exploringforests

Wow.

Trying to take full on frontal shots of the goats has proven to be tough. They are in general, shy. Getting used to their enviorment. A big field FULL Of lucious (long because we haven't mowed it) greens to eat, and a dog crate to snuggle in. Which can also be jumped on. But they are getting more brave - taunting the dogs who sit on the other side of the gate and watch them, and coming out bleating when they see us. 

We are going to get a few more.

 Yesterday afternoon was a little too exciting for us. I spotted out the window what I thought was a box turtle and called the babes to come see. TURTLE TIME! Living here is like a hundred million opportunities to learn about animals -- except it was a snapping turtle of medium size. I guess a tween? And he was a grumpy dick completely confused as to why he was on the lawn of someones house in Far Hills when the nearest creek was pretty far, and across train tracks. And he did some snapping turtle bad-ass moves for us that terrified Paige even though I assured her she was standing far away and it was fine (and if anything he'd bite Daddy..) 

Five minutes later Ginger brings us a chipmunk who's barely alive. I have this thing for barely alive animals my cats bring me -- I NEED to try to revive them. And he was staring into my soul *the chipmunk* and there were no VISIBLE wounds, just you know, internal crushed bones, so I thought maybe we could save him. Except of course not, but I held him and whispered things and than I guess bad idea mom because Paige started sobbing that she loved mother nature, and she loved him. And in my head I thought me too! I love ALL the chipmunks of the world but Phil is a realist and was like I'm going to throw him into a tree so he doesn't suffer. 

Yes. Yes. First a cat attack, than flying through the air to hit a tree? Totally a good way to go. 

And I made up this story about how all chipmunks with broken bones find their mommies and they get mended because explaining mercy killing (again) to a 4 year old wasn't on the agenda.  

Now I'm going to be talking about my brother so I needed to break this up. With a terrible cell phone flash picture of my kids sleeping with Clover our cat. I fit in there somewhere along with one or two dogs who are brave enough for face kicks and sudden screams (Wyatt I'm looking at you) One day I will put them in their own beds (I say this every single night) but look how sweet and peaceful. Clover would be upset if we stopped bedsharing. 

So today is my brothers sentencing. How much time will he get? My Dad said I can come to court as long as I don't act like a crazy lady. In fact, here's a snippet of our conversation from yesterday

D: Are you sure you want to come?

Me: Yes, duh of course I'm coming. I gotta do laundry otherwise I'll end up wearing the same polka dot dress and it was pretty loud so they'll remember I was the crazy one.

D: You can not come if you are going to call the judge an asshole, tell him he treats people like animals, say the word fuck at any time, or sob.

Me: Whatever. 

D: I'm serious Tracy, I really am. This is serious, you can get contempt of court it's a big fine. 

Me: Sounds like it happened to you, tell me about it

D: Don't change the subject. 

Me: I WILL ACT LIKE A LADY. BYE

And I hung up on my Dad, so he called me back ten seconds later

Me: Hi 

D: How are you, how's your day?

Me: Oh, we are starting over. MY day is fucking fantastically fucking fantastic mother fucka.

 

 

My Dad gets me. 

the plunge

We are unschoolers! What does that even mean? Who knows, I imagine though it looks like this

 

 

 

I'm happy with my decision. Life has been a blur lately - I've been grumpy, overwhelmed, happy at times (so happy) and yet whew. Life stuff! And of course we got our goats, and of course I need to post pictures of them and I will. Names are in the air - things get shut down and broached and really I want to name them Harold and Maude even if they are both boys. They are friendly, but skittish because well, I have three curious dogs and 2 VERY curious children.

 

We love them, so easy and fun! Seriously, go get yourself a pair of goats. 

mothers day

I know what I should say, to sound like a proper mommist. 

