something so that helps keep things simple. I have no time for unnecessary details or aesthetics.” 

Question #2. I’ve asked the 5 Kids readers these questions, too, as part of our ongoing 5 Quick Questions series. Ready? Fill in these blanks:

    1. My fridge is the place where _____ goes to die.
      Amber: “My fridge is the place where cilantro goes to die. Seriously, is there any recipe that calls for the ENTIRE bunch? I always have extra and it rots in the drawer and then I forget about it and buy a new bunch at the market. My entire fridge will eventually just be filled with black slimy cilantro.” 

    2. Once, in the dark, I stepped on _____.
      Amber: “Once, in the dark, I stepped on a beeOkay, that is a lie. It wasn’t dark. I just wanted to tell you about how I stepped on a bee.”
    3. The last thing I cleaned up that was wet but not mine was _____.
      Amber: “The last thing I cleaned up that was wet but not mine was dog shit. Honest, I took Crappy Dog out for a walk right before I sat down to answer these. And you thought I was going to say poop or pee from the kids. Nope. That was earlier today.“ 

Question #3 from Terry and me: I know you shy away from politics on your blog. Me, too. Usually. But this is an issue that’s incredibly important, and we’d be wrong to ignore it here. As you’re no doubt aware, we at the 5 Kids blog are working tirelessly to bring “rad” back into common usage. What’s your position on this effort? Yay or nay? 

Amber: “You are right, I avoid taking a political stance. However, the term “rad” has appeared on my blog several times, the most recent one being in this post referring to stickers. Stickers ARE rad. So I’ll let you be the judge of my stance without making a public statement. Safer that way and will hopefully help me avoid angry and offended emails.

Question #4 from Robin and Nancy: Is it just us or does everyone feel like they know you and are best friends with you already? I mean, you wouldn’t know how other people feel, and we realize this makes us sound borderline stalkerish, but really. We’re your best friends, right?

(When I saw these questions, I was of the same mind. So I told Amber, “I don’t know about you, but I get it. There’s a weird, awesome friendship that’s forged online from shared experience. From the relief of telling the truth about parenthood… and the mess and the madness and the magic… and then having people come alongside and laugh with me. I envision us, tired mamas at the end of the day — you with wine, me with beer — clinking glasses through the computer screen in mama solidarity. Is it just me? How do you feel about this best friends stuff?”)

Amber: “Best friends, yes of course! I will never be one to downplay the “realness” of online friendships and community. There is definitely a feeling of camaraderie and it travels in both directions. I can’t tell you how many times comments have made me laugh or cry or just generally felt supported when I was going through a really tough week. There is definitely a real power of going through similar experiences in parenting and relating to one another. There is a BFF connection. Totally.”

And then Amber drew us this:

online-friendship

Which is it, exactly.

And brings us to Question #5. Other than BUY THE BOOKwhich we are so doing, what is the #1 thing we can do to support your writing? You know, mom to mom. Friend to friend. Best friend to best friend

Amber: “The main way to help is to spread the word about the book. Suggest it to other parents. Talk about it to people. And after you get it, writing an honest review on one of the online retailers is also hugely helpful. Probably best not to share that we’re BFFs in the review though. Might look biased.”

Thank you, Amber! And congratulations on an awesome book!

……….

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I’m a Pee Fight Pacifist

Look, I don’t usually take on extreme positions here. I’m just not that kind of girl. I tend to be all mushy and “well, there are two sides to every story” and “I’m sure she had the best intentions” and “there’s room for EVERYONE.” On the other hand, I believed Mr. Clinton when he said he did not have sex with that woman so I admit to a certain ongoing struggle with being a Pollyanna.

My point is, I hope you’ll forgive me for stating a firm political position here. It’s just that I believe this very, very strongly.

I’m a pee fight pacifist.

There.

It’s out.

The whole world knows.

I am a pee fight pacifist. I disagree with all forms of pee fighting.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Surely, Beth, you understand that there are times when a pee fight, however distasteful, is necessary.

