I have come to the conclusion that I need to share the chaos of my life with the world. You can’t make this shit up.
A little about me:
I’m a stay-at-home-farming-mama of 4. Four BOYS. Yes, that’s right. My life is a sausage fest. The soundtrack of my life is “Poop”, “Weiner” and “Bums”. I’m ok with that. Something else you may not know about me: I have the sense of humour of a 6 year old boy. I truly believe we get the family we are meant to have. Me in amongst a herd of savage boys? Yup, sounds about right.
I am married to a very quiet, sweet, intelligant and compassionate man. Not too sure how that happened. Poor guy. HA! That’ll teach him for making major life decisions during his hazy college years. We met 12 years ago, got married while we were still infants in college and celebrated our 10th anniversary this year. Ready for gratuitous cliche overload: Time goes by soooo fast! Blahblah yadda yadda and such.
W – (age 7, going on 43) – sensitive, gentle and the voice of reason. ie. “Hey Mom, isn’t it time for bed?” or “NO! I can’t go to a playdate! I still have 3 pages left in my catechism workbook!”
N – (age 4, perpetual frat boy) – brave, bold and carries a big stick. I do not worry one iota about this gent making it in the wide world. He has a strong sense of justice. Also, he feels that most adults are blithering idiots. ie. N: “I lost my lego box” Me: “Where did you lose it?” N: “WHY DO ADULTS ALWAYS THINK YOU KNOW WHERE SOMETHING IS WHEN YOU LOSE IT!!!” <insert bellering and increasingly dark shade of purple> He kind of reminds me of the Hulk as a youngster.
J – (age 4 months – the squeaky wheel) – the smallest of the litter, he is constantly hollering demands to the world. Not crying, just yelling a constant cacophony of “HEEEEEY! HEEEEEEY! I’M ALONE IN HERE! CHOP CHOP ON THE BABA!!! HA HA, GOTCHA, I DIDN’T WANT IT ANYWAY, JUST TESTING YA!” <insert ridiculously adorable dimpled grin> Certified rotter.
E – (age 4 months – the docile doe eyed peaceful pudge) – the easiest kid on the face of the planet. Will likely be left in more grocery stores and shopping malls than any other child alive because he is just too content and quiet no matter where he is. A biggie sized love bug.
Yes, you read that right. There are TWO children the SAME age. THAT IS TWINS, PEOPLE. I did not sign on for this. I batted my eyelashes at hubby and asked if we could pretty please try for a third and final child (and of course it would be a girl because that is what I ordered, right!?) Nope, two more little boys. I did not sign on for this, but I am sooooo unbelievably grateful and thankful and blessed and overwhelmed with joy of my lil family. They say God doesn’t give you more than you can handle. Well, HOT DOG! Thanks for having so much faith in my abilities God! I’m gonna throw my back into it.
Aside from mass producing litters of children we run a busy farm, butcher shop and cafe. We raise cattle, pigs, horses, chickens, ducks, geese, rabbits and the occasional rogue goat. Its a regular funny farm around here. I love every minute of it and am so thankful that we can raise our kids on good food and fresh air.
True confessions of a feral farm wife:
-I am lactose intolerant.
-I own 3 dairy cows.
-My first job out of college was a butter taste tester.
-I cannot cook, knit or sew and I’m a pretty big dud when it comes to being a “homemaker”. My Hubs is the main chef in our house.
-I am addicted to Pinterest.
-I always feel better after I pin a bunch of stuff on Pinterest, as though my intentions of baking, crafting and organizing my home somehow count. I just have to avert my eyes from the sticky, dishevelled frat house that I live in. Today was a good day! I knit a sweater out of clogs that I pulled out of the shower drain and baked a 12 course meal over a lightbulb and served as a picnic by the waterfront of our ocean villa!
-Tomorrow is family picture day. I am trying to come up with a suitable matching wardrobe from the clean items in my house: a) pillowcases circa our wedding registry 2002 b) mismatched outgrown pajamas (mostly Lightning McQueen faded to pink) c) my tap dancing costumes from the 80s or d) something constructed from toilet paper and garbage bags. Regardless of how these end up I am sure it will reassure the world they were right about me: I would eventually become a flamboyant hobo married to a very tired looking Saskatchewan boy with a whole roiling gaggle of pups tussling at my size 10 feet.
-I lied about the size 10 feet. After the twins were born those bad boys just spread right out like a snowman melting. They are probably somewhere in the realm of size 14 or 16…you know, the sizes that are really easy to get feminine styles in.
-I’ve been called “Sir” at least once per year since I was about 13.
-I’m holding out hope that someday when I finally hit puberty I will not be called “Sir” again.
-I’ve recently taken up the horrible sport of curling. 10 years ago I promised my Hubs I would try it with him. So far I have bruised most quadrants of my lower body, tore a quad muscle, shattered my self esteem and been told by the other team to “Get up off the ice before you melt divots in it”. I hate curling with a raging hellfire of loathing hatred.
-I love horses. In my heart (and most parts of my mind) I am still a 12 year old girl. Also have a love of Boston Terriers, goats, chocolate and really salty chips. If I was a pirate I would most certainly have scurvy.
-Aside from curling I also loathe cliquey mean mamas, money, shopping for pants, Sportscentre and the evil enchantress I cannot resist: DAIRY.
It appears that all my critters have finally drifted off to sleep so I am gonna go slide Squeaky Wheel into his little beddy bye and catch some zzzzzs. Who am I kidding. I am gonna crank up the PVR and catch up on some mind numbing TV. Can I get a WOOT WOOT!