I've never lived on a farm. I've never even spent the night on a farm. I've probably spent less than 6 straight hours on ANY given farm. But I'm pretty sure I live the farm life.
Well, each day I rise to the squawk of a rooster. She's only 7 months old, but she'll let you know it's time to get up. Sometimes the sun isn't even out, but she's busy at her morning duties.
Then my morning is filled with feeding baby pigs. Cute. Adorable. Sloppy. Somehow sweet potato mush ends up all over the wall and cereal bits on the floors. One still requires some bottle feeding while she's busy trying to look all around as her older sister empties the cabinets and decides to play chef while dressed up as a doctor in purple, feathery heels.
There's the spraying down of stalls and shoveling manure. Thank goodness for diapers, wipes, and Spray N' Wash. Potty training is such a thrill.
My barn is stocked with sandbox toys and a red and yellow plastic car. The tractor sits outside in the elements, but it's happy to accommodate even if it does require extra washing.
Of course, these farm chores are interrupted by other household duties that any house momma knows: dishes to put away, laundry to spin, bottles to boil. Somewhere in the middle of all that, I might find a bathroom break for myself, but it would require too much effort to clean the dirt from my basil-plucking hands and shake off the chalk dust, so I just hold it. It's more fun to frollick in the fields to the song-birds (read Mickey Mouse Clubhouse Hot Dog song) and redecorate the front stoop in happy pigments.
There is no break. The farmer never stops. But she is GREATLY blessed. Her heart is full. Sleep is for the ..... hmm, who is sleep for again?