Bearded Man has no Tolerance for the Earth Mother

     So much but not much has happened since the Peach Preserves debacle. I still haven't gotten out to pick nor preserve anything further at this time. I did, however, make my own homemade powdered laundry soap. I actually loved it, and the recipe made enough to last for at least 47 years, and my whites seemed white again.
     But then, I arrived home from Zumba the other night, to see Bearded Man storming around his shed. His eyes locked on me, and I was informed through gritted teeth exactly what he thought of my latest concoction. Evidently it had not dissolved, and the hoses in the washer were clogged. And the laundry room was flooded. And the full sized dryer is stacked on the full sized washer, and the washer needed to be dismantled, in order to clear the hoses.
     Another homemade failure. Ah well. So nice I have a (disgruntled miserable) repair man kicking around the house, and didn't have to pay for a service to come and fix it. So, there is that.

     Since the last post, I was in my first ever race! A 5k. It was suggested by my lunchtime walking partner, Kim, that I join with some people from work. Some of my Zumba friends were going to be there, too. No one I knew planned to actually run; it was going to be a fun time and everyone was going to walk the race.
     Kim and I ran at least half of that race! You have no idea how absolutely proud of myself I am. For me, this was HUGE! And; I didn't die! It was, honestly, one of the most fun times I have had in a long time.
     After the race, I was completely covered with color, and my face was almost black, I called my Dad, who was only a few miles away, in the hospital again. I told him I was in the area,  but covered with all this color. He informed me I needed to get right over, because he wanted to see. I marched through the VA completely covered, and in the sincere hope I didn't run into anyone I knew, as I wasn't entirely sure I wouldn't get into trouble for being an employee and being in the hospital in such condition.
     I only saw one doctor who knew me, but, he hesitated, because I don't think he was completely sure it was me. In the end, it made my Dad happy, so it was worth it.

     I am happy to report, that the house is pretty much painted! Except for a few touch ups and one cover up, it's done, and my twinkle lights went back up around the front door the other day. The front door has been a bone of contention... I decided it needs to be yellow. The house is a deep blue/teal color, and the door would be perfect as an autumn yellow.
  
     It became a thing. We would separately ask various neighbors what they thought of a yellow door. It would go something along the lines of:

Me: What do you think of the house?? I think it would be just about perfect, if I painted the door a nice autumn yellow. Wouldn't that look beautiful? I mean, just LOOK at the Black Eyed Susans in the front garden - they look just wonderful with that color, don't you think?"

Whichever neighbor standing there staring at my house: Oh yes! Yellow. Very nice! You are right! Perfect!

Bearded Man: House is pretty much done. She wants a yellow door. It's gonna look bad. I said 'no' I mean, A YELLOW DOOR??? What the hell?

Neighbor nodding with a shudder: I agree. No yellow. What is she thinking? Ruin everything.

It's all in the presentation, evidently.

     It was decided that, if I want a yellow door, I need to go buy the paint and paint it myself. So, that's the plan. I think it will look perfect. And so will my half of the neighbors. I would like to point out here, that, one of the neighbors on Bearded Man's side spent approximately 5 years painting his truck, motorcycle, 4 wheeler, RC cars and everything he could get his hands on, blue and yellow. I think he just agreed with Jasin because Jasin lets him borrow tools sometimes.

     School starts next week for all 4 of my kids. For the first time in over 13 years, the house will be kid free for the day. And, for the first time in as many years, I work a Monday through Friday day job, and am unable to take advantage of that.
     It always makes me sad to see the kids off to school. It heralds back the crazy mornings, the frantic searches for shoes/socks/homework/clothes/book bags/lunch boxes, the nagging to get them dressed/fed/put together/hurry up/make your lunch, the papers/homework/fund raisers/misplaced important stuff. This year we get to listen to trumpet and flute practice, as Lexi gets to start band. There is the nightly nagging to do homework/find pencils/crayons/"OMG, YOU HAVE A PROJECT DUE TOMORROW, AND YOU ARE TELLING ME AT BEDTIME????!!!!!!!!!"
     There is band and chorus concerts/school play/and practice/Cub Scouts/Swim Team/School functions/meet the teacher/parent teacher conferences/remember to send in snacks for weekly and holiday consumption/fundraisers for assorted reasons. And at least half a forest full of papers that are dragged home every year.
     Also this year, for the first time ever, the Pre-K kids will be spending a full day at school, instead of the traditional half day. After which, my kids have to walk half a mile back home through heat/cold/rain/snow/slush/mud/sleet/wind. And it just makes me sad to think about it. The other 3 were usually driven back and forth in bad weather, after a few hours at school, which completely exhausted them. Poor George.
     We have a plan in place, to try and make sure everything is organized before bed, to help with the morning craziness. I give it 2 weeks, before I am frantically running around the house looking for shoes that we will find in the back yard in the pouring rain, as I run late for work, because I was too tired the night before, to have the kids get all their things together for school before bedtime.
     Only 14 more years of this to go! And, can you believe it? Kaila graduates in only 5 years!
  