And that’s what I’m saying. NO. No, I don’t understand this at all. I’m telling you I believe that there are no circumstances which can justify a pee fight. NONE.

But what if the other person agrees to the pee fight, Beth?

No.

Or if they’re really, really bad and have it coming?

No.

Or if we try very hard not to pee fight but negotiations break down?

No.

But what about peece keeping forces? Like, using one’s pee in defense of others?

Still no.

Just no, you guys. No.

I’m like a rock on this. NO.

But here’s another little secret. The Confession of a Confirmed Peecifist:

My children remain unconvinced.

It’s true. Sad. But true. I have not been able to pass my beliefs on to my children.

I caught my twin boys planning a pee fight yesterday. I mean, sure, it was all talk. So far. No shots had been fired. But still. It caught me up short, and I renewed my determination to impose my peecifism on my kids. This is no time for them to think for themselves, friends.

So I engaged in the talks, working hard to articulate my perspective. The correct perspective. The only perspective.

And they remained unconvinced. In fact, the words gross, sick, and I will literally vomit if I ever catch you doing that only seemed to encourage them.

In the end, I appealed to their sense of equity. Fairness. Egalitarianism. I said, “Pee fights aren’t fair. Only boys have hoses. Girls can’t play.” And I made a sad face.

Look, I’m not particularly proud of my argument since I think no one should play, but, like all good negotiators, I was willing to compromise if compromise meant getting my way.

And my boys were sad, too. They like girls. They like me. They don’t want to leave people out. So they called a cease fire. Thank God. Peece before the first shot fired!

Late last night, Cael handed me this drawing, titled “The Pee Fight, by Cael.”

photo (51)In it, he illustrates his inclusive war plan. Namely, to put me on stilts with a specially engineered pee sluice so I can battle the boys.

And look, Mom! We’re all sad ’cause we BEEN HIT. With all your pee, Mom. ‘Cause you are the BEST PEE-ER of us all. And I’m peeing on Cai, and Cai’s peeing on Ian, and Ian’s peeing on Dad. But Dad’s not peeing ’cause I don’t think he would do this game. He’s not really a Pee Fighting kind of guy. 

So.

I have failed.

But all hope is not lost.

No, hope is not gone.

Even in the darkest hour, a glimmer remains.

“Dad’s not really a Pee Fighting kind of guy.”

I pass the Peecifist baton on.

It’s up to you now, Greg. It’s all up to you.

……….

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Easter Monday

photo 3 (38)

Today is Easter Monday, and yesterday was perfect. The kind of perfect that isn’t perfect at all which is the way most of my perfection turns out these days.

I woke up early like the women who went to visit Jesus’ tomb. It was Easter, and I had work to do. I had pork tenderloin to wrap in bacon which symbolizes freedom from the Old Law. Or it symbolizes that I had pork in my freezer. Whatever. Bacon is from Jesus.

Sidenote: Bacon is not from Jesus. Jesus never ate pork. I have a hard time understanding Jesus as fully human without bacon. Or as fully divine. I have not yet reconciled all the disparate parts of my faith.

Anyway. I woke up early. I prepped our last-minute, throw-it-together Easter dinner. I congratulated myself for being on top of all the details.

And I congratulated myself for setting the coffee maker on auto the night before which is the mama’s version of resurrection.

And I congratulated myself for also remembering late at night to let the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny in the door, both of whom broke with tradition by arriving completely sober and without chips.

And I congratulated myself for being kind to all my children in the morning, even the ones who demanded breakfast as though the mountain of chocolate and jellybeans was insufficient.

And then I ran out of time and became just a little defensive, bitter and angry.

And also a tiny bit self-centered.

And sort of sigh-ish and blame-y because Greg had 45 minutes to get ready, and I had 5 minutes, and oh, mornings. Especially church mornings. So full of promise and imminent failure.

