Yesterday, I shared a very personal story of health that I haven't shared in complete with many people. The reason is because I hate to sound like a whiner. Because, honestly, I'm not trying to. Because, God has a plan and I'm all in.
There is a hero to this story, one that otherwise may go unnoticed because I've been the only one to notice. We've had a spontaneous promotion happen from a child to a young woman overnight. I've always referred to Daughter on this blog as Little T. She's not so little anymore, (she weighs as much as me), and she's been the one making sure I've made it through the rough days of this detox. Some days, I don't really remember. But I do know I'd hear a little voice in my bedroom several times an hour, saying, "drink, Momma". Not sure what would have happened otherwise.
Free Range in the House
Several days before the detox was to start, we arrived home to find half of our flock of hens slaughtered by our neighbors dogs. Oh, my beautiful, beautiful girls. Three were dreadfully wounded and brought inside to be cared for (they recovered in two weeks with the help of Bactine in case anyone is interested). The cages needed to be cleaned and medicine applied daily. That meant if I couldn't do it, she had to.
|Letting the girls stretch their legs a bit|
Our refrigerator died. It still hasn't been replaced. So we've been using a college dorm sized one that Husband's had for years. It doesn't fit much in it, therefore, you can't really buy a lot of groceries. We have a cooler with ice packs for overflow right now. That's been a frustrating source for her. You have to get on your knees to look in the fridge!
She's not been equipped to take care of a house. Can you believe this? Who do you think is to blame for that? Well, that would be me. I have a reason. Let me explain.
When I was a little girl, my grandmother taught me to crochet. Actually, no she didn't. My clumsy little hands would try to wrap and manipulate the yarn, pulling the hook through the holes and getting it stuck. "Grandmother, can you show me again how to do this"? "Ok, but pay attention", she'd say, using her skilled hands at warp speed to complete series of stitches that made my head spin. She'd pull the stitches out and hand it back to me, only to have me not have a clue. "Here, just let me do it", she'd say. And that's how I learned to crochet.
My grandmother could do anything, but she had a hard time teaching it. I vowed to be sure that I'd slow myself down enough to train Daughter to do all the things that a young lady should do. And she can. She can crochet, card and spin wool, cross-stitch, make jewelry, tend a garden, harvest and save seeds, you name it. But she can't do basic household stuff by herself. Why? Because she's a little clumsy. Oh, look, I candy coated that. Clumsy, like, hurt herself clumsy....or someone else. We also have problems with carelessness. Like, burn the house down, carelessness. When she's using a steak knife
backwards, to cut sweet potatoes instead of a chef's knife, and it doesn't go well, she'll hand me the knife and say, "here, you do it". AND I do. Bad mother. My fault. Thank you Lord for bringing it to my attention. On my good days I'm spending more time coaching and less time doing.
I left Daughter high and dry without a plan on what to do and when to do it. Between the animals, meals, cleaning, five hours of homeschooling (yes, five), taking care of the woodstove and wood supply.....she did her best. I was glad to have a few good days last week to help her plan her days and meals. Here's a picture of her daily list and meals.
|She loves to check things off the daily list|