I Seem to be Quackless

My life is so enviable. I mean, who doesn't want their own in-house day care filled with your own children and a petting zoo in the back yard? I just never envisioned days like this way back when I saw my life stretch before me as an empty canvas. Sure, I saw kids and dogs and horses in it, but somehow everything was rose colored and the pot at the end of the rainbow was a replenishing source of happiness.

Yeh, I don't know what I was smoking either.

Here's the real version.

Monday morning I hit the treadmill like I do every morning when I feel like it. By the end of an hour, sweat is pooling in the crevices of my elbows and soaking my under garments clear through. When I am done, the kids scatter to the great outdoors and the dogs start sniffing appreciatively at my heels. They have always been suckers for rank scents.

Fifty-five minutes into my hour of torture, when I was close enough to count down in seconds to the finish line, Becky informed me that someone was here. She didn't know who, but someone. That someone was standing in my kitchen as I came up from the deep dark depths of the basement. I almost slipped in a puddle of my own sweat as I reached the top of the steps.

Turns out, I had a meeting right here at the house. It was written on my calendar and circled and everything. I blame the fact that I didn't use a red pen. I don't even think that I own a red pen. I should probably get one because I'm sure I'd be more organized if I had a red pen. Red Pen People are the type that never forget meetings that are scheduled at their own house.

I debated whether it would be more rude to sit at the table, albeit far from the freshly showered business suit, and pretend that I didn't already look like an idiot, or make the kind lady wait another fifteen minutes while I showered and found something decent to put on that was neither wrinkled nor stained.

I opted to stink because she'd already smelled me and didn't pass out, so how bad could it be, really? Plus I had the window open and the fan on. Although in hindsight that may have made things worse. Great, now I'm not only an idiot, I'm a dork.

That was Monday.

Tuesday, we were out of pig feed so I loaded the kids into the van and headed out in search of more. We'd been getting a special mix off the vet all summer, but last week when we weighed the pigs we realized that they are grossly underweight. (Why does that never happen to me?) One of the pigs needs to gain about ten pounds a week in order to even be allowed to go to the fair. We didn't buy and feed these animals all summer just for the fun of it. It's time to get drastic. I'm switching feeds.

I went to the local feed mill where we discussed pig feeding strategy. (Try not to be jealous of my life.) As we were debating ways to put weight on pigs (oh, the irony here. Can I donate some weight to a worthy cause?) Micah had to go potty. Just as I was about to ask if Micah could use the facilities, I realized that he was standing out front on the loading dock with his pants down around his ankles.

Thankfully the family that owns the mill are real people, and the girl behind the counter came out to cheer the new potty trainer on and give him a double high-five for his efforts. Also, I've realized that teaching a boy to give you a high-five for going potty is not the best idea ever. At least not before hand washing.

Have I mentioned that there were people in their vehicles at the loading dock? There were. They were laughing. Probably at me more than at Micah. Life is fourteen shades of interesting when kids are involved.

That was Tuesday.

You know how some people seem to always have their ducks in a row, with never any variance from perfect? That would not be me. I somehow seem to have lost my ducks, so the level of perfection (or even normal) achieved by me is somewhere between nil and have you even tried? And yet people keep trying to put me in charge of things. Can't they tell from the sweat stains in my armpits that I'm not the person for the job?