I shoved my family out the door toward church, shooing them like bedraggled geese. Go, go, go. And I finished grooming myself and followed them with secret bits of self-reproach stuck to my clothes.

The sun was shining, though, which ruined everything if everything was my melancholy, and I realized I was celebrating Easter in grand tradition, just like Jesus’ disciples who meant well, started strong, and then fell asleep on the job and, generally speaking, totally blew it.

I have often wondered if the Church is the right place for me. Wondered, questioned, doubted, retreated, cautiously reengaged. It’s an old story for people in my generation. I look at the Church and our mangled message of Love which doesn’t look like Love at all when it uses words of superiority and condescension and control and distrust, and I feel like Mary at the tomb; They have taken my Lord away, and I don’t know where they’ve put him. But yesterday, I sat at the empty tomb while my pastor, Lynn, who claimed the unwanted and unexpected title of Widow last fall, and who knows what it means to lose her friend, preached news of Joy and Celebration and Restoration and Resurrection and Light.  Light as a result of suffering. Light which shines because the vessel broke and let Love leak out all over us.

I remembered at the last minute that Jesus entrusted the entire Love message to a bunch of yahoos he called friends. A wild, unruly crowd of rule breakers, doubters, deniers and failures. People who blew it. And I thought, yes. These are my people. This band of misfits who got it wrong and wrong and right.

I didn’t set my oven timer right yesterday, and the pork was done an hour early. We ate at the wrong time, as soon as food was finished. We staged our usual obnoxious, slightly (totally) unsafe Easter egg hunt using principles from the Hunger Games. By the end of the day, my littlest boys and their cousin were down to their undies, playing in water from the hose and spraying each other in the face which was unkind. There was laughter and then yelling. And then laughter. And then yelling. The push-me-pull-you of imperfection, which is the root of friendship. And the beginnings of faith.

The Easter Bunny had a drink, and so did the Tooth Fairy. All afternoon. And we all sat in the sun until late, late, late. Because Love came back to life.

……….

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On Leadership in Parenting

photo 4 (26)

I spent most of the week at the Oregon coast for Spring Break. You know, after losing a kid in the forest and dropping another one in the riverThat photo up there? It’s the view from our house this week. Yes. This is one of the reasons living in Oregon, despite the rain, is worth it, man. Miles and miles of this.

photo 4 (27)

We didn’t spend the whole week together. Greg and his folks took Kids 2 and 3 home after a couple of days. He needed to work, and the kids needed the security and stability of home. Traveling freaks the oldest boy out, and the younger girl likes her own bed. One of the biggest challenges of parenting a thousand children is recognizing their individual needs and accommodating them whenever possible. Kids in big families have lots of opportunities to learn to accommodate others and to be patient and to wait their turns and to do what’s best for The Collective. The Hive. The Group Mind. It’s OK; it’s good for kids to understand community and to practice selflessness and generosity. Except, of course, when they need what they need. And so three left.

Our oldest kid, the teenage girl who’s more capable and independent and confident and mature every day, spent the week in Mexico with our church building houses for people who need them. And when we watch our kids recognize their privileges and resources and choose to give their Spring Break to help build a path out of poverty? Yes. This is one of the reasons parenting, despite the sleeplessness, is worth it, man. Miles and miles of this.

So I stayed at the beach with my two littles for a few days without the internet or computer or Wii or DS or cable or Hulu or Amazon or Netflix. It was good to take a break from screens. Just kidding. We watched 3 movies on DVD and then caught The Croods at the tiny theatre in town. I cried when they learned that following the Light is risky and dangerous and terribly worth it.

And then we walked the beach and found very nice rocks

photo 2 (57)

and battled the tide, which beat us but not by much, and we ran too fast and contemplated our size, which we decided is both very big and very small.

photo 5 (14)I saw a lot of my boys’ backs, and I thought about this quote:

There go my men, and I must hasten after them for I am their leader.

photo 3 (36)

 

I thought, yes. This is parenting. This rush to catch up. This leadership from behind. This battle against the tide which we will certainly lose but only after a very good fight.