 

I should say that everyday is mothers day. That we deserve long showers, flowers, and appreciation for every second  we spend  changing diapers, wiping snots on dresses, and stopping toddler sized fist fights. I should punch the air and announce it's a Hallmark Holiday where tea houses charge more for mom-brunch and Dad's take the kids and puff up their shoulders like they are doing something oh-so-amazing.

 

Except, I am really psyched for mothers day. It's like, besides Christmas, my favorite time. Because really honestly even if I grumble about getting kicked in the face at 5am sometimes, and I feel stressed as fuck, and raising kids is hard, I love it. And I think the ORIGINAL idea of mothers day is pretty neat, and I want to be able to sleep in until my hearts content and than drink coffee in bed with books. Doesn't that sound heavenly? And than I'm going to take my own momma to lunch, and we are going to try on pretty dresses and squirt perfume on each other and I'm going to VALET my dented Toyota Rav 4 like a pimptress while Phil takes the children to the Liberty Science Center and looses his mind. 

Sucker. 

And really, I don't understand the mommas that DON'T want to be alone on mothers day. Like isn't it awesome to be like see you fuckers I'm OUTTA HERE THIS IS MY  DAY. Because if I did that say, today, or last Thursday, everyone would be like no actually we need to go to Home Depot.

Paige just warned Phil "Daddy, you're waking up with me tomorrow right...I wake up REALLY early.." 

 

That's what I like to hear girlfriend. 

kindness

Thanks to everyone who came out and said kind words regarding my brother. 

 

And to the system: get better. 

And to my own system, get better. Day II battling a cold/whatever else has sucked, even feeling the tiniest bit under the weater leaves me grumpy, and I was 15% more than a tiny bit. Which is a lot when you have two kids, and three dogs, and a day planned. I did get to buy some chicken soup and take a nap and after medicating myself with some REAL drugs (not like crack, Adil) and some homemade vapor rub (coconut oil, rosemary, peppermint if you're wondering) I'm feeling better. A little better. Bravo to my children who handled my grumpiness with pretty good moods. 

We got outside even though I didn't really want to. I made a wizard stick

And I stuck a flower in my hair and pretended I was feeling okay 

drug abuse.

Today I totally broke down during my brothers drug court. It was like, hello chubby woman in polka dot dress totally sobbing because the system is so fucking ass backwards it hurts my soul. Because I don't think drug addicts should be treated like they aren't even human beings. Because superiority complexes suck and it seems the judges, and the police, and the whoever else's really hold on tight to them. 

 

I wanted to write this for myself, but for anyone struggling with a drug addicted someone. 

First my brother. I'm his sister so I have this sister-view of him. Which is different than say a best friend view, or a lover's view, or a judges view. I know him to be slightly shy but wickedly funny. So intelligent yet sometimes so dumb. Handsome, but only when he's not using -- when he's caught with this stupid smile on his face as you snap the camera at the picture moment.  He likes history. He's easily influenced. He wants to appease and please others but I don't think he truly has had the chance to explore who he is. Herion does that. I know because I've seen people get lost in it. So many truly wonderful people. 

I don't even remember my brothers story. I knew he used drugs, haven't we all at some point? Smoked a joint, don't mushrooms in Chinatown, taking 2 hrs to find your shoes and than pairing it with a mens disco shirt from the 70's? Not that..that happened to me. But I'm saying, we all have done something and I remember my brother smoking joints (with me) doing ecstasy with this fish tank light up thing he had, and maybe that's it. But nothing bad. Nothing like heroin. Until I was at my mothers house (Paige was a baby) and I saw him nodding out at the table and I knew. I knew he was doing THE BAD STUFF. The stuff that is all-over-the-fucking place these days. 

Why? WHY. 

