Notes from the farm
a round up (of thoughts and pigs)
I keep waiting for life to get into some sort of rhythm or routine where I’ll know where the writing fits in, and instead I write things like this in my Notes app, while trapped under a sleeping baby.
The 5-12 month baby. Life moves on, and you feel like you might die a slow death. You are just so darn1 tired. Crappy naps, developmental explosions, mobility up the wazoo all of the sudden. Adorable, painful almost how cute they are, but no longer simple in the same way. You’ll do anything for a baby laugh but you also feel like you might give up entirely some days. What’s the point of writing? Do I really need to exercise? But I can’t just lay in bed with this child all day. Why am I so very tired and when will I be un-tired and is it mold or my thyroid or do I actually really have cancer? What is the meaning of life??? If I just keep doing this over and over again I’ll probably just die.
I wrote a sample test question for the kids with that question, “What is the meaning of life” and then filled it in as a) boots b) fur c) apple bottom d) jeans2 and then I played the beginning of the song and they looked at me like I had two heads. Apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur, I am old, and I’m looking at her…
I am slowly trading places with this baby. As he wakes up, I get more sleepy. Even the caffeine doesn’t prop up my drooping eyelids. I love him so much but the rolls that are forming on his legs are sucking the life out of me. Fat is actually energy, right? Diet culture taught us that 1 lb=3500 kcal but what if the math is actually like 1 lb = this is my body, given for you, the cruciform act of laying it down over and over so that you can live. “Greater love has no man than this”… and we imagine that we must actually die and think, ‘How impossible’. But maybe what’s actually impossible are the million small deaths of family life, the death of quiet mornings, the death of a clean house, the death of a stretched body.”
It seems all I have time for these days are snatches of reflections, but perhaps the brevity of the thoughts is not a drawback. Last Monday I drove forty minutes to Costco, only to make the horrifying discovery that I had forgotten the baby carrier3. I had one of the older boys with me, so we decided to give it our best shot. I was feeling quite bereft, but a friend of ours had pulled up a few spaces down and gave me a huge smile and wave, even though she was on the phone. Her smiling face fortified me a bit, and we forged in. We each had a cart, the baby had to sit in the car seat, and we slowly made our way through the store which was mercifully quiet for a random Monday. I used every ounce of energy I had to focus on what we needed to get, while encouraging the child pushing to 1) watch where he was going and 2) that he was doing an AMAZING job. It occurred to me that I have not often been in the position where I actually *need* my kids’ help. But in this scenario, either he could step up, or Costco wasn’t going to happen and we were all going to be hungry. Finally we were standing in the checkout line, with him almost near tears and me promising whatever snack he chose when we got back to the car. The carts are big and heavy, and while he was loaded as lightly as possible, we had a long list and so many groceries. I had made a big ask of him, and I had another moment of panic on the way out, because how on earth were we going to get out to our car? A merciful angel of a woman saw me struggling and said, “Here, I’ll help you get to your car. I’m just going home, and the only thing I have to do is cleaning, and I don’t want to do that!” She grabbed the front of my cart and pulled, and I grabbed the front of his cart and pulled, and our unwieldy train made its way through the parking lot. I felt like we had Costco angels when my friend arrived to her car a few spaces down, just as we were unloading, and offered to take our carts back. Toddler, baby, big boy, and so many bags of chips were safely corralled in the caverns of the van, and we made our way home, where, full disclosure, I was useless for the rest of the day.
Later in the week, we attempted daily Mass. The space in the new day chapel is not particularly friendly to small children, and I was steeling myself for the prospect of feeling like a bull in a china shop. The baby had a blowout on the way, so we were coming in later than I’d hoped, with our youngest arrayed in the best backup onesie the diaper bag afforded. When the woman sitting next to us, who I have been introduced to, but don’t know well, offered to hold the baby, I breathed a deep sigh of relief and passed him off. It was the only reason we made it through mostly in one piece!