 ……….

And you? What did you do for Spring Break? Or what will you do?

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How to Pack for Vacation in 3 Easy Steps

One of my 6-year-olds packed his own suitcase for the beach. He was very methodical, following an organized, 3-step process, and, frankly, I think we can all benefit from his tutorial.

The great thing about this packing system is it’s straightforward, efficient, and it works for any trip of any length anywhere in the world. I’m going to share it with you here because I like you, but I’m warning you now, this is patent pending, folks.

How to Pack for Vacation
by my 6-year-old

Step 1:

photo 1 (49)

Pack one (1) stuffed animal.

……….

Step 2:

photo 2 (56)

Jump HARD to pack it all down.

……….

Step 3:

photo 3 (35)

Shove in a big book.

……….

And that’s it.

All you need for any vacation. Anywhere. Ever.

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P.S. I might’ve added a few pairs of undies to his suitcase after the fact. And a shirt. And pajamas, pants, socks, boots, and a coat. But that’s because I’m obviously an overpacker.

P.P.S. I might have a little chat with this kid’s future partner before they go on their honeymoon. Or not. ;)

P.P.P.S. What are your two must-have items when you head out of town? I’m having a hard time picking between coffee, my book, my phone, earplugs, and a really good bra.

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It’s Spring Break, aka March Madness (for Parents)

It’s Spring Break, aka March Madness for Parents. Which has nothing to do with basketball and everything to do with how we play the parenting game.

So far, one of my kids fell in a river, and I lost another one in the forest.

Don’t worry, though. All’s well.

Sometimes, even ninjas lose their balance.

photo 3 (34)

photo 1 (47)

But I dried that river kid off, and he wore my coat kilt-style in such a way as to honor our Scottish forebearers,

photo 1 (48)

with fierce pride, a whole lotta freedom and a few high leg kicks. 

And the child who was lost only felt lost to me and was never lost to himself. Which is often the way of it when we assign lostness. He knew where he was all along. He met me at the trail’s end with three of his buddies, perfectly happy to have found his own way and a little bewildered at my running and panicking and too-tight group-hugging and don’t-ever-stray-while-I’m-clothing-your-naked-brother againing. 

photo (50)

Given my previous Spring Break successes, I wanted to think I had a pretty high seed headed into my March Madness for Parents bracket. Unfortunately, the river and the forest caused a surprise upset. What can I say? I played hard. The other team played harder. 

In other words, it’s Spring Break. The kids are home.

5KidsMarchMadness

And the real March Madness has begun.

………

Are you on Spring Break, too? If yes, how’s your March Madness (for Parents) bracket holding up? You still in the game? Or did you already go down in a blaze of glory, like me? :D

(And psst… if you want that Spring Break March Madness graphic, you can swipe it from the Five Kids Facebook page. Enjoy!)

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How Do You Feed Your Family?

I recently sat with Sarah and Bubba King at one of our local wine-country restaurants and, while Greg wrangled kids, homework and bedtimes all on his own, I drank local beer, ate coppa pizza from the wood-fired oven, and asked my friends some Serious Questions.

Now, those of you who’ve been reading here a while will remember Sarah and Bubba from my Run, vegetarians, RUN post titled This Little Piggy Means More Bacon for Me. It’s a good post if you like bacon. AND it included original two-word poetry by me, as well as a confession or two about our crunchy Oregon lifestyle. You can go read it first if you want some background. We’ll wait.

Sarah and Bubba are farmers. I like to think of them as my farmers. They raise pork and poultry. They source local flour and butter. And they run a Community Supported Agriculture project (CSA) where folks like me pay a subscription fee to buy a percentage of their produce. That means that when the farm does well, we get an abundance of delicious, fresh fruits and veggies. And when the farm doesn’t, we get less. It’s a risk, but it’s also the future of sustainable, community farming, and we love both the goods we receive and supporting the local food movement.