No one listened to me when I said he's on heroin. But we found out the night he crashed his car into some swimming pool in Summit. And everything is totally fuzzy from there - it's crashed cars, nodding out at dinner, coming to stay at my house and using in my bathroom. It's finding him in fact, in my bathroom loading powder into gel capsules trying to pull it off like they were vitamins. And I'm like MOTHER FUCKER STOP LYING. I'M NO IDIOT.  But drug addicts lie, it's their thing. And I was mad, furious when he left a makeup kit he needed at my house so badly I packed my kids and drove it to him, only to find out there was a needle and dope inside. And I didn't think about how I would explain that to the cop -- oh that? Old Spice and dope? NOT MINE. I was furious. But I forgive, it's what I do. I love him, can't stop won't stop. 

He got onto drug court. There are rules, curfews, meetings. It's not easy, especially when my brothers medical issues are not addressed. Most (all even) drug addicts have underlying issues. "Dual diagnoses" is what they call it. And he is depressed. Very, very depressed. And angry, but mostly the saddest boy I've ever met who's only been using shrinks to his own advantage. He is in full on drug-addict mod and he goes to rehab. A rehab where he's in the same building with his old drug dealer. High fives all around. And I go to meetings myself, and sit patiently waiting to visit holding a donut I bought down the road for him, listening to smug fucktards talk about how they are avoiding time because they decided to come here. Like rehab is this magical little spot they can hide out and lower their sentences for dealing dope. A good mix I think, kind of like blood thirsty panthers and small children. Why not. Mix them up, make things exciting. 

The rehab also had all these new ways of treatment. Like push you in the corner and scream in your face what a piece of shit you are until you break down. My brother never did - he went into this space that's somewhere between hell and complete numbness and that's how he made it a few months. And he relapsed there, who wouldn't. Put me in a room of cake and tell me I can't have it and I'm going to eat all that shit, and steal money for more. Maybe, I mean that'd be totally gluttonous so I probably wouldn't actually.

Anyway. He relapses in rehab, they put him in jail. A legal spanking. He goes back, same shit. Dealers dealing and so he leaves again, only this time he doesn't relapse, he just calls my Dad to come get him because he doesn't WANT to again and he will if he stays. I ask, beg to let him stay the night. Don'tim turn himself in, I want to sit on the deck and smoke cigarettes with him and just be his sister. Like he's not on the run or anything. He is back in jail now, for running away from a place he felt would harm him. He's in jail for months. He writes letters, he asks to see people, my parents write letters, I write emails. 

He goes to another rehab. His roommate is dealing drugs. Is there some sort of fucked up joke? Send the depressed drug addict to rehabs filled with drugs and ask him to stay sober or he goes to jail. I write angry emails, my brother is more depressed. He's BACK in jail, he's been in jail actually for months and months now. I talk to him on the phone, I visit and tell him stupid stories and we are the only ones there laughing until I'm almost peeing (and I sometimes do, I've had two kids...) again, I write letters. I plead that Marc's MEDICAL needs aren't met. You can't treat an addict without treating his depression. Or at the very least treat both at the same time. But no one answers, and meanwhile my brother is turning into this person who gives himself homemade tattoos and looses all sense of hope. He wants to go to prison. Anything to get off drug court because they aren't helping him and it's been 2 years of this. 

I went to this program about the drug court. To my understanding the jist is keeping non-violent offenders out of jail, and into rehabs where they can get help. I went to a seminar and listened to judges talk about drugs and how passionate they were about helping people and in my head I was like bullshit, but there was this tiny glimmer of hope. Because I've known drug addicts. I've had addicts in my life since birth and I know that underneath that shit they are real human beings. 

Today my brother went to plead to get out of drug court. All his letters, all my emails and most of our calls have gone unanswered. Those that have been, offered no advice. Sure, a legal team will see him, sure he will go to court, but not now..not tomorrow..not for 90 days. I went to the courthouse in my polka dot amish dress and lost it because I listened to a judge talk to a group of forty people like they were the shit on the bottom of his shoes. Like they were idiots. People not worthy of a normal tone of voice or even sympathy. 

