I’m typing this on my phone, sitting on the front porch. I’m taking a break and getting out of the sprinkling rain for a minute. It’s thundering in the distance and the clouds are thick over head. The dogs are wet and smelly, and the cat just climbed in my lap.
Sounds like the beginning of a lovely story. But it’s just life today. I’m burning brush in the front yard/future pasture. The kids are napping now. Earlier they were playing blocks while I worked. I had to keep running inside to check on them.
My fire has already been doused once. I got drenched too. I changed to dry clothes, and ate lunch before coming back out to work.
It’s raining pretty good now. I’m glad to see it. We need it, bad. But there goes my fire again.
I suppose most people would call it a day and go inside. I’m not most people. And my husband asked me to burn.
I love to burn, anyway. He knew that when he asked, but he also knows he can depend on me. I’m not a perfect wife. I have my share of complaints. I get lonely, then call and bug him at work. I have some irritating kwerks. But I always work hard to help him out.
I’m not talking about laundry and cooking. Though, I do that stuff too. I’m talking about doing “his” work when he isn’t here, just to help him out. I guess it’s partly selfish. I know if I manage to mow before he gets home, we get to spend that time together instead. I also know I’m not a princess and he isn’t a servant. I can’t expect him to work 60 hr weeks, to provide. While I stay home doing the minimum. That would be a divorce waiting to happen.
So I sit here on the porch, with 2 big, wet, smelly dogs and a cat. The kids nap. And I keep running out in the rain to add brush to the fire. It’s a good life.