The Workload (Bitching and Moaning)

Everywhere I rest my eyes I see a pile of work waiting to be done. I literally can't look in any direction without seeing some kind of mess. Everything goes to hell in a handbasket so much faster than I can maintain it. The grass grows faster than I can cut it; the weeds engulf the garden and go to seed faster than I can pull them; the goat's hooves grow faster than I can trim them. Fences get mashed down, paint flakes, deck planks succumb to rot. Clothes get holey and stained. Floors get sticky and disgusting and dishes pile up with incredible speed.

This house is twice as big as my old house, there's more than twice as much housework, now that we have a farm and a mechanic's shop on premises. Take sweeping, for example - just sweeping. It seems there we have about a half-acre of floors in this house, and I can easily spend thirty minutes or so sweeping. And then, fifteen minutes later, it looks exactly the same.

Where DOES all the dirt come from?

Outside, yes, I know.

And the kitchen - this being August, I am naturally doing a lot of canning and other types of food processing. There is a never ending stream of grubby bug-covered produce coming in the door, and a never ending pile of scraps and peelings going out. There is always a compost bucket full of vegetable scraps on the counter, and the fruit flies are having a heyday. No matter how quickly I remove the bucket, it is never quick enough to avoid fruit flies. Canning plus regular three-times-a-day cooking means that there is almost always something on the stove, and sure as God made little green apples, something will boil over or spill every day. Then we have an oil slick on the floor or a shiny patch of irremoveable jam-laquer on the stovetop, or maybe a quietly stagnating milk-puddle under the fridge.

I make no pretense of being a good housekeeper. Even in my smaller house and with only one child, I was a pretty piss-poor housekeeper. Here in this rambling, sprawling old farmhouse with three kids and a farm, there's just no getting around the fact that I'm in over my head. Let me take you on a little tour:

The compost pile needs turning - it hasn't been turned in so long that it is growing it's own cover crop of weeds. This is heavy work for me. I can do it, but only very slowly, and for a half hour or so. After that, my bad shoulder starts to pain me and I will pay for it for a week or two if I try to push it. Mostly, I leave the compost pile to Homero, with the results you see here.

The lawn, covered in false dandelions and thistles. I don't care much for neatly kept lawns, but I do like to keep at least one small patch cut short and relatively weed free, just enough to toss a frisbee or lay down a blanket for a picnic. I have no excuse, because the lawnmower is actually working, for once. This year, Homero only had to fix it twice - a record. Knock on wood.

Can you find the cabbages in amongst the weeds? Hint: there are at least four.

Laundry on the line - er, the fence. The dryer has been broken for a month now. Since it is high summer, there's been no great urgency about fixing it. However, I find that after the seven hundredth load, hauling a big wet bag of laundry outside and hanging it up piece by piece kind of loses its charm. I've fallen behind. Way behind. How far behind? Here, look:

The laundry room - a month without the dryer has caused a backup that totally overwhelms our hamper-capacity. Luckily, the room has pocket doors and I can just slide them closed when it all becomes too much.

There's so much more that I haven't the fortitude to document with the camera, much less actually do something about.

There's a thirty-foot length of fencing that is mashed to the ground and the goats can get out, although oddly, they haven't yet.

It's time to muck out the barn, which is a day's work - hard, sweaty, stinky work.

We need to go to the dump.

Goat's hooves need trimming.

Time to sort out the kid's clothes in advance of the school year, and get rid of everything that is hopelessly worn, too small, or stained beyond redemption. Then shop for new (I mean, new to US of course. Goodwill is my best friend.) clothes.

I could go on and on, but I feel a wave of lethargy overtaking me. I think I need a hot bath... just as soon as I scrub out the tub!