And side note: I'm not some naive white girl living in Somerset County. Yes I am white and yes I live in Far Hills but I know some drug addicts are sociopaths. I know some will rob their mothers, punch their wives in the face, and steal cars to get what they want. But not all of them, and underneath all that bullshit what drives them to do it? They hunger for drugs, they are ill. They are SICK and untreated. And it will stay that way and prisons will fill up with non-violent offenders getting 10 years because they smoked crack, While the guy below who molested a 5 year old will get out on probation in a year or two. 

Anyway. I won't get into details but cried. And I cursed in the hallway to my father in a not-quiet voice that these people were being treated like animals. Told they don't "have lives outside of drug court.." and that whatever they say, right or wrong, will always be wrong. I watched a man go to jail for days becaue he took Claritan. The Judge told him he probably fell asleep after taking it not because he didn't have a cold, but because it had sudafed in it and it made him so high he passed out. Except, suddafed often has the opposite affect, it makes you jittery. And Claritan doesn't HAVE sudafed in it (not the kind he took..) but who can question a judge? And so I walked out. I fucking lost it. 

The system is a farce. The entire drug court system is bullshit publicity for public defenders. I saw a news article the other day about a man who wants to be the face of drug court. Oh wait sorry, what I really meant to say was that he wants to get out of PRISON time. Typo! New Jersey.com! My brother sits and rots and becomes more and more depressed and this guy gets a splash page on the fucking internet? 

So fuck this drug court, and fuck the fucking world while I'm at it. I feel discouraged. I feel let down. I feel like a piece of crap when I walk into the jail to visit my brother and the police offers are handing around pictures of same babe on their cell phone giggling to themselves like high schoolers while we wait somblery in line to visit our loved ones. I hate the guy who throws your ID at you on the way out and tells you you'll "need it for when you get pulled over" and I HATE that you can't punch him in the face, or at least tell him how rude he is. Because he's a cop. 

I have hope my little brother can pull through this. Go to prison even though he's never hurt anyone but himself. I love him so so so fucking much and watching him go through this sucks. It sucks so bad. It sucks to see him so hopeless. It sucked to see a room of hopeless people look on while a judge gave jail sentences for the most minor things. Go find real criminals. People like...wait oh, wait, the guy who got arrested 35 times but is giving a chance. Good publicity for the prosecuter. 

 

And now I'm going to listen to punk rock and hang up my anarchy flag. 

A DAY.

A TOTALLY detailed look inside my day. Because my brother was all "what do you do all day" 

Paige woke up first this morning and the demands began. Water, a book, to go downstairs but not alone because she has her fears, a granola bar, a pony..I was like stop talking because if you wake your brother up I'm going to maybe kill you. I instructed her to play with her My Little Ponies (Etsy baby! Just like I used to have!) in her "room" so that we could keep sleeping. 

 

She woke Wyatt up. I obviously didn't kill her.

Let out three dogs that all were at various stages of hyperactivity. Got scratched. Said fuck because of it. Gave Wyatt some milk because he was chanting bababababababaabababaabababa over and over and over. Paige wanted to watch a "morning show" but was conflicted because she felt hungry. d I pointed to two cereal boxes. Both junk disguised as health food because I got them at Whole Foods. WHAT-EVER. Drank coffee, watched children eat cereal. Wyatt got bored halfway through and started to leap out of his chair while pouring cereal. Stopped him from further destruction. 

Morning show. Little Bear to be exact I think. I drank more coffee and leaned on the kitchen sink and thought about doing dishes which actually took up like 20 minutes total time because I got really, really into the idea of doing them. Than I realized I had 5 minutes to get dressed because my babysitter was coming over so I could write and I was wearing a skin tight Coca Cola tee shirt and I'm FAIRLY sure you could see my boobs. *Side note, I didn't get changed, sorry Theresa*

Paige got dressed. She had to look beautiful and apparently jeans aren't anymore. As of like, 12 hours ago. So she put on some floral leggings that barely fit her because I need to do laundry and her NON-jeans were in the laundry basket. She looked like some sort of bohemian love child (or a slob) by the time we finished. Next Wyatt. He's easy. Shorts, tee shirt, bam. Except...it took TWO adults this morning to get him dressed because he was throwing some sort of INSANE fit about everything that had to do with...dressage (is that right?) It was insane, and my babysitter walked in the door and asked if we were murdering him because dude it sounded like THAT bad. And we tried to sing a few songs to get him into the idea of not being naked but he was like mother fuckers you tried that yesterday WAM face kick. 

