village | And 2 Makes Crazy

Think of the tune from the famous (and delicious) “Time to make the donuts…” commercial and then say (instead) “Time to wash the potatoes…”

That’s the theme of our little village gal, Josephine Diane, today as she got to spend some time with daddy.

So, you see, we live in a village and they (meaning the farmers) just literally harvested the potatoes. When you (not meaning me === meaning you in general === or, most likely, farmers) harvest potatoes, many potatoes remain on the ground.

It reminds me of the Biblical story of Ruth collecting the wheat that had fallen on the ground.

Anyhow, the potatoes remain scattered through the fields or pushed into rock piles. Lots and lots of potatoes remain.

Wild animals, apparently, just don’t find raw potatoes their favorite. Wheat? Yes. Cold and raw potatoes? No.

So, after our neighbors harvest, we get to harvest. (Insert woot-woot here!)

It’s a win for us and a no big loss for our neighbors that love when our Littles roam their fields scooping up the extras.

And what do you do once you gather your spuds? Well wash them and make homemade fries, of course!

But—sometimes—potato gathering is so exciting that, after all is said and done, you can’t help but fall fast asleep with the mark of a great day all over your face 😉

My youngest woke at 5am crying as if she was in agony. She shares a bedroom with her slightly older brother, so I popped out of bed and ran into the room.

It was bad enough that I was going to have one awake at 5am—but two ages 1 and 2—no way!

So I grabbed her and brought her downstairs. I kept her cuddling with me for an hour until I decided it was safe to put her back to bed.

Quietly I tip-toed up the stairs and laid the babe gently down. She was so content and tired. So she quickly rolled over and went to sleep.

Or at least for the 10 seconds it takes me to go down the stairs and flop myself back on the couch. Because as soon as I did that she started screaming bloody murder once again.

I ran quickly up the stairs to find her covered in throw up. Her bed. Her floor. Her clothes. Her pajamas. Her stuffed animals.

So, I scooped her up where she proceeded to empty whatever remained in her belly ALL OVER ME! And I headed to the bathroom.

But, you see, the bathroom was a gamble. I have a home heated by coal. And my hot water is heated by coal. And yesterday I noticed that there was no hot water—hence no coal.

I went to the coal furnace and noticed it was empty…the coal oven completely stone cold dead.

I am not a pioneer woman. I am fired from that job. But, alas, I had only one choice—to get that coal stoked again.

So I did. And I hoped beyond hope that tomorrow we would wake up to hot water.

I just didn’t expect to be testing my pioneering at 6am. Hesitantly I turned the hot water faucet on and waited.

Cold. Cold. Cold. Warm. Warmer. Hot!

Woot-woot. I had it.

Hot water, tempered with cold water, and I plopped a throw-up baby in the bath.

I bathed her, cleaned her, and brought her back downstairs to try and keep her quiet while the 2-year-old still slept.

WELL—eventually the 2-year-old, little Maxwell, woke. And he and Josephine played for a brief bit until I could tell Jo needed down for a nap.

I went upstairs and barely had placed her in her clean bed before I heard agonizing screaming downstairs.

So, I dropped her the rest of the way (Okay, kidding), and ran back down the stairs.

At this point, my son is now covered in throw up. The floor is covered. The carpet is covered. And he said, “It came out of my mouth, Momma!”

Oh. Thanks, Maxwell. So, that is how this works, huh?

Needless to say, had to get a bunch more cleaned.

I have not had any coffee at this point because I was certain that I would catnap while Josephine napped and Maxwell watched a show.

After the puke number two episode, mind you, I decided that I needed coffee stat! Three shots later, I am still barely surviving because THIS happened…FOR REAL…NO KIDDING…Next!

Josephine has arisen at this point from her nap. Both kids are puke free. We play a bit upstairs and then they decide they are hungry. So as we head downstairs, I notice one of our three dogs is running around in the field. Which means that she is NOT in our backyard (that’s how she came to be—her momma ALSO escaped our blasted backyard). Anyhow, I had the 1-year-old tucked into her high chair. The 2-year-old on the armchair. They both had their lunches and the television going. So, I put on my stomping boots and ran outside to call the pup in.

