We bought a farm: Not just an observer

This week has been incredibly busy. While the youth group kids are working away, so am I. And so are JB's parents while he has been at work the last two days. With 30 people at your home, there is a lot of water and ice cream and watermelon to be serving. There are a lot of bathrooms to prepare and clean. There are many questions, directions, and instructions needed, all the while, the animals that we tend to everyday, still need their tending.

i
am
tired.

so
tired.

and i put my children to bed at 7pm
so I could get to bed before 8pm
and all four of them are still awake!
don't they know I can't go to sleep until they do?

why aren't they as tired as I am?

Today, while the cedar tree cutting pushed onward, another project also took place and that was the burning of these huge piles of brush. I managed to capture two videos of the youth group directors helping to burn these piles with excited students in tow.

Later, long after the youth group had gone home, we noticed two of the burn piles developing some hot spots. You can barely make me out in this photo -- my Where's Waldo shirt an indicator that I am present and slapping at stubborn flames with the head of a shovel.

As I had grabbed my shovel and headed out to the burn spot to help my father-in-law put the last of the dying embers to permanent rest, I could not help but think to myself:

is this really my life?

am I really on a farm, trudging up a (very) steep hill with a shovel

to make sure a fire doesn't get out of control?

was I really, just thirty days ago, a stay-at-home mom making her daily runs to Target?

how did I get here?

am I really here?

is this really my life?

It wasn't the first time that day that I had faced a moment of awakening.

Earlier that morning, Sidge and Abigail were playing with their bikes when they got the idea to park them along a fence that, unbeknownst to any of us, was the home of a very angry hive of bees. As the kids stoked their anger, I was in the middle of carrying a pan of old poopy duck water to the hose for a spray down when I heard my husband screaming. 

It took me a moment to figure out what was going on, but he was telling Sidge to run as a swarm of bees chased my six-year-old son around the driveway. Sidge was sobbing, fear oozing from every one of his pores. My father-in-law was practically throwing Abigail into the house as JB tried to swat at bees and get Sidge into the house as unscathed as possible. I very rarely hear my husband raise his voice. And I also very rarely see him helpless. But he was doing both of those things at the same moment.

In the end, Sidge escaped with only three stings. The more unfortunate thing was that he spent the rest of the day jumping when a fly flew by. We discussed with him that bees, usually, do not sting. They don't want to sting. And that even when they do, you are okay. We didn't want him to develop a fear of bees and especially we did not want him to develop a fear of going outside.

(The other two kiddos were pretty spooked as well. It took Isaac quite some time to be able to speak after watching his brother attacked.)

Oh my mom heart!

poopy duck water.

swarming bees.

runaway fires.

I am seriously, still, trying to digest it all. I feel like a fraud. And yet this is really my life, and I have no choice but to jump into it and embrace it and participate whole-heartedly in what is going on around me.

But I still feel as if I am an observer -- not a participant.

Even though I am absolutely participating.

Blog written.

Kids still awake.

Please GO TO BED!

This is one tired Mama.