In the course of 48 hours I have broken the tip of my middle finger, boiled snow and contemplated peeing in a bush.
I'm no longer just the redneck mommy online. I've morphed into a card-carrying member in real life as well. In fact, if my brother were to come over, offer to feed me road kill and bring me a bottle of clean water, I can't say I wouldn't swoon at his feet and offer to marry him.
Okay, yes I can. Sorry Stretch. The dehydration combined with the pain of typing with a broken finger is clearly addling my mind.
This is what happens when I'm left alone with three children, in the middle of nowhere during a Canadian winter. I start to twitch. And invariably, things go wrong. Really wrong. Like our water line mysteriously collapsing. No big deal. It's only buried 25 feet below the surface of the earth, and runs through the middle of my newly landscaped front yard and underneath a very large, very expensive deck we may now have to tear off to gain access to the line. Running water is over rated anyways.
So we're hauling water up from our cistern, like drawing water from a well. Only my daughter dropped the bucket into the giant cement pit of darkness and somehow I have to figure a way on retrieving it without contaminating our entire supply of water. It's cool though, because I like a challenge. I'm not losing my mind or anything. Really. *Twitch.*
It's not all bad. I mean, there is four feet of snow outside my front door. And I have twenty acres covered with the white stuff. I just have to make sure there is no yellow in the snow I collect. I now stand outside on the deck and yell at the dogs, cats and general wild life whenever they wander onto my pristine patch of snow. I'm a crazy lady armed with an air horn yelling at the animals to go pee on someone else's lawn. Someone who has running water.
This is *normal* for me now.
I'm suddenly a woman who has encouraged her son to pee off the back of the deck and then offered her daughter a Go Girl product so she could do the same all so I won't have to lug in water or boil snow to flush the toilets.
I may have encouraged my teenaged children to stay over at random friends' houses to steal their water. I like to think I'm teaching them the invaluable skill of couch surfing. Learning to mooch effectively can never happen early enough. So far neither child has been thirsty enough, or smelly enough to flee the nest, but I'm betting by day five the combined power of our collective stench will soften their stances and send them packing for the first friend they can trick into taking them.
I've taken to waving my throbbing broken middle finger around like it's a magic wand and can magically make water run from my spouts. I swear I'm not just randomly giving the universe the finger or anything.
Okay, yes I am.
I keep telling myself this will end soon enough. By this time next week my husband will be home and one way or another I will have running water. And even if I don't, it won't be my problem for long as I'm fleeing the country with my daughter. My life could be plenty worse. Just ask the people of Japan.
Perspective, I have it, even if I don't have indoor plumbing.
In the meantime, I'm totally knocking on my parents' door.
They have working toilets and a girl needs a place to poop in peace. Even if she has to drive 3 miles to get there.
(Also, note to all of you: When a door is being slammed shut, don't use your fingers as a door stop. You know, in case you didn't know.)