But he did get dressed. It took 45 minutes or something. 

I than wrote. I tried to drown out the sound of my children and I wrote approximately 658 words in the span of a few hours. And I only text messaged, Facebooked, and looked at Pinterest a teeny bit. Writing 658 words is exhausting so I went to buy milk and sat in my car eating chocolate and drinking iced tea. On my way home I saw BABY. FOXES. So I did this illegal scary U-turn thing on Old Mine Brook Road in Far Hills and went back but they were gone, probably because the sound of my Toyota screetching freaked them out. 

I went home and scrambled the children together because we had 4-H. Except I'm the worst mom on the planet and I thought 4-H was at 2pm and it was really at 1pm and we were 20 minutes late because some cement mixer accident thing but really we were 1hr and 20 minutes late because I'm the worst. And Paige got there at the END and it made me sad so I promised her we would go back to where I saw the baby foxes and we'd adventure in the woods. 

Packed a puppy, husband, two kids, and a camera into the car and it started pouring. But I was determined to go because COOL nature stuff comes out in the rain. Frogs, slugs, mushrooms, whatever. We walked in the rain and pup pup got wet, and we found some ancient little fort built by stoned 15 year olds and I picked wild flowers and pretended to be this hippy love child while Phil picked ticks off himself and talked about how much he HATED nature. 

Back in the car. Little bit wet. I was planning on hot dogs for dinner but bought everything except buns and everoyne was refusing hot dogs without buns (wtf) so we went to search for them. Except the deli was closed, and it was raining, and I was like lets get milkshakes and burgers and go the hell home. So we did, and than in the car while we were waiting for the food to come out (no we didn't go to Mcdonalds, we went to some local sustainable place and Phil went in there, take that suckers) Paige decided she needed to climb into the front seat and pretend to drive and got reallllllly pissed when I said no. Like screaming and crying so I declared her "getting sick, or extremely tired" which are my two go-tos whenever anyone is grumpy. So if you're grumpy, you're probably in need of a nap, or some vitamins. 

We ate at home. The puppy swallowed a rib bone WHOLE and we had to Google if he would die. 

UPS delivered me six new books and I locked myself in the bathroom so I could read the covers and get a little excited to read them. I made a cup of coffee (Paige stole half, explains why she wouldn't go to bed) and I settled in an armchair to read but pretty soon was joined by a girl who TEN seconds prior had been playing with an iron fairy who only spoke spanish, a giant black plastic horse, and a castle. She wanted to sit on my lap and torture me. And hear stories about how many times I've gotten boo-boos. But I've TOLD HER. And she keeps insisting I wrack my brain for more, or ask other people. Which is weird "hey, every hurt yourself really badly, my 4 year old would love to hear about it.." 

Bath time was next. I won't lie, I got in the tub too because Wyatt's afraid of bubbles and it was filled with them. And it was nice sort of, but mostly squished.  Took Wyatt out first, dried him off, gave him some baby oil that's supposed to calm him, and spent 20 minutes getting kicked in the face trying to settle him in to sleep. And than Paige was back once he was down and wanted to know the back story as to how we got all the pets, even the ones we had before she was born. And than I had to tell her a story about a small dog with a magical shrinking machine and THIS time he shrunk down into a worms body and got lodged in there until the worm pooped him out. 

And well, we also painted dinosaurs. 

And this was a BORING day. 

for a happy childhood you need (ALSO SURVIVAL)

...only a few things really

Mud. 

