Origins

A couple of years ago (I cannot believe it has been that long), I mused on Facebook about the theoretical reality of starring in my own cooking show. At the time I had an infant living in a moby wrap on my frontside, a husband working diligently at re-establishing his Washington business in Idaho, a VERY precocious just turned two year old, and a relatively new property that seemed to demand an inordinate amount of energy. My musings went something like this: I think I'll start my own cooking show. I'll call it "Barefoot and a Mess." I will create culinary masterpieces like macaroni and ketchup and open face peanut butter and honey sandwiches. There will be drama as I wield butcher knives and hot spatulas in one hand while nursing a baby with the other. There will be heartbreak as my husband decides to let the two year old eat her honey sandwich on the floor that I finished mopping ten minutes before...it will be riveting.

Drama continues to reign over the preparation of meals in this house. There was the episode that was interrupted by an eerie sense of calm...which was rapidly turned to panic as I discovered my daughter painting the yellow siding dark blue.

The picture was taken after the most thorough cleaning job I could manage...she was more than a little confused when I put the paintbrush back in her hand...

And then the one where I looked out the window to see my husband's ditch burning was rapidly becoming his yard and tree burning and dinner had to wait while I ran barefoot with 5 gallon buckets because he ripped the hose out of its coupler in his rush to contain the blaze.

Thus were the origins of my musings...a way to re-cast challenging situations in a humorous light...therapy via Facebook. I have recently thought that, were the theoretical reality show to actually exist, I would have to include a food criticism segment hosted by my children. That way I could immortalize such comments as, "Mama, my tummy is full of joy!" or on the other end of the spectrum, "Yeah, it really didn't have any flavor...so we just put ketchup on it." Another gem of a criticism from my ever diplomatic eldest was, "It doesn't matter how it tastes Mom, it still has protein so we should eat it."

So Barefoot and a Mess was born in these crazy, hilarious, priceless moments of life and motherhood. And now I sit and blog in my bare-feet in stead of attending to the mountain of dishes from the latest culinary masterpiece...peas with too much soy sauce.

The Inaugural Post

OK here it is! I'm writing more than my daily Facebook posts. I've been status updating for about five years with pretty consistent feedback...You should blog! They say. You should write a book! They say. So I'm going to try the blog thing...maybe in another five years a book will materialize too. The inspiration for my writing is most commonly my middle child. A girl of frenetic energy, pixie like beauty, and boundless imagination. I have referred to her as an angel, a sociopath, my princess, and a schizophrenic. She fits each of these descriptions multiple times during any normal day. In addition to the challenge presented by my delightful almost four year old, I receive inspiration from my budding genius of an almost seven year old and my bouncing baby who just turned two. I also have two beautiful acres, 20 something charismatic chickens and a fun loving husband who secretly hopes my stinging wit and compulsion to write will one day pay the bills.

I must warn those who are new to my musings that I have a great affinity for ellipses...and emotocons. :-P I have attempted to curb these eccentricities in my writing style but to no avail.