But we also feed our kids crap mac and cheese. The kind in the box with the dyes and the preservatives and the simple carbohydrates and the nutritional void. And other morally inferior foods. Like candy. And neon ice cream. And sugar cereal.

So… you know. This is life. Both/And, right? Both feeding our kids locally grown, carefully produced food and snacking on off-brand Fruit Loops straight from the jumbo bag.

That was the first of the Serious Questions I asked Sarah and Bubba. Why will you even talk to me? You know I’m feeding my kids from your farm and the discount grocery store. Don’t I offend you? Don’t you want to reach across the table and yell, STOP IT WITH THE TWIZZLERS, LADY. YOU’RE RUINING YOUR KIDS. And they said, “Nope. You’re good.” And then they said more than that, which we’ll get to, but that was the gist.

The second of the Serious Questions was about money. Oh my gosh, MONEY, you guys. Some people make some, but that person is not me or Bubba or Sarah. So we sat there talking about doing what we love and losing money and the fact that it’s all undeniably worth it. Me with the writing about laying down our guilt and giving ourselves grace and recognizing our hard work and being our true selves and loving our imperfections and laughing at the mess. And Sarah and Bubba with the farming.

So the second question I asked the Bubbas was What’s the point? Which is about money, of course, but is more about purposeWhy do you do this thing where you lose money and you work ’til you bleed? WHY? 

I invited them to answer me in writing, because I want to share their passion with you.

……….

pig_in_box

What’s the Point?
a guest post by Sarah King of The Collective

What’s the point?

Both sets of my grandparents have asked our friends and family members the same question.

“What exactly are Sarah and Bubba doing? Or rather, what it is that they are trying to do?”

They (like many) don’t know or understand the letter combination, CSA (Community Supported Agriculture). They don’t understand why we are toiling away, making just enough money to pay for this “hobby” of ours, as they call it. For goodness sake, you can just go to the store and buy all that stuff that you’re trying to grow and it would cost you a lot less money. You wouldn’t have to spend your days getting up early to go feed the animals (even on Sundays) and all of your spare time in the summer peering into a canning pot and listening for the ting, ting, ting of the jars that seal successfully. And what do you mean you don’t buy tomatoes? How can you have a salad in the middle of winter without tomato sliced on it? Wait. You mean, you don’t eat salad during the winter?

My grandparents, whom I admire and respect greatly, don’t understand why we choose to do these things the way they used to be done. Major grocery chains and Amazon.com didn’t exist. They spent year after year doing all the things above because if you didn’t, you didn’t eat. And then things changed. The world got bigger (or is it smaller?) and pretty soon they didn’t have to work so hard to eat and sustain themselves and their families. Soon, they discovered that they could get rid of the dairy cow because it was cheaper to go to the store and buy milk. And that instead of working on the farm all day, they could work in an industry that actually paid them in money, rather than in blisters and sunburns and food. They got things like paid time off and retirement. So why after all of their hard work to get off the farm would we want to undo everything and go back to it? Don’t we understand that it’s hard work, and long hours, and you can’t take days off, or call in sick? And you certainly won’t get rich from it, you likely won’t even make enough to ever retire.

Our simple answer is this: we don’t want to get rich, we want to live richly and a fully. And we do.

When we started “farming” it was really that we just decided that we wanted to learn more about the food that we were putting on our plates. When Bubba and I first got married, I shopped en masse. I loaded up on canned goods at bulk grocery stores — bought cases of soda at Costco — and stocked a pantry with enough prepared foods to survive an apocalyptic snow storm. I thought that’s what I was supposed to do.

But then, something changed. Bubba and I noticed that the food we were eating wasn’t making us feel very nourished, and we certainly weren’t enjoying it, or the process of making it. And we were starting to hear about this trend of people raising their own meat or growing veggies in raised beds outside of their kitchen. So we thought we’d give it a try. I mean, how hard could it be? Put some pigs on the pasture — watch them grow and then fill your freezer. It had to be less money than we were spending on pork from Costco.

