How I Became a Mom.

 My oldest child turns 28 today.  That seems impossible.  I guess I'll sound super cliche when I say "This is the child who made me a mother."  And some more cliche stuff..."I can't believe I have a child who is 28!" 

But in reality, this is the child who I learned how to be a mother with.  I guess she was my experimental kid?  The one I got to practice on?  

Madeline has always done things her own way.  She has her Dad's laid back nature and doesn't get riled up about much.  Her patience comes from Bill too. She is like me with her love of surrounding herself with "things" and collections.  She also inherited my wordiness, which I think is lovely.  When she was not quite 2 years old, our pediatrician said he'd never seen a child who spoke so eloquently.  Proud moment for me!  Probably annoying for everyone else.

I'd share some cute baby pictures of Madeline if I could but I can't because they all burned up in the fire.  Let me tell you though, she was the cutest baby, with a head full of hair and the cutest nose.  She did have to wear a hat for the first few weeks of her life because her head was lopsided due to the vacuum extractor that was necessary for removing her from my uterus.  That's a story for another time.

Madeline was the only one who got me to herself.  It was just her and I for a couple of years.  As the other kids came along she became the best big sister.  She's still the best big sister.  She spends several afternoons each month adventuring with a sibling (or two) in tow.  I've always thought this was such a kind and generous thing for her to do.  She probably spoils Sarah as much as I do.  There's enough of an age difference between my girls that Madeline can sometimes be confused as Sarah's mother.  This always makes me laugh until I realize that would make me her Grandma....

It's been fun for me in the past several years to spend time with Madeline as an adult.  I mean she's the adult, I'm not sure what exactly I am now.  But we've gone to a few concerts together and traveled together and doing those things with your very own grown up kid is pretty cool.  It's like I've potty trained you and taught you to brush your teeth and now you're showing me how to call an Uber and giving me suggestions for the newest eye cream I need.  She's my go to for things like that.  She also fixes my computer and my phone when I've messed them up.  She will tell me when my hair looks bad or when my clothes look dumb.  

I could go on and on sharing funny stories about this girl.  How she called her brother "Smee" (from Peter Pan--I was Wendy) for years or how she was obsessed with The Little Mermaid (to the point that she wore a red wig!) or how she loved the word "actually" and used it often and with a  saucy flip of her hand.  

Nah.  Not today.  Today I just want to wish her a happy birthday and tell her how much I've loved being her Mom all of these years and that I'm so proud of her.  Her "Papa" (that's what she called Bill, usually with the same "actually" hand flip) would be proud too.  He loved being your Dad so much.

Happy birthday, Madeline!  I love you!  And I'm really sorry that you started your life with a messed up head due to my inexperienced uterus.

I Hardly Ever Leave Home Anymore.

 I like an adventure.  Big ones like vacationing or small ones like driving to the Bimart for snacks or totally unnecessary things like gel pens and kitchen gadgets.  I'm usually up for just about anything.  For the past few years though, I've felt less and less like leaving the house.  This has made me feel a bit guilty at times but it's also made me delve deep into the "why" of this phenomena.  I'm definitely NOT agoraphobic so forget that crazy idea!  I just like to stay home I guess.

When my kids were little and I was in the thick of motherhood and the never-ending monotony of the mundane, even a quick trip to the grocery store felt like a little adventure.  Honestly, doing just about anything with a herd of kids in tow always felt like an adventure.  Am I right?!  Also, when I was out of the house there was no one there to mess it up with dirty dishes or toys or whatever sorts of rubble kids create.  I think I also enjoyed watching (aka judging...let's be honest) what was going on outside my own domain.  

Now, I wish for long stretches of days where I don't have to leave the house.  I can Instacart my groceries to the back door.  I've got enough projects waiting for me to tackle that I never get bored.  The basement has a well-equipped gym so I can get all sweaty without leaving the house.  Why would I want to go anywhere else when I can sit on the back porch and drink some tea?  

I have visited some really beautiful places but I have found nothing better than home.  

Which brings me to the whole job/work thing.  I didn't have one of those things for about 20 years.  I was lucky that way.  I stayed home and raised kids and played housewife.  I was good at it too!  It wasn't perfect and there were plenty of times that I felt like I was contributing, to society or my household.  But I loved it and will never regret the time and energy I dedicated to being the typical 1950's woman.  Or 1880's woman, depending on whether I was churning butter...

