For the past several years, one of the many things on my Winter Goals List has been to start a Rural Roots Blog and a seamlessly incorporated newsletter for people who are interested in our lives here on the farm. Unfortunately, like many other things on my list (Finally finish - or probably restart, since it has been 10 years -- War and Peace; run 5km a day; learn Dutch; and organize my house top to bottom), when spring comes around again, it remains unfinished. This year might be different, if only because 3 weeks of school closures and self-isolation wherever possible means I need a bit of a creative outlet. Also, I had a brainwave: over the past few years of raising the Future Farmer, who recently turned 5, I have occasionally written down some of my experiences, as a way to document the journey. (For journey: read wild, exhausting, and sometimes crazy ride). Farming: not for the faint of heart. Parenting: definitely not for the faint of heart. Farming with kids is..... a different beast altogether. So I thought I'd share some old musings over the next few weeks. Rereading them gave me a bit of perspective, which I think is something that we will all benefit from over the next while. Enjoy!
The Future Farmer (hereafter often referred to as FF), helping plant lavender a few years ago. There unfortunately seems to occur an inverse relationship between how helpful children become as they grow up and their willingness to do so.
Heidi's Note, 2020: I originally wrote this on January 30th, 2017, when the Future Farmer was just shy of 2 years old. It is as true today, as it was over 3 years ago.
All the news of the world can kind of take your breath away these days. So here's news from my world: 1. Last Night I caught puke in my hand. My. Bare. Freaking. Hand. My options were either my hand, or clean off (my parents') carpet afterwards. But vomit is my Kryptonite, so I still kind of feel like a Superhero. I didn't even vomit myself! And I had marginally enough presence of mind to make sure my daughter was okay (thank goodness for my mom, who did the rest!). The Future Farmer was fine two seconds later, by the way. My psychological scars may never heal. And it's still only the second grossest thing that happened to me this week. (Heidi's Note, 2020: Vomit is still my Kryptonite. Anytime FF starts, her puke cry is followed by my cry of, "Edwwiiiiinnnnnn!!!" One time we were shopping at No Frills and she was sick EVERYWHERE. It took 3 days for me to stop shaking. Not so the father of 3 who calmly said to one of the cashiers, Heike -- who still gets a Christmas card from me for her service -- "We might need some paper towels here." He helped me, smiled in silent commiseration, and then continued his shopping like the everyday hero he was.)
2. FF abhors any sort of hangnail or catch in her nail. She'll stop whatever havoc she is wreaking immediately to come over so I can "Bite nail, Mommy." She was in some distress the other day, too distressed to even tell me to "Bite it, Mommy." (Which always sounds vaguely rude -- I wish she wouldn't do it in public so much.) She just stuck her finger in my mouth. I tried to find a piece of nail, but couldn't, which I told her. To which she replied, "No mommy. Booger. Booger." And yes, her finger was still in my mouth.
Happy Monday! Hope your week has fewer disgusting body fluids than mine!
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