I think anybody who calls me super woman should have followed me around on Tuesday. I was minding my grandson, Henry, for the day and here’s how it went.

I took Henry outside to play while I planted some more turnips. This, of course meant I had to change him before his lunch. I decide to toss his dirty clothes in with my wash, discovering I am out of homemade laundry soap. I grate the soap into a pan, set it to simmer and find Henry playing in the knot weed wine must. Rush to save child and wine, not necessarily in that order and return to find the soap has boiled over on the stove. It was pretty amazing actually. It took ten minutes to clean up that mess and to teach Henry to say a very bad word. Gramma, potty, I love you, those words he won’t repeat but oh shit he picked up like lice at preschool. Back to the mixture. I decide that it is just as easy to make a triple batch as a single batch. Unfortunately I went from single to double to triple without writing down what I was doing and ended up looking at the mess and wondering. Did I double the washing soda? No. I tripled the washing soda and doubled the borax. How many cups of water did I start with? I ended up with what I think was a triple batch of everything and Henry learned another bad word. This is point where I realize that I had taken out chicken to thaw for supper. Forgot to put it in the fridge. Cat finds the chicken. Henry learns another bad word. I got Henry in for a nap and went to Humblegarden’s web site. She’s weeks ahead of me. Thank goodness Henry is asleep. He does not need to learn another bad word.

All of us who live this kind of life, one where we care about the land and our kids and our food and our money, are just doing the best we can. On good days, we accomplish much and go to bed with sore muscles and light hearts. On bad days, and we all have them, we go to bed with work undone and our good intentions paving the road to hell.

What helps on the bad days is knowing I am in such good company. I treasure all of the friends, on line and on my street who walk the walk with me. It helps to know that there is a small but growing community connected by this longing for a life that feels real. It’s hard to explain it to someone who doesn’t share the need to experience real. How do you define it? Real people care about more than how they look and what they own. Real food is touched by hands and dirt and bugs. Real weather is too hot and too cold and dangerous and exciting. Real work hurts your hands and your back. A real life leaves more than it takes. We are all real here. We are all all super.

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