Like a lot of mud. 

Tons of it, and messy dogs too. And little brothers who at first are like why the hell are you doing this but eventually join in because, well, it's fun to get filthy while your mom just laughs and laughs. I let my kids get muddy because nothing feels better than mud on your toes. that's not true

What is better than mud is perhaps, finding toads. And loving them (which equates to torture sometimes, if you're Wyatt and you have a stick and a smirk) And worms. And garter snacks. And those little inch worms that hang from the sky like magic. 

And I am having so much fun being outside with the kids that when I saw that it's going to rain for the next part of forever I died inside because I WANT TO GO OUTSIDE. But my flowers need it. And more rain means more mud so the cycle continues and whatever. 

I also have put together a SECOND HALF (this is a five part journey) to my survival guide. That should be a separate post but it won't be so I will stick it on here and there to random posts so you too, can slowly prepare. 

1. Felt tip pens and notebooks. Because Wyatt likes them and I like them and he looses the caps and if I have to go a lifetime without clean water AND felt tip pens well, that would be a motherfucker.

2. A generator. I know retarded I put felt tip pens first but that's how my brain works. 

3. Food. I mean duh, like lots of bottled water, and beans, and probably peanut butter chocolate chip granola bars because those don't go bad for like, a year. Also dog food and cat food, although field mice could aid in the survival of Ginger the ultimate hunting cat-goddess.

4. RABBITS. Because rabbits fuck. And than I can kill them and cook them and eat them and repeat it until I am sick of rabbits and move on to..bobcats (and Phil's like oh my god I married a psycho right now but whatever he thought of it first)

5. A mini Jersey cow. Raw milk. And cute factor. When the world sucks I can kiss my cow.

6. Heirloom seeds

7. Bells. So that I can make an old fashioned booby trap and line my property with twin and bells so I can hear people trying to break in. Unless they step over them. Shit this should only be something we use at NIGHT. 

8. More dogs. Like dogs that don't stare down stuffed animals or bark at airplane contrails or their own echo. Because all three of my dogs each share one of those characteristics. I need like, a hundred blood thirsty Pomerian's. Because everyone knows little dogs are bastards. And if a hundred Pomeranian's came running towards you, you'd run fast. 

9. Books. Because I want to be the only person to smugly say "I'm going to read" when everyone's Kindles loose battery. 

10. BATTERIES

 

That's all for now. Go friends, go get your stuff. 

the boy who decided to never sleep again

When did Paige give up naps? 

I mean, Paige was always the suckiest napper on the planet; sleeper too really. I'd rock her in the stroller under our apple trees during the summer which sounds magical, except I was always a little ticked off it was taking a full 45 minutes for her to doze long enough for me to creep away. Wyatt's napping has been a bit smoother -- he would do a morning nap, maybe an afternoon nap, sure some days where hard but the thing is that he NAPED. For like two hours and sometimes three.

 

And. 

He.

Doesn't.

Anymore.

He will nap in the car. Normally we go places in the afternoons so that's his nap. It can't even be called a cat nap because it's normally less than fifteen minutes. Can there be a kitten nap? That's what he takes. And despite his lack of nap he's normally pretty cheerful sans unless his shoe falls off, or his hands get muddy, or I'm not being his slave. Which I mean he pretty much gets mad at anyway only when he's tired it's amplified which sucks. And he's also going to bed a bit later because the temptation to play outside until it's dark is just too much. 

I'm going to go with the flow. If he wants go to to bed at 8 or 9 instead of 7 that's fine as long as he's not being a beast. And hopefully he sleeps in later (which he has been) but fuck man, naps are pretty cool. Naps that start at 11 and end at 1 are especially awesome because it's the perfect time period. Any later and he's up all night hyper, any earlier and..well no that doesn't happen. 

BUT THE WORST PART. IS THAT THE NO NAP. MEANS WYATT IS GROWING UP. 

