Two ships that pass in the night. Often said of people who meet for a brief but intense moment and then part, never to see each other again. These people are like two ships that greet each other with flashing lights and then sail off into the night. From a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

That’s the dictionary.com definition of my marriage right now. It’s certainly intense for the three minutes we see each other, and although we do see each other again, it’s only for another three minutes.

So goes the life of many parents with multiple jobs and multiple young children. We’re not unique. It’s that time in our lives where fortunately and unfortunately other responsibilities are more important. Not every second of the day, but close.

Our days start at 4:30a.m. The Herdsman is out the door to feed animals in the dark. I’m up feeding three babies and putting meat deliveries together. He comes back home mid-morning to take 15 minutes to shower and shave (trust me, he NEEDS to shower, unless you like the smell of pig poo wafting through your house like a squirt from a can of Febreeze) and is out the door for his main job as a realtor. But I’m not there – I’m running around six counties delivering meat to restaurants, retailers and your freezer. My day ends at 9:00pm because I can’t function any longer (my mouth can no longer form a functional sentence). But the Herdsman sometimes doesn’t get home until 10, 11 or 12am.

We didn’t see each other all day. But we do talk. Text messaging is the love letter of the 21st century. Very, very big business and life decisions are made over our text messages. Instead of the eight hour business meetings I used to sit in (and get nothing accomplished), the Herdsman and I are able to move mountains with a few pithy text messages.

Examples of our 21st century communications:

Herdsman: “You are so smart, and beautiful, and the perfect mother, and you know everything”.
Me: “What did you do?”

Me: “Let me look at his meat first”.
(Only the Herdsman would be ok with a wife saying this about another man’s meat.)

Me: “How is your day going?”
Herdsman: “Hot. And I have to poop.”
(You know all the magic is gone when you can talk this openly about bodily functions and not bat an eye, or hurl.)

Me: “The pastures look good”.
Herdsman: “They do, don’t they.”

Me: “Where are you?”
Herdsman wearing his Realtor Hat: “This is the place you go to hide a body.”

Me: “Milk”.
(That’s all I said. No response needed. He knows he has to stop and get milk or it will be complete chaos for breakfast.)

Herdsman on the morning I went to feed the cows/pigs and he was in charge of getting the Board of Directors fed and to school…on time: “I see why you were in such a hurry to leave. The natives are at a

loss: no peanut butter or milk? 99% of their breakfast options.”
Me: “Good luck with that.”

Me: “Your daughter didn’t nap at school today so she should zonk out after supper. So I’m getting a Redbox. And we can have a date night on the couch.”
Herdsman: “I still have to water cows and build a concrete pad for the new feed bin. Date yourself.”

Herdsman: “There aren’t enough hours in the day.”
Me: “What can I do to help?”
Herdsman: “Just take care of my children. The only option is for me to see them less. Less breakfasts and less suppers.”
(Isn’t that the saddest line you’ve ever read?! Breaks my heart. )

Herdsman: “Have you fed the dog and cat?”
Me: “We have a dog and a cat?”

Herdsman: “Drilling seed is taking longer than planned.”
Me: “You can have this Sunday roast for lunch tomorrow then”.
(Crying. Lonely. Wanting adult-time. Why do I even try to make a meal?)

Me: “Tire on trailer is flat, drove it all the way to market like that.”
Herdsman: “A pig was out this morning. So we both had an adventurous start to the day.”

Some of those messages are funny and we do try as best as we can to keep it all light hearted. But some are discouraging and frustrating and honest.

A counselor would say leading excessively busy lives like we do could be detrimental as a couple. They suggest, as if it were that easy, that we should reconnect and make a point to spend time with each other.

So, that’s what we’re going to do. We have a date night set up to castrate some bulls. Kids will be at Grandmas. I’m going to wear my sexy overalls and tuck my pants inside my boots so they don’t get too dirty. And he’ll smell like fermented haylage. “I’ll bring the wine. You bring the nuts.”

What an awesome life we live and for some crazy reason I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Now excuse me while I text the Herdsman a love note.