She was great and immediately came to the gate. The back gate. But it was chain locked and I couldn’t seem to find the hole that she got out of to get her back in. So I abandoned the back gate and tramped through the yard to the front gate hoping she’d follow me there and not get sidetracked in the neighbor’s fields or barn or compost pile (we lose our dogs to those a lot).

THANKFULLY she came.

I get her inside our property and head to the house when I realize the front door is locked.

Oh. That’s okay—I came out the back, I’ll just go around back and come back in.

And as I walked I thought—the day could not get any crazier when YES. YES it could. And did.

My 2-year-old LOCKED the back door.

But, you see, the back door has no back door doorknob. It is an inside only open door. Which meant that in my pajamas and bare legs (it’s still cold here). In no proper undergarments and no socks. I am L-O-C-K-E-D out of my house.

You should know we have windows of steel. Even Superman would have a hard time getting these suckers open.

And, no. We have no spare key outside. Why should we? We live in a peaceful village and hardly lock our doors during the day because we have three enormous dogs that protect fiercely our home and howl like crazy.

Howling dogs have nothing on meddling toddlers because today I was a victim of inside intrudering (if there is such a thing). I was locked out of my own home with two littles stuck inside.

So I did what any parent would do, I banged like crazy on that back door. “Maxwell, Maxwell, help mommy! Let Mommy in!”

“No, Mommy. I can’t open door.”

It’s probably very true because the doors are extremely heavy and the handle has to be pushed UP not down. That’s why it was so easy for him to lock it—but unlocking it is another issue.

“Maxwell, go and pull the chair over to the door and stand on it and push the handle UP for Momma, okay?!” This is also probably a good time to tell you that he ALWAYS gets his adjectives and prepositions opposite. You know up for down. Hot for cold. In for out. AHHHHH! If he does opposite of what I ask, the door will become even harder to open. Now I am really nervous.

I proceed to ask, but then this happens.

“No, Momma. I can’t unlock door.”

“Yes, Maxie. Yes, you can. Go get the chair.”

Blasted carpet by the back door. Poor kid couldn’t pull the chair to the door because we have a back carpet there.

“Okay, Maxwell, move the carpet!”

Grunting and groaning as my little man is pulling and moving the carpet and pushing the chair to the door.

And then it happened He tried and couldn’t, and so he sat down.

And gave up.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. “Maxie—you have to open the door. Momma is locked outside.”

“Too hard, Momma. Too hard.”

But he tried again. And again. And again.

I look through the window, my littlest is eating a hot dog with her fork. Oh GREAT! A choking hazard and an eye-stabbing device and I am locked outside.

I can go to my neighbors—but I am literally in my pajamas with no undergarment. I look ridiculous and this will be my LAST resort.

So I bang and plead and ask and holler and …

None of it was convincing him to bring about super strength to open the door until I spied his Easter basket.

“Maxie…If you open the door, Momma will give you cookies! Just try and push open the other handle (to the attached door).”

Lots of effort and groaning and whatnot, he got the second handle sightly up, combined with the first handle, and I was able to shove the door open!

Glory day!

He came and hugged me and I told him how PROUD I was…(And I was also thinking—THANK YOU, LORD, that I do not have to go to my neighbors in my tank top, shorts, and bare legs!)

Max came and hugged and hugged me and told me “I zuw you, Momma!” Which, if you speak Max, means “I love you!”

Oh glory day.

Now he is eating his Oreo cookies and I am wondering when oh when I will be cleaning them off of the floor???

It’s only two in the afternoon my time—but I think that so far I have lived two lifetimes in one half of one day.

So that leaves me to beg the question—who is babysitting tomorrow?

Just kidding. I’ve got this!

Well, as long as I remember to stoke the coal, and clean the puke, and NEVER ever go outside again when the front door is also locked, and give away the dogs (just kidding?), and buy more cookies for my devilish slash hero son…

And live off of coffee until my husband returns home.

I’ve got this.

Right?!

Philippians 4:13 “I can do ALL things through Christ who strengthens me!”