And also that my days are a little more exhausting. With a no napping little man. 

Also, I've been working on making our home pretty. And preparing for a garage sale. I've been talking about garage sales for like 4 years but I actually went into my garage yesterday and put like 10 things in a box to get rid of, and I labled them with really cute retro paper and the prices are decent. And I'm going to sell COOL stuff....like books on unschooling I've read a hundred times and neat toys and clothes from Anthropologie that don't fit me because I'm fat now I shrunk them. 

Anyway back to home prettiness. Wanna see a horrible camera picture of my nature table??

I know I know, it's bad (the picture, the table itself fucking rocks..) but it's got pretty illustrations I chopped out of vintage children's books, and a birds nest made with little bits of moss, and wild flowers or weeds or whatever and we love it. 

ANYWAY. Back to subject I really wanted to talk about -- the end of the world. Or something like that.

I started making a list because I've been watching waaaaay too many episodes of Doomsday Preppers. 

So far on my list (which I wrote on a tiny polka dot piece of paper which is floating around in the kitchen with the words END OF THE WORLD SUPPLIES in Sharpie so no one throws it out)

1. Water filter. Duh. 

2. TONS of matches. A closet full. And those lighters that adjust so you can light candles that are burnt down pretty far because you don't want to burn yourself. 

3. Guns. Because I'm not trying to pretend that I won't shoot a bitch if they try to take my goats

4. Pretty smelling soaps. Homemade preferably with organic ingredients. Because when shit's going down smelling a little bit like passionfruit, or lavender and oatmeal that you washed yourself with in the river CAN make a difference.

 

That's all I have so far. I'm sure I'll be prepared though. 

In this post it's apparent I have ADD. And too much coffee in me

This morning I was thinking a little about what it means to be a crunchy kind of mom. Sometimes I think about it when I'm on line at Taco Bell while my kids are with their babsyitter and I'm eating nachos happily in the parking lot, and after I smoke a ciggarette and suck down a soda and pump my first in the air and go fast food for LIFE motherFUCKERS (I don't do that last part) 

I mean, I run a natural parenting group

I have a list of things I'm super passionate about. Homebirth, not vaccinating, playing outside barefoot..whatever you know I've gone on about it before so I'll save you the boring speech. But here's the thing, I totally am not that crunchy. My home isn't filled with arnica gel ready to be applied when Wyatt hits his head for the 40th time in an hour. In fact, my Arnica gel is so far back on top of the fridge that I probably won't get it down until we move because I'm lazy. My kids have tasted Mcdonalds. I have Pampers downstairs and the thought of cloth diapering didn't appeal to me (but reusable maxi pads kind of do. Because it's less...constant. You don't bleed 10x a day everyday but you do pee)

Anyway I've come to this place where I'm perfectly happy being a perfectly inperfect natural momma. 

It actually happened again this morning, while I was trying to get Wyatt dressed. He was avoiding it at all costs; throwing his arms in the air, screaming, punching me, glaring at me (which is more terrifying than the punch, trust me on that one) and I tried a few things

I sang a gentle song about bunnies. Oh bunnies put their close on la la la. Get dressed la la la. Something or other, there was a stuffed bunny on my dresser for inspiration and he had pants on so Wyatt should want to as well. The song didn't work, in fact it made him more mad. 

Than I tried pleading. Come on my sweet little nugget get dressed so we can play in the little stream outside! MUD! FROGS?? TOTAL DESTRUCTION OF THE NATURAL WORLD? 

And than I got punched in the nose and I had two choices. I could acceopt that he wanted to be free and naked and wild around the house because he's a free spirit or I could get that mother fucker dressed. 

