The Best Laugh Of The Day!

My day was crazy.  The following drivel may bore you or put you to sleep or give you a headache, verging on raging, like it did me.  But, you must plow through it to get to the end.  The punch line.  The climax.  The comic relief.  The reason I live:

Plus or minus 14 calls, it went something like this:

6:30:  Alarm goes off.  Pushed snooze.

6:37:  Alarm goes off again.  Get up, wake my 3-year-old up, go to milk.  He goes with me because yesterday he threw a 20 minute tantrum in his room because I didn’t wake him up and take him.

6:43:  3-year-old whines the whole time I’m milking.  I am rethinking my decision to wake him up and threaten that I won’t do it again.

7:05:  Get up to the house from milking.  Wake 6-year-old up for the first time. 

7:06-7:19:  Make breakfast, strain milk, put away milk, heat up yesterday’s coffee, wake up 6-year-old for the second time, make 6-year-old’s lunch, wash some dishes, wake up 6-year old for the third time.

7:19:     6-year-old:  “Whoa!  It’s already 7:19!” 

             Me:  “Well, it was 7:05 when I first woke you up!”              

             6-year-old:  (lying through his teeth)  “Wow!  I didn’t even realize it!  I must have  been  REALLY asleep!”

7:19-7:45:  Get both boys ready to go to school and ready for picture day (with Animal Whisperer’s help).  Drink 3 drinks of reheated coffee.

7:45-7:54:  Do whatever we do that makes us late.

7:54:  Leave for school.

8:00:  Shove 6-year-old out of car, tell him to “Run Like The Wind!!” because he’s late.  Walk 3-year-old to school.

8:30:  Repost 7 ads on Craigslist, drink the rest of my reheated (again) coffee, eat a delicious breakfast of farm fresh eggs, tomatoes and onions that Animal Whisperer made.

9:00:  Begin taking the first of 107 phone calls for the day.  Do that for an hour.

10:00:  Go running.  Take 3 more phones calls (while running).  Try to pretend I’m not out of breath.  Apologize to people I don’t even know for being out of breath.  Pass out.  OK, not really that last part.

10:27:  Shower.  Get a bloody nose.

10:43:  Race to pick up 3-year-old.  Late.

10:57:  Finish getting ready to have lunch with grandmother at her assisted living.

11:15:  Start lunch with grandmother.  3-year-old is with me.

12:20:  Leave lunch.

12:50:  Put 3-year-old down for a nap for the first time.

12:55:  Begin making cheese.  Answer the next 17 calls and emails.

1:20:  Put 3-year-old down for a nap for the second time.

1:47:  Keep making cheese.  Put 3-year old down for a nap for the third time.  Phone keeps ringing.  Realize this is either a punishment or a blessing for posting so many ads on Craigslist and for running a business.

2:22:  Throw 3-year-old into car.  Race out to pick up 6-year-old.  Late.

2:40:  Invite myself to a friend’s house.  Tell her I just want to sit there.  And catch up.  Tell her I forgot my phone and I’m taking a break from it anyway.  Confirm that she wouldn’t say no even if she really didn’t want me to invite myself over.

3:21:  Accept reality.  Go home.  Finish cheese.  Answer a “can you help me with this mom?” question every 3 1/2 minutes.

4:15:  Leave.  Run errands.  Answer 9 more calls.  Tell myself it is not safe to talk on the phone while driving.  Do it anyway. 

5:15:  Start dinner.  One of the 107 phone calls knocks on the door.  I have no idea who she is or what she is here to buy from my Craigslist ads.  I vaguely remember talking to her around call number 32.  I show her to the pea green carpeted bar and bar stools that Animal Whisperer and I have agreed to part with.  Phone rings.  I answer.  Rice starts boiling over.  Phone rings again.  I answer.  3-year-old starts screaming.  I tell Animal Whisperer I have to leave for my meeting, bar and stools are $50, buyers are downstairs looking, kids are on the computer and rice is on a timer.  I blaze a trail for my meeting.  Make two calls on the way while the phone beeps constantly in my ear with the missed calls that are coming in.

6:10:  Arrive at meeting.  Late.

6:43:  Leave.  Out of gas but we’re adhering to a tight budget this month.  Put $3 (cash) of gas in the tank.

6:57:  Home.  I have a headache, I’m exhausted, I want to lie down.  I am starving.  I’m on the verge of a breakdown.  I’m going to the bedroom to vegetate.

6:58:  In his low, monotone, sounds-like-he’s-already-gone-through-puberty voice, 3-year-old shouts from the dinner table:  “WHY DO YOU NOT HAVE A PENIS MOM?”

9:04:  I’m still laughing.

– The Goat Cheese Lady

Advertisements

About The Goat Cheese Lady

I am Lindsey. At first I was a city girl. Then I was an urban farmgirl, attempting to balance city and farm life. Now, after moving to the country, I have embarked on life as a rural farmgirl, complete with my husband, the Animal Whisperer, man of exceptional knowledge and patience, two boys who are louder than my sister and I ever were, a herd of milking goats, and a flock of egg-laying chickens. Coyotes, mice, country dogs and prairie dogs are frequent visitors. Just 45 minutes north is Colorado Springs, the setting for our first six years in the goat world. Our family. Our city friends. Our introduction to cheesemaking. But we...and our growing farm and soon-to-be creamery...have set up shop down off of Highway 115 in Penrose, Colorado.
This entry was posted in Farm Life. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s