So we did it. And we made mistakes. The pigs got out and made a mess of the pastures we put them in. And I didn’t like how much mud they created during the rainy season. But when we finally did the deed and when the first pork chop graced our lips, there was no turning back.

When we launched the CSA last year and so many of our community members asked us to help them eat like we do, we cried in humbleness. We were being asked to help nourish the bodies of the families around us. We were being trusted to make sure that kids went to school with real carrot sticks in their lunch boxes and that the tomatoes we gorged ourselves on during the summer weren’t picked by slaves in Florida. The apples we provided came from a gentleman named Ralph who meticulously trims his gorgeous 75 year old apple trees, but doesn’t eat to many because he has diabetes — though he is sure tickled that the kids like them so much.

I filled myself last year with berries that my husband picked and ate eggs from our chickens by the dozen, growing a baby boy in my belly that is now eating his own ration of eggs and applesauce and squash that I picked and preserved for him during the harvest last year.

We get up early to feed the animals and crouch over rows in the garden because we feel better. And the food that we produce tastes better and we take great satisfaction in preparing it because we had to work for it. We get to share all of this with our friends and community; growing, nourishing and sustaining one another, living richly and in fullness.

That is what we are trying to do.

……….

Thanks, Sarah!

And just so we’re all on the same page, neither Sarah and Bubba nor The Collective is a sponsor or affiliate of this blog. They didn’t pay me for this post. Or give me extra bacon. I am pretty sure they’ve discounted my food or increased my family’s portion on more than one occasion, but I don’t have proof of their nefarious, underhanded generosity, so I’m not sure how to disclose it. In short (too late), I’m writing about the Bubbas because I believe in what they’re doing and I think you’ll like them, too.

And now, a community question for YOU.

How do YOU feed your family? Organic? Pesticide-free? Fresh? Fast food? Off-brand mac and cheese from the discount grocery store? All of the above? I just wonder… am I alone out here with my pendulum nutrition swings? Help me out.

……….

I love hearing from you!
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Credit Where Credit is Due

I’m trying to decide if telling you I was down with the grips is too much information, but you all keep acting like friends so this is pretty much your fault.

The problem with proving I have a brain filter, of course, is the fact that if I tell you all the things I don’t tell you, my proof disproves the point I was hoping to prove. If, on the other hand, I don’t tell you all the things I could tell you, then I get no credit for having a filter at all.

Was that confusing? I’m sorry; the grips took a lot out of me.

In other words, speaking for all the people like myself who say too much, you don’t know all the stuff we do not say and how very much Filter Credit we deserve. So next time your loose-lipped friend talks about “the grips” and not about the liquid acid’s exit plan or trajectory, thank her. Do. Just say, “Even though mentioning ‘the grips’ was way too far and I’m actively gagging right now, thanks for all the stuff you do not say. I hear there’s a lot of it and that you deserve mad props and crazy Filter Credit. Good job, you!”

K?

K.

So, I was sick.

With the grips.

But not too sick.

Just somewhat sick. And also tired. And a little bit I quit today. And a lot I’m pretty sure y’all can feed yourselvesAnd completely If you want a bath, figure out how to make that happen, 6-year-old Boy Child.

Then, later, I was very Why is there cracker shrapnel all over the house? And Chocolate chips in the clean laundry pile? Really? And How much water has to hit a bathroom from a Tub Tsunami to count as water damage and start over?

There was a time in my life when I’d have felt like I fell down on the mama job, leaving my kids to fend for themselves that way. Now? I’ve changed my perspective to this:

I’m teaching my kids to be independent.

And these are life skills, baby.

photo (49)

Sometimes it’s all about perspective, friends. And remembering to give ourselves credit for all the stuff others never see.

Credit where credit is due, I say. For all the wild, wonky, wonderful stuff we do every day. Even when it involves quitting. And the grips.

So. What about you? What do you get credit for today? Name it here, friends, and let me tell you, Well done.

………

I love hearing from you!
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