I choose the latter. I actually said THATS IT, FUCKERS ITS TIME TO GET DRESSED OR YOU'RE GOING TO NEVER BE ALLOWED TO DO BASICALLY ANYTHING FUN. EXCEPT EAT STUFF YOU DON'T LIKE. YEAH. FUCKING TAKE THAT. And I held him down and got him dressed and he grinned and ran out of the room. And I sat on the bed panting wondering if I had just scarred him for life but of course I fucking didn't, because he was acting like an asshole and he knew it. 

And in that moment I said to myself the best way to parent is to borrow what you like from all the methods out there and make them into this eclectic special little thing that's all your own. It might include playing outside baretfoot, eating mangos on the deck and giggling as juice gets everywhere, and well...F-bombing your kids sometimes. And than saying sorry. Because that's the most important part. Just like when Paige losses her mind be cause the comb got stuck in that weird sythentic hair on her pony. She gets that minds are sometimes to be lost but that doesn't mean that love doesn't get pushed to the side. It's there allll along. 

It's all about balance. 

And right now my house is a total mess with scraps of paper and felt on the floor, dog hair and paw prints and an entire box of chocolate covered berries that I dropped and instead of picking up pushed them under the fridge. There. I admitted it. I'm totally gross. I'm totally comfortable being myself and lately I've been really happy which means one thing....MY ZOLOFT KICKED IN BITCHES. I really love my kids. And my dogs. Even the one with incontience. 

And now that I've made no sense I am going to food shop without my kids because Wyatt has become some sort of groccery cart beast. He will not sit in it, and even though I'm okay with telling him motherfucker we are doing this, I'm NOT comfortable doing it in public. Child abuse and all, so I'm going alone. And the beauty is that what can be done in two hours with kids, can be done in twenty minutes if it's just me, myself, and I. 

Paige took that. I'm swinging on a childs Ikea swing. Two seconds later it broke

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just kidding. 

5 days

After Paige's "spring break" it's been really tough sending her back.

Ok so, we haven't really. For a hundred million reasons but to narrow some down for myself you

- Paige doesn't want to. She's been going to bed a bit later with the days longer, and she's been sleeping until almost 9am most mornings and sleep is so important. And I'm sorry but I will not rouse her from under a quilt where she looks like the sweetest most peaceful girl ever, so she can go do what I can do with her here at home. Because Paige appreciates mornings where we don't rush,  and I appreciate when we don't rush and mornings are my favorite time. And mornings when we can go right outside? Bring it. 

Next year both kids will be home with me. Playing, exploring, adventuring, learning. 

And adventuring we have been doing! 

Our barn looks so pretty doesn't it? I can't wait until it's filled up with baby goats. Also considering some rabbits -- would love some tales of rabbit rearing because I'm completely in the dark about it. 

My children, the almighty explorers. Can we talk about how much I love this picture? 

And look how BIG our pup pup is getting. He reminds me of Logan (RIP sweet boy) so very much, mostly because he's doofy. He's ridiculous. He gallops towards you, leaps into your arms, and misses. He's a sweet boy and will be a good listener very much unlike Pearl. Who runs away. And for all her sweetness trapped in a 35lb body when you have somewhere to be, and it's pouring, and she won't listen and has run into a muddy field you will get pissed off. You will run really fast to catch her into the goat enclosure and you will grumble stupid-fucking-dog under your breath a hundred times. Not that that happened or anything. 

And one more thing before I head off. Why is it that when my children reach juuust about two, I start daydreaming about having another? It's this weird itching I get to be pregnant, to give birth, to nourish a tiny little (slightly annoying I'm sure) newborn. And it's insane. My pregnancy with Wyatt was nothing fun towards the end, with loads of early labor symptoms that lasted for weeks and left me feeling pretty miserable. And image that with two? And I'd have to make our family bed even bigger because 3 kids in a bed sounds a bit much. And I'd need a bigger car and I'm never ever driving a minivan. And I have three dogs. But doesn't each dog need a kid companion? No probably not. No I'm FINE. I will borrow babies and return them in exchange for an okay, but not so great sleep. 

Yeah. No more babies. Maybe.