different

Different. This is how life feels lately.

Dada quit his job, after years of talking about it, and is going out into the world of self-employment. Which means....what exactly?

Well, exactly.

Different. Different is what it means.

It means no more weeks on end of 12 hour days all week, mama and babies. It means running at noon and writing at 4pm when the sun hits my dining room perfectly and I just want to WRITE but too often I am stuck doing XYZmommyness instead.

And not every day will this magic happen. But its possible, it COULD happen, and that is the gloriousness of it you know?

And then, yesterday I tell dada, "hey, this lady nearby is selling her goat milking equipment" (milking stand, milk pail, filters, books, etc) and I am like, "hey, we should buy it," and he's all like, "sure, lets buy it." So today he goes to pick it up and comes back talking about buying goats after he gets some fencing up this summer. THIS SUMMER.

Different.

My city born dada wears plaid shirts, chops wood like a boss, with an axe, and is now a small town/country lawyer and just agreed to buy goats.

DIFFERENT.

And I am still writing my book, and I am going to finish it. Soon.

Different.

And baby is actually potty training. And, you know, not actually a baby anymore.

And this too means different.

And then other, not good different. My April Hawaii teaching gig has been postponed. Not good different, but, understandable different. And my whole "lets do some contract consulting work from home" idea is proving challenging, juggling kids and homeschool and noise and chickens and wood for the stove and...(okay goats will probably do me in but, you know, GOATS.)

Yes.

So, good different, not so good different. Different all around.

And its weird.

And even, yes, the hair is different. I had a dream about re-dreading my hair the other night, and it was such a relief, in dreamland, to have them again, hiding once more in my "different-ness."

And so, here we are. Different, somewhat exposed, ready, even expecting for all the what-ifs to come crashing down, juggling balls dropped to the ground in defeat, and what have you.

So. What to do with that mood. Well, you know, I do what I do, which is NOT different. Type out a post, exposed and all, nurse baby while typing (wondering when THAT will be different) and watch the icicles dripping outside, foretelling of a new season in life.

So, I'm not usually one for selfies (though we all know I am not shy about them...I don't want to end up one of those
moms who is behind the camera and has NO record of her life with her babies...in any case...) I took this picture and
1) I LOOK OLD. hello wrinkles. really? 2) really? this is me?? Huh. okay then.