First, I just want to say that I am loving the Jesus Storybook Bible. Loving! It is so sweet, with a lot of illustrations that keep the wee ones engaged and an energetic style that both entertains and illuminates. The focus is on the bible as a love story, and it just sings with joy. I would say it’s most suitable for preschool to maybe 8 year olds. They have a curriculum kit (I don’t have it) which is for upper elementary ages, but I would expect older children to be reading a more challenging bible storybook, so l’m not sure about their expectations. This is definitely for younger children, but truly delightful. And truth be told, most of my older children paused in their work to listen in from the next room. Anyway, highly recommended!
Now, here’s a sad story for you.
I’ve been warning my people about this for several weeks. I’ve been stressing about this for a long time. I’ve got six adults in my household, and yet almost all of the work is falling onto me. No one person has a lot of chores, but few of them are doing them without being reminded/cajoled/threatened. All day long, I’m scrambling to care for my wee ones, prepare food for eleven people, two on a restricted diet, manage the household and the farm, and keep up with the never ending pile of laundry.
On Monday afternoon, Evie wet my bed while napping. I had to strip the whole thing and rewash the sheets I’d just changed and the comforter, too. Then I had to get the bed remade. At this time of year, I end up trying to make dinner and milk the cows at the same time, and now I had to deal with the bedding on top of the regular crazy, and I was stressed. The following morning was our Saint Nicholas celebration, so a special effort had to be put forth there, plus we usually watch Saturday Night Lights on Monday evening. And I’d asked one of the (adult) children to make sure that there is firewood in the box in the mornings so that I can build their fire without having to go to extraordinary lengths.
But Tuesday morning, I woke at five, as usual, to a messy kitchen full of unwashed dishes from the evening before, an overflowing trash can, laundry and pillows and blankets tossed all over the living room, and no firewood. I was pretty steamed. And then my barn buddy never showed, so I headed out for milking and manure shoveling alone. When I got back, one daughter had set the table and arranged the donuts, but she was sitting in front of a dying fire doing a crossword puzzle. The others still hadn’t come down, even though it was 7:30. I was just about boiling over.
“Good morning, mama!” they each said as they traipsed into the room.
“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” I said back.
That is extremely alarming, when mama can’t even talk to you.
I would have waited till much later in the day to discuss my issues. I would have waited until I had time to cool down and come up with a reasonable plan of action. But after a while, somebody asked, “What is the matter, mama?” and that was that.
Mama went on strike.