Later that day, I got to thinking about moms and babies, and older women at church. I am possessive of my newborns, and I stand by that decision. But I regret not letting more people hold my babies at church. This is partially my own anxious tendencies, which I’m working on, but I also know that I’ve been too picky or fussy about how people love my children. I can think of one woman in particular, whom I resisted for a while and who, when we moved, we really missed. She was an adamant baby kisser, which drove me a little nuts, and the baby would sometimes smell like perfume or be a little glittery after getting passed back. But she also loved my children. Loved them. I wish I had passed the baby sooner.
What I’m saying is, when you are deliriously tired, arms falling off because the chunky baby is a chunk and you’ve done good work at those 3 AM feedings, you will need that older woman to offer to hold him. And that offer might only come if you say yes to help a little more often. I hope the offer does come. I hope the women around you can remember what it was like to try to wrangle a squirmy baby and a whiny toddler, and that they realize it sometimes feels like an act of futility to be in church at all. I hope they smile at your squirmy babies and pat your arm after a D- performance to share their own battle stories from days of trying to teach small humans how to use their inside voice. If they don’t, know that what you’re doing is still good work and persevere. And to all my readers that could be the mother of just such a woman, know that if the young mom turns your offer down, she might not know how to say, “yes,” just yet.
Sometimes when you've been hurt a lot, it’s natural to shut people out. You self protect, and self isolate, creating a safe retreat in which you think you can manage things on your own. And then, because God is too kind to let us stew in our own solutions, you might, like I have, start to reckon with the fact that you are a needy, dependent human being, and that as much as community terrifies you, you need people.
These people will be inconvenient and sometimes annoy you. They will do things the “wrong” way, and so will you. Your children are part of your community, and so is your husband. You need them too. You will need to slow down, teach them, love them and depend on them, because that is what families do. They are in it together.
Today we got a chance to live this out, when twenty minutes before Mass, the pigs got out. We had decided to have a slow morning, and go to the later service; the week was long and hard and we were tired. Everyone was dressed, we were on our way, and then the neighbor called with the bad news4. We turned the car around, I dropped the big boys and my husband off, and then headed back by myself with the three little children in tow. Now, there is not much parking at the beach service5, which is where we’d planned to go. It’s on a literal island. There is a dedicated church parking lot, but after that you’re on your own and the island police are vigilant. So, while the menfolk chased pigs at home, the littles and I hauled ourselves quickly6 down the road7 from the closest parking space I felt capable of getting our bus8into. The oldest small child had sand in his shoes and pitched a fit. The toddler protested walking and asked to be carried. I hauled her under one arm and the baby under the other, setting her down to walk at intervals, and hoped the whining would dissipate with the promise of a water bottle when we got there. We made it before Communion, so it wasn’t a wash. Honestly, I felt accomplished, but we were once again, an actual circus act9. I was grateful for the smiling faces of people I knew, and that I’ve grown in my ability to show up imperfectly, without caring as much what people think10. I texted my husband after to ask how the pigs were going, to which he responded, “Being pigs”. A kid had gotten stung and they were still in church clothes and rubber boots. But they were persevering too, and I was proud of them.
It was one of those days where you meet back up at the house, sweaty, tired, rain-soaked, because of course it started pouring as they were finishing putting the pigs in their pen, and just laugh at it all.
The pigs are in11We made it to Church (ish).
Life is messy. Life is good. We need each other. And this is all I have time to write, because I think my people still want dinner tonight.
This letter is free for you to read, but costs time and brain cells to write. If you’d like to support this work please like it, leave me a comment, or share with a friend. I’m so glad you’re here!
