This morning started with chores, some schoolwork and Matt helping me out a great deal by doing dishes.


What feels like MANY hours,


four spilled cups of milk,  (make that 5!)


one dropped gallon of milk,


subsequent leaking gallon of milk,


not nearly enough mopping of floor on which all these things transpired today,


scraped finger,


scalded hand,


smushed toe,


(and people wonder why I don’t like using power tools)


split lip  (Sonata)


hammered thumb (Asa)


interrupted nap for Nata-head


subsequent whiny-ness from Nata-head,


sluggish and grumpy Asa for 1/2-day, (head colds and naps apparently don’t mix for these two?)


several fight-type issues,


lots of ‘unnecessary’ rowdiness, (the necessity is debatable depending on whether you are a participant or not)


the execution of chicken otherwise known as the Terror of the Neighbor’s Flower Beds,


subsequent processing of said chicken  (did I say processing?  I meant the memorial for said chicken.  I’m sure I did.)


the near-completion of construction on a 12 x 6 raised garden,


the planting of 4 pots of squash-viney-somethings (this may be one indication on why my gardens perish)


the planting of 3 morning glories (for my daughter… she loves all things flowered and will soon have a 4 x 4 bed of her own bought with 69 cent lumber from Mennards ‘reject’ pile!  Woo HOO!  We LOVE rejects!)


the despairing over the fact that we have many bean plants ready to put out (that cannot be put out until one of the above mentioned beds is not only completed but also filled with dirt.  Anyone have a hill they want to get rid of?)


Quantities of cat scat removed from our garage.  EEEEEEWWWWWW! Give me a barn to clean any day!


Four bedtimes,


And we find ourselves up to right about now.


I am finally ready, able and willing to retire. 


And in some odd masochistic way, I laugh at the absurdity of all the parts of this day, the fact that many of the above happened simultaneously or seconds from one another, and can’t wait to see what tomorrow holds.  Perhaps the building of a pigpen?


The finishing of the beds?


The accidental digging of a farm pond whilst trying to fill those raised beds?  That could be fun.


If things aren’t crazy enough, maybe I’ll go into town and buy some geese.  Yeah.  That would do it.


Perhaps it’s not masochism… perhaps it’s a weird sort of mania brought on by my inability to even consider that there will be milk on the floor again most of tomorrow and fussy, not feeling all there children still and probably even a few new injuries… or insults.. or both.


Whatever.  I’ll take it.