Working Hard

As usual, we are spending every week night and weekend working hard on things that need to be completed.  Right now, it's getting the roof on the barn, which, like everything else, is a family affair. 

Dear Olive

Dear Olive,

I'm so glad you inherited my football player shoulders. Hopefully, wearing shoulder pads in all shirts won't pop into fashion in 6th grade, as if did for me. If this does happens, please disregard the trend. Your shoulder pads are built in.

You won't always be a fan of your shoulders, especially when you work out and, instead of becoming toned, you end up looking like a pro wrestler. Believe me, it's worth it... because when some guy reaches out to touch you, and you tell him that you will break his arms, he will believe you.

You may want to become a professional swimmer. Just a thought. Everyone will think you are, anyway.

Love,
Mom

Ivey Art

Whew.

Man. My house is still a mess, but 335" of new electric hog netting is up, my chicken mobile has been moved to the pasture, the brooders are full, the electric poly-twine has been rearranged, the incubators are cleaned & loaded, the bacon has been smoked, the breeding coops have been moved, the multi-kid feeder has been cleaned and reassembled, and everyone's been milked, fed, and taken care of.

Weird Farm-Girl Moment

Olive: "This bubble on top of my pizza feels like a goat teat that's empty."

A Quick Descent

Me at 8pm : Sweet! It's a beautiful night! I'm can't wait to get the kids in bed and spend some quality time with my awesome husband!

Me at 8:30: I just have to milk these goats and corral the bottle babies.... oh, and lock up the chickens... and these chickens... and I just have to collect the guinea eggs from across the street... oh, and the ones in mom's hydrangeas...

Me at 9:30: I just need to tuck in the girls... and at least stick all the nasty dishes on the counter into the sink... and oh crap, make a copy of Jeff's birth certificate... and don't we need to sign and scan something to so-and-so?

Me at 10:00: Dear Lord, please tell me I don't have to IRON. I married this man because a) he's hot b) he doesn't really argue with me cause he's busy thinking about other stuff and c) he looked like I'd probably never have to iron anything. How do I even DO this?

Me at 10:42: My back hurts, I am depressed by the level of disaster around me, I feel like a frumpy over-domesticated warn out momma, and I just want to fall asleep in fetal position with my clothes and shoes on.

My Girls...