Hello! Anybody here?
I miss this little space.
I feel the need to make an appearance and come clean.
I'm just ok.
C- or D+ or Needs Improvement
I've lost that loving feeling.
I've hit menopause (surgically induced) and maybe hit my mid-life crisis.
I'm ready to sell my dream for a bowl of porridge. (Really- Todd just gave me permission last week to put our house on the market if I want to. "But this is your dream," he reminds me. I try to explain to him that in my dreams horses don't poo, weeds don't grow, big families don't feel so overwhelming, and I can FLY!)
I'm almost ready to sell my house, sell my kids, leave my religion, and head off into a year sabbatical.
I'm somewhat bipolar without an official psychiatric evaluation-- gung-ho and no-go heavy on the no-go.
I feel like I've pushed through pregnancy and health issues for so long that I'm just tired of pushing.
Excuse my language but I'm afraid I've lost my give-a-damn.
I've lost almost all of my good habits (scripture reading, blogging, exercising, being kind to my husband, etc.)
I'm apathetic towards motherhood, general sanity, religion, holidays, and God. I know He's there I'm just ignoring Him for a moment.
So- what does a mother of eight with no mojo do?
First-- my mom came out for Thanksgiving. She ended up staying for a few weeks to organize and take over a bit so I could do some things I've been wanting to do. SOOO NICE!
We started stitching...
I really enjoyed watching old episodes of West Wing, Madame Secretary, and Poldark.
I paid a huge fine (actually I begged my way out of it) and started taking Ben to the library each week again. (I haven't been in months!).
This book cracks me up!!
I wonder if my mom wants to stay for a year? Just so I can take a sabbatical.
Who am I?
I'm a big hunk of MOTHER.
I should be writing blog posts inspiring young women to have large families and stay-at-home to raise them. What an inspiration I could be.
But, right now I really want a job. I think about it too much. Not really for now, but a few years from now when Ben is in school. I want to work because I want to be around people. I want more money. I want to do something besides clean my house.
I know. I could do something now, like sell books or make-up or clothes. But, the job I'd want would probably require a masters degree and some more confidence than I have now.
And- I have eight kids.
For two years I've been wanting to exercise-- and I still don't have a plan. If I do exercise I'm wiped out. I keep analyzing and never actualizing.
I'm all confused with food. My bowels are so messed up. If I do an extreme paleo diet I'm HANGRY. If I just eat normal-healthy, my stomach is bloated and sick. So, I pout and eat crap.
I held two babies this past month and I really loved holding them. That was huge for me. I pretty much thought my love for babies was forever gone. Feeling that feeling again gave me hope that this is also a stage that will pass.
This weekend we worked in the barn and I FELT all the feels. Sweet cows, warm eggs, LIFE. My life. I built this life. I wanted this life. I'm LIVING my dream.
And, I can't figure out where to put the poop. Literally.
It snows A LOT here.
We don't have a tractor.
If we clean out the stalls every day, we have a large wheelbarrow of manure and no place to dump it. Many people tell us to just keep adding straw to the stalls and let the manure build through the winter. But, I like clean stalls.
I can't figure out what to do.
Instead of pushing onward, I feel overwhelmed and frustrated.
Small problems make me zone out and avoid the barn.
Ben is beginning Special Ed speech therapy.
I'm hopeful and emotional-- I'm crying as I type this. Maybe because I'm weird guilty/scared/hormonal?
His speech is difficult to classify. It's not a delay- it's not even a true speech issue, it's mind-mouth issue.
That scares me.
The therapist says he talks in his throat not his mouth.
Mouths are easy to retrain, his thing is harder.
He's very smart.
He's very social.
He doesn't have autism.
Our therapist said he's really hard to understand and she works with speech issues all day.
It might be apraxia but he doesn't talk enough to classify it yet.
He will be fine. I know it.
As far as difficulties go, this is mild.
He can do this.
We can do this.
He is my job.
I'm his therapist.
We need each other.
And, I'm crying again.
I just gave a small attitude to our Special Ed department. I LOVE them. Really I do. And for your sakes I erased the eight paragraph rant I just wrote about issues getting Ben approved for speech. You're welcome.
Anna just had some thumb surgery.
She's fine. I'm fine. Surgery is tough.
Burned hands are sad.
I love her.
I love him.
I love them.
Love hurts sometimes.
Can I tell you something?
My life is pretty darn good and I know it. I feel fine. My children are pretty ideal. My husband is charming. My home is dreamy. We have high-mediocre amounts of money. I have a supportive network of family and friends. I'm pretty good at maintaining, cooking, cleaning, etc. And yet, here I am just battling my own mind.
Hormonal ups and downs? To be expected.
I think this is just my midlife crisis and I thank God for a family that pulls me through. They need to eat, they need to bathe occasionally, we have a barn full of animals, and I have a little boy that needs a full-time mother.
I think I'm on the up swing.
I think writing this blog is a good nod back to something I have loved before.
Really-- I'm doing much better than this blog makes me sound.
Life is good. I'm good.
Report cards are out and I'm ready for a new semester.
Physical trials are tough.
Mental trials are harder.
I know what to do--
Clean my body and soul.
Nourish my body and soul.
Exercise my body and soul.
Look for the miracles and be grateful.
If that doesn't work, buy season 3 of Madame Secretary from Amazon Prime for $35.
If I leave, look for me in a red sports car driving through Switzerland. Or I'll be the old mom in nursing school.
It's a shame I can't just write that book I've always wanted to write, because I always thought I'd write about parenting and now I'm a D+ C- midlife crisis momma. Want my advice?
Yes, life is good.
Living the dream is just stinkier than dreaming the dream.
It always is, right? Even in Australia.