I got a job about 10 years ago.  I had to.  It was hard in the beginning, things were such a departure from the lifestyle I had always known.  Slowly though, we all acclimated and I found a new kind of stability.  And a strength that I needed and hadn't realized I possessed.  I was actually supporting my family.  On my own!  I was poor as the proverbial church mouse, but I was doing it.  

Fast forward a few years.  I still have a job and I'm lucky enough to actually love it.  At least most of the time.  And I'm lucky enough to have found someone to share life's burdens with; financially, physically, emotionally.  I don't have to live like a spiritual rodent anymore!  There are times that I remember, all too clearly, the feelings of uncertainty and fear about how, or if, I was going to make it.  I was scared a lot of the time back then.  I think that fear is what keeps me going to work every day.  I don't want to every be back in that daunting place again.

Lately though, I've felt this little niggling remembrance about how nice it was to "just be a housewife."  To spend my days taking care of the house and the yard.  Growing the garden.  Cooking and baking.    Making our house so cozy and comfortable for everyone in it.  I miss the freedom.  Time wasn't as pressing.  

I suppose that's exactly why I don't like to leave home now.  Everything I want and love is right here and I value being home above just about everything else.

How I Knew.

 I think this is a funny list.  

How I knew Jake was my person:

1.  He corrected my grammar.  And pronunciation of certain words.  NO ONE does that.

2.  He knew what a flower frog was.

3.  He knew how to make a bed correctly i.e. the flat sheet goes on the bed wrong side out in order to have the correct side face out when you fold back the top.  Seriously.

4.  He showed me the correct way to fold towels.

5.  Toilet paper goes over the top of the roll.  Always.

6.  He walked out of a store with a Heath bar for me.  Without me ever telling him.

7.  He stopped for chocolate.  And Jake never stops.

8.  He introduced me to the Expendables.  And The Green Mile.  And Tombstone.

9.  He did not judge me for watching Hoarders or My 600 lb. Life.

10.  He accepted my excessive use of fairy lights.  And plants.

Barefooted Butter-Churner. (Or what my friends actually think I do in my spare time)

I grind my own wheat into flour.  

Heck yeah, I do.

 I actually do all sorts of ridiculous homestead-y things, but grinding flour is probably my favorite.  It's loud and messy and makes our kitchen smell a little funky.  The white plastic bucket that the wheat kernels are packaged in seem a little apocalyptically prepper to me.  Or mildly Amish but I can't be Amish because I use electricity to grind my grain.  Someday I need to write about the Amish friend I made in Virginia.  We used to write letters to each other and she would occasionally call me on the phone. I am an official FOA...(friend of Amish).

But we're not talking Amish now, we're talking flour.  

It takes about 8 cups of wheat berries to make 14 cups of flour.  That's enough for a lot of loaves of bread.  And cookies.  And muffins.  

The "Magic Mill" that I use (seriously, that's what it's called and it is magical) was purchased at a garage sale.  For five measly dollars.  I think I bought it from a lady who really wanted to be a homesteader-type but quickly realized that buying bread from the store was infinitely simpler than going through the nonsense of wheat grinding and bread baking.  I like to think that us wheat grinding and bread baking people belong to an elite and special counterculture of dangerously complicated folks.  Indeed, we will change the world one loaf of bread at a time.

I hear the timer in our kitchen going off now so I need to go tend to the sourdough loaf that is proofing in the kitchen.  Probably need to feed the sourdough starter (mine doesn't have a name but I am open to suggestions) and think about starting a new batch of kefir.  There's ferments to be fermented and SCOBYs to be grown (for those of you who don't know;  Symbiotic Culture of Bacteria and Yeast--it's how you make kombucha).  

And don't even get me started on the crazy stuff I like to do with the raw milk!  Now that stuff is (illegal) just plain wild!  Raw milkers are definitely counterculture!

ETA:  I suppose I should clarify that I don't actually do all of this stuff currently.  I probably have at one time or another though.  And lots of other sketchy and/or weird stuff.  I'm always evolving my weirdness.  

Need some freshly ground flour?  I'm your girl.

Finished product!

This is how it starts.  The basement looks like it belongs to a prepper!

 And this is the lady who does the hard work.  Purchased at a garage sale for $5.  What?!  You don't have a grain mill at your house?!