When I say that part about “share with a friend” I really do mean it. If you know of someone that might appreciate this essay, or might enjoy my writing, would you take a moment to shoot it to them in a text, or forward this e-mail? Word of mouth remains the very best way for writers and readers to find each other, and it also keeps me from wasting time in social media feeds :)
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Lately:
Reading: I started What I Ate in One Year, and listen, I love a meandering food memoir, but I got about 20 percent through and kept thinking… does this have a point? DNF. So much for Libby’s “Available Now” selection. DNF’ed an Elin Hildebrand book too, because it was smuttier than normal. I did start reading Searching for and Maintaining Peace, and this is one I’ll finish and probably re-read. This quote (which is actually St. Thérèse) regarding the idea of goodwill — a necessary condition for interior peace stuck out:
“Well, if you don’t have virtue, you have a “bloody little dog,” which will save you from all perils; console yourself, it will lead you to paradise! Ah! Which is the heart that would not wish to possess virtue! It’s what everybody desires. But how few are those who accept to fall, to be weak, who are content to find themselves down and out and have others find them in that condition!” (p. 19)
Listening: This Lazy Genius episode on planning a day with no plans was like listening to someone walk through my thought process of basically every day with my kids. As a homeschool mom, the hardest part about being with kids all day is figuring out how to create structure for the formless void. A current win in the summer structure department is a re-vamped chore chart. I think it might help me the most, because I know which kid to ask to do things, and when it’s right there in black and white they can’t complain (as much). It may or may not say, “If you want to have fun, the work must get done” at the top, and “Whining = More chores” at the bottom. I want to have fun this summer, but it will require buy in from everyone. This Drink With a Friend episode gets a hearty co-sign from me to less Internet and more real life.
Speaking of… It’s been a real relief to just be offline more. I knew I needed a break, but I just didn’t quite have the wherewithal to make it happen, which is why accountability is helpful. Our days have been running more smoothly, I’ve had the ability to work through some things that needed time and attention, and I’ve been less anxious. What I haven’t had is tons of extra time — it makes me wonder where I was getting it before…
Farm & Garden: The pig story is about par for the course. Everything is great until it isn’t, some days are idyllic and some days just kind of suck. We’re entering a new-ish garden stage where some things will be done with the heat, so the plan is to pick off squash bugs, pick a lot of bush beans and hopefully get some zinnias for bouquets soon.
I’ve been reading all the newsletters I’m subscribed to via e-mail, and starring the ones I’d like to share later, vs. re-stacking. This from
was beautiful and reminded me of an essay I wrote a couple years ago, trying to capture the fleeting beauty of motherhood. This one from just made me laugh. Learning to hike with a baby is a whole thing. Once upon a time we were avid hikers12and then we had to figure out how to hike with kids, and I remember being so disappointed by how lame all of our hikes seemed at first. *Only* two miles??
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I hope you all have a wonderful week and I’ll be back in your inbox when time allows!
That’s not *quite* what I wrote
It still annoys me that that’s how I chose to divide the bubbles because it obviously should have been a)apple bottom b) jeans c) boots d) with the fur. I think they figured out how to fill in bubbles and the end of year testing is done so it’s a win FloRida aside. Just imagine my sweet, previously sheltered self hearing this song for the first time at Homecoming my freshman year. An education, to say the least. They played it at all the school dances, and I’d still dance to it.
If you’re a regularly Costco goer, you understand why this was cataclysmic. The baby can’t sit up yet, so putting him in the cart was outside of the question. I also had the toddler, so it’s not like I could hold him or something, and anyway, the carts are too giant, we had a lot of groceries to get and my arms would have given out!
If the fences are going to fail, it will probably be on Sunday — apply as needed, whether figurative or literal
It’s a really cool outdoor pavilion, a permanent structure, but open air. We like going and sweating — paradoxically our children seem to have an easier time focusing here.
I mean, I had a 4 year old, a 2 year old and a baby. “Quickly” is relative
Again, no baby carrier. the moral of this essay is I’m buying a spare to keep in the car, I used to have this but it broke. It is a NEED, not a want!
I mean van. It parks like a bus.
Was there a toddler lying on the floor? Maybe. It was hot. I don’t blame her.
I know it’s embarrassing. But if you are doing the best you can, who cares? (I care. I care so much, and I’m learning to get over it)
The pigs will hopefully taste great. No one will feel bad. The dog is a champ, who literally brought home the bacon today.
We still would be but there is literally not even a hill around here, ha!
I've never commented here before, but I wanted to say that your posts are actually really encouraging to me. I just had my second child (first is about to turn two), and I am STRUGGLING with the transition way more than I ever thought I would. Your posts tell me that I'm not alone, that this is actually quite normal, and that it will be hard but it will be Okay, especially as all the other moms with children at church (seem to) handle everything with grace and ease.
I love all of this. Hugs to you.
The "I am trading places with this baby" section is so beautiful and real.