My Grandma Rosie used to say (and Mom continues to say): “Into each life a little rain must fall.”
More accurate words have seldom been spoken. To make this popular quotation even more descriptive of my life, it should be compounded with: “And when it rains, it pours.”
That is how I have been feeling lately. Bombarded. Rushed. Running. Drowning. It hasn’t really been raining on my life, but there have definitely been some winds, maybe even a tornado.
It’s not that anything major or life-changing has happened. Life has just gotten very fast.
I don’t like it. Every day I walk around in what seems to be “fast-forward” mode. At night, I catch myself wondering where in the world that whole day went.
It all shifted into high gear the afternoon I hit one of our dogs with the Suburban (not on purpose, of course). He didn’t die. But, like all the dramatic animals on our farm, he broke his leg in two places.
A few hours with the vet later, Wall-E was condemned to be a back-porch resident (for at least the next five to six weeks). Fabulous. But how could I really complain? It was MY fault the animal was injured.
And this winter has been especially rough on our family’s health. It seems that rarely a week goes by without some sort of illness. We’ve had numerous doctor visits, pharmacy stops and an urgent care and emergency room visit.
So what do I decide to do when everybody is healthy (for the moment)? Rest? No! I rip out 15 million-year-old, pee-soaked carpet from the boys’ room — on one of Matt’s 22-hour work days. Very smart.
And then we decided (like we don’t have anything else to do), to order 50 chicks! Sounds like fun. And I was fairly excited about the new additions until Wall-E had to have exploratory surgery last week and have a foot of his intestines removed and several days in the “hospital.”
He came home last Friday, cast and staples and all. Then Matt was sick. And, of course, our chickies (all 54 of them) arrived Thursday bright and early.
Ahhhhhh!
But nobody can hear me screaming over the dog barking at the chicks (who are chirping — loudly), the cat hissing at the dog, the kids handling and “loving” the fragile baby birds, Matt yelling at the kids to put the chicks down, the phone ringing, the oven timer going off ... Supper time!
It may not be raining here, but there are definitely some exciting (and gusty) winds a-blowing.
And after relaying to you all the reasons why life is so hectic, I can see (literally in black and white) that it’s mostly my own doing.
Please, God, save me from myself.
More accurate words have seldom been spoken. To make this popular quotation even more descriptive of my life, it should be compounded with: “And when it rains, it pours.”
That is how I have been feeling lately. Bombarded. Rushed. Running. Drowning. It hasn’t really been raining on my life, but there have definitely been some winds, maybe even a tornado.
It’s not that anything major or life-changing has happened. Life has just gotten very fast.
I don’t like it. Every day I walk around in what seems to be “fast-forward” mode. At night, I catch myself wondering where in the world that whole day went.
It all shifted into high gear the afternoon I hit one of our dogs with the Suburban (not on purpose, of course). He didn’t die. But, like all the dramatic animals on our farm, he broke his leg in two places.
A few hours with the vet later, Wall-E was condemned to be a back-porch resident (for at least the next five to six weeks). Fabulous. But how could I really complain? It was MY fault the animal was injured.
And this winter has been especially rough on our family’s health. It seems that rarely a week goes by without some sort of illness. We’ve had numerous doctor visits, pharmacy stops and an urgent care and emergency room visit.
So what do I decide to do when everybody is healthy (for the moment)? Rest? No! I rip out 15 million-year-old, pee-soaked carpet from the boys’ room — on one of Matt’s 22-hour work days. Very smart.
And then we decided (like we don’t have anything else to do), to order 50 chicks! Sounds like fun. And I was fairly excited about the new additions until Wall-E had to have exploratory surgery last week and have a foot of his intestines removed and several days in the “hospital.”
He came home last Friday, cast and staples and all. Then Matt was sick. And, of course, our chickies (all 54 of them) arrived Thursday bright and early.
Ahhhhhh!
But nobody can hear me screaming over the dog barking at the chicks (who are chirping — loudly), the cat hissing at the dog, the kids handling and “loving” the fragile baby birds, Matt yelling at the kids to put the chicks down, the phone ringing, the oven timer going off ... Supper time!
It may not be raining here, but there are definitely some exciting (and gusty) winds a-blowing.
And after relaying to you all the reasons why life is so hectic, I can see (literally in black and white) that it’s mostly my own doing.
Please, God, save me from myself.
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