I first want to thank everyone for commenting and showing support for a first time blogger. I really am simply overwhelmed with the response. I was not expecting it at all. I really thought who cares what I write!
I am still trying to figure out some things about wordpress. It is really amusing because I am adept at certain things on the computer, but not others. I cannot figure out how to keep the comments from needing my approval before posting! I am not able to log in regularly, so it bothers me that people comment and are not able to see their comments for awhile. I gather if it doesn’t worry anyone else, then it shouldn’t bother me, right? Just a side whine there. I am also figuring out how to add links to other blogs that I’ve found and like. As well as adding pictures. I am working on it as I find the time to investigate!
I am appreciative the sun is out today, finally.
The last several days have been pretty wet and wretched. The one thing I hate about farm work is that it doesn’t matter what the weather is, we still have things that need to be done outside. It can’t wait.
The other bad thing about dreary weather is its effect on mood. Specifically, its effect on my mood. This does not make for a enjoyable time for my husband when I get all grouchy and irritable, which in turn means that my unpleasantness becomes even more unpleasant in many forms.
I find it humorous how one person’s mood can ruin the whole house. In particular, Mommy’s mood can ruin the atmosphere of the whole household. I uphold so many aspects of what we do daily that any kink thrown in due to illness or crabbiness can throw everyone else off-kilter.
I mentioned that we have five living children. Two of my children are older because I had them quite young. The other three I had later in life. It’s a bit odd and as if we had two different families. My oldest is twenty-two, and she is off at a New York University and an advanced senior. It was so hard to let her go. She was my first, and her twin brother was stillborn. I always maintained that she would be a strong, autonomous woman without the same chains holding her down as her mother had. Yet you can imagine sending her off, a long way from home when she never had been away from home in her life. It was so hard on me and her, too. Both of us almost had breakdowns that first year!! She is already thinking of a graduate program. I am so proud of my girl!!
My third child (or second living child, depending on how you view it), just started a community college nearby, and is still at home living. He is not as academically ambitious as his older sister. He’s more like his father such that he loves the outdoors, and the labor of farming. The boy has been riding tractors all his life. Can you blame him?
I waited to have my other three children. This means I still have young kids in the house. Ages 13, 9 and 6 to be exact.
DG always wanted a large family, and we haven’t closed the door on more.
We have a lot going on as you can tell. So when Mom decides that she is going to take a melt-down day, it doesn’t set well for everyone else. This happened this past weekend.
It was raining and muddy and the two youngest were inside, getting on my last nerve. I decided on chicken and dumplings for dinner, and had caught and prepared a chicken earlier in the morning. This was not very fun to do on such a yuck day, because chickens can be a pain in the ass to catch. Our station for preparing chicken is in the barn where I can at least stay somewhat dry, however.( I remember my own grandmother doing it all outside and plucking feathers by hand while sitting on a stump.) We have an old sink with a hose run through it that we use. DH rigged it some with PVC piping, and it really makes for a good outdoor cleaning/butchering station much better than anything we ever had when I was young. I can usually complete the whole process in 20 minutes or less.
So anyway, I was out completing this task to have what I needed for dinner when one of the kids knocked over a barrel containing fermenting apple cider, and the mess spilled all over.
I was on a short fuse already. Although I had slept the night before, I didn’t feel like I slept at all. Momma Bear was not pleasant, and DH walked in during my rampage, calm as he could be.
What happened next can only be explained by temporary insanity.
“What’s all this?” he asked, looking at me and looking at the frightened, guilty child at his feet.
I don’t know what made me say it. Perhaps chicken innards on my hands?
“What the hell does it look like? What a stupid question! Can’t you see there is a mess of cider all over the goddamn floor?”
He stood there in stunned silence as I turned back to finishing my chicken. I should have kept my mouth shut, but I was possessed. “As if I don’t have enough to fucking do.”
It was just a second or so, but my arm was grabbed rather roughly and I was spun around to face flaming eyes. “What was that, Sammi? You realize the child is here?”