     All this adds to the need to work off the stress through working out. Yesterday, I skipped Zumba, because I hurt my leg. I decided to snuggle into my chair with a book and just chill. The guy with the pickup truck with a chest freezer in the back full of meat stopped by again. Usually I tell him "No" and that's the end of it. This time, Bearded Man was home, so I told him he could deal with it. The pickup truck meat guy does not like to take "No" for an answer, and I feel like his whole family is going to starve to death and he will end up on the streets if I don't buy meat off  of his pickup truck. 10 minutes later, Joe comes running in excitedly. "MOM! Dad needs you outside RIGHT NOW! The guy has all this meat spread out on his tailgate for ONLY THREE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY NINE DOLLARS! AND he is giving us FREE sausage and hash browns!!! GOURMET hash browns!!! Dad needs you outside QUICK!"

Insert inappropriate language here.

     I went out, listened to the spiel, and nicely told him "No." I was in the middle of a book in which an entire family had just been murdered by a disgruntled person, and, the look that man gave me at that point made me think of the guy that had just murdered the family in my book (with a knife, in case you were wondering. The mom lived, as did one of the sons, and it was depressing and awful, and I wish I hadn't read it.) Anyhow, I told the guy we weren't going to buy any meat today, but thanks anyway.
     At which point he began to try to hire Bearded Man to sell meat out of  his pickup truck, too. He announced that HUNDREDS of dollars could be made EVERY SINGLE DAY!!!! I rolled my eyes and went back in the house.
     "MOM!!! MOM! Dad said the guy has a SPECIAL DEAL FOR US!!!! 12 FROZEN ITALIAN CHICKEN BREAST AND 5 POUNDS OF SAUSAGE FOR ONLY FORTY DOLLARS!!" Yells Joe, coming through the door.
     'Tell you father if he wants meat from the tailgate of some strange guy's truck, he can buy it himself." I mumbled grouchily (HELLO? READING here! Do not bug me when I am reading!!!These people had JUST GOTTEN MURDERED!!!)

     At which point Joe went back outside and repeated what I had just said verbatim to the strange guy selling meat off his tailgate.
     At which point Jasin came in and repeated the deal Joe had just been in for.
     At which point I snapped that I could buy chicken breast fresh at the store, and a three dollar bottle of Italian dressing, and do the same damn thing for twelve dollars, and it would be more chicken, but if you want to buy it, then go right ahead, I am NOT coming back outside to rescue you and be the bad guy again.
     At which point He went back outside and probably told the guy his wife was mean, and the guy probably nodded in sympathy, packed up his tailgate, and went elsewhere to make hundreds of dollars.
     This is why we don't skip Zumba ever ever again.

Poor Bearded Man. I am pretty sure he misses second shift. I think I make him crazy.

     Till next time!

Why I Failed as an Earth Mother: A Pictoral.

Bearded Man.

 Pictured above, is Bearded Man's dream property. His constant desire to live off the land and be self sufficient and prepared for any emergency created by Man or the Good Lord tends to be problematic sometimes. He pictures a simpler way of life, which often ends up in: Me ending up not unlike an Amish Housewife.

                    In this persuit, we went out and bought peaches. Bearded Man was so excited, that he went and purchased a canner and several canning jars. We were going to can EVERYTHING. 

                     


                           Bearded Man's dream pantry.

   



                 Funny thing about peaches. Their shelf life is very short. This (not Amish) working woman who is responsible for these peaches did not have a lot of time to can them. The peaches brought along their special friends, the fruit flies. Who brought every single friend and family they could find, and then had a big party, inviting every fruit fly in the neighborhood. I hate my kitchen, but the fruit flies LOVED it.

                        On the only evening after work that I had available, I had to deal with all 7000 peaches (give or take a few.) I don't think I like peaches anymore. I don't like to peel them, chop them, pry the stupid pit out, deal with peach juice running all over the place, nor their friends, the fruit flies.

                           After cussing through an entire box of peaches, while Bearded Man napped on the couch, it was time to throw them into the pot. In glancing at the directions, I was horrified at the vast amount of sugar the "Bell Blue Blook of Canning" called for. 21 cups, to be exact. Whatever. I dumped it in. And it didn't fit. So, I stomped through the kitchen and dug out a bigger pot.

                           It did not fit either. I decided I hate canning, and that it is not appropriate for working Moms who have all these kids and things that need to be done, and then began thinking about all the things that needed to be done, and became even madder at the peaches. Out came the next biggest pot, which fit 12 cups of peaches and 21 cups of sugar and 10 tbs of pectin, or something like that.
                           As it all simmered and did it's thing, I could only wonder how this was keeping my family healthy etc. Because, at this point, all this homemade goodness, fruit of my labor, nourishing yada yada yada peach slop was pretty much just:

 

 

And I still have to drag the kids out and pick 4 million pounds of blueberries. To make blueberry candy preserves.

 

As I ladled the sugar with peaches into the jars, and attempted to put the lids on without burning myself on the jars, one of them slipped. Right off the table, and proceded to coat my kitchen, myself, my scrubs and my apron in boiling sugar. Which is the equivelent of:

 

             At this point, I realized I could not get to my sink to clean the miserable peach sticky mess up, because it was full of dishes to wash the peaches, peel the peaches, chop the peaches, several different sticky pots that weren't big enough to hold the peaches.

 

                              Below, find a "Selfie" of my reaction.

      

                                      This is all I wanted. Like, ever ever again. I am a failure as an Earth Mother, I actively wanted to throw the entire pot of sugar with peaches at the sleeping man on the couch, who will never ever be able to live off the land or be self sufficient if I decide to be an alcoholic and run off to a beach someplace to live.
             

                                    Pretty much, I don't want to spend every single spare moment of the summer evenings and weekends canning. I would really  like to have this:

 

 

                                  So I can do more of this.