I glanced at my 6-year-old staring up at me, her hair a tangled mess because I hadn’t bothered to brush it yet that morning. Her eyes were a mix of emotion I couldn’t discern. Mostly bewildered. DH would never discipline me in front of the children ever, but it’s usually clear to them Daddy takes charge. That he will and does do in front of them with me. Never in an abusive way, nothing like what I saw growing up but he does step up in front of them, and with them, too.
What was the big deal, we spilled cider all the time, among many things spilled in the process of what we do everyday. As much as I also hated to admit it, the cursing was not really a shock to her. It’s one part of my roots that I have trouble shaking, especially when agitated. DH does not like the swearing and barely tolerates it. Although I push hard to make things better for our children so they don’t have to know what we knew growing up, I am also quite flippant about some things, and cursing in front of them is one. I am ashamed to admit it, but it’s honest.
DH in this regard is not nearly as flippant as I am. He reserves his swearing for the tractors that refuse to run when plantings come in spring. Something as silly as spilt milk, or in this case, cider, he takes in stride.
He also does not like being spoken to in a way such as I had spoken to him at that moment.
He turned to our daughter and said one word, “Shoo.” And she scampered off towards the house, as I was watching from the barn window. Then he turned back to me. “You need to wash your hands.”
Still defiant, I said, “But I am not finished, You want dinner tonight, don’t you?”
In his quiet way, he nodded, and simply said, “I’ll wait. Looks like you’re almost done anyway. Finish up and come find me. I will be out checking the pumpkins that the kids planted so I will be nearby.”
It was a quiet command, and then he turned and left.
I was almost complete, so I took my time removing the viscera with my hands, scraping and squeezing to relieve tension.
Here is another side thought: Although I was pretty pissed off knowing I was in for it, as I had my hand inside the chicken I had a brief visual of fisting. Isn’t that cracked, as it is something I would never do! I guess I’d seen too many untamed images while looking for blogs about discipline and checking out interactive site links.
I quietly finished up the chicken and bagged it, then decided for the moment to ignore the gut bucket. I usually take the gut bucket out into the woods on the 4-wheeler and toss them for the wild animals to feast on.
I washed my hands well and then slowly made my way out to the small pumpkin patch the kids had created, where I saw him crouching and inspecting a particularly deformed pumpkin.
“I’m here.” I announced.
He didn’t even look up, and said, “I don’t think we can save some of these pumpkins. I knew that delaying the planting would do this. It’s just been too wet, besides, the fungus…..”
He then looked up, and then stood up. “You know what we need to do. Come to the large barn with me.”
We walked quietly up the lane to our other barn, which is further into the field. Sometimes we will go there to “have a talk” if the kids are home. The kids rarely come down to that barn unless they are helping with the tobacco. It’s harvest for tobacco now, by the way. So when we entered the barn, there was a large flat bed trailer from the day before when DH and some workers had hauled in tobacco to hang for drying. It smelled wonderful. I have always loved the smell of freshly cut tobacco.
DH simply pointed to the trailer bed, and I bent. No overalls today. Could you believe this man actually had a belt on today?? How did he know he’d need it? Well, it came off and he gave me ten very hard licks across the seat of my pants.
It wasn’t enough to make me truly cry out like I do with some spankings. It was a warning spanking, a reminder spanking. However, it was enough to make me feel contrite.
“Now,” he started while putting his belt back on. “I expect you to watch the language around the kids. You want to curse under your breath when no one is around, go right ahead. But you know my feeling on the matter with the kids, and it doesn’t seem like you care much about it.”
I shrugged. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“Really?” he said. “Sammi, you are an example for these kids. You want them refined, so act like it. You can’t act in an unrefined manner and expect better for your children.”
He was right. He pulled me in for a hug.
“Later,” he whispered in my ear as he grabbed my still-tender bottom. “I will drive the point home some more. Now, go cook some chicken, woman!” and as I scampered off, he gave me a sharp smack on the rear with his large, meaty hand.
I love this man.