Thursday, February 17, 2011

Muddy, Mucky Mess

Did I ever tell you about how super glamorous this whole farm wife gig I've got going is?

I did my first two hours of hard labor the other day. I'm sure the guys around here will argue that there was nothing hard about it. But they can shut their mouths.

I strapped on my best manly-looking pair of insulated overalls and headed out to the field.

Sexy, I know.

I may have stretched it a bit when I said two hours. It may have been closer to an hour forty-five. I had other pressing obligations, like a lunch date with a girlfriend.

And don't ask me how it happened, but at the end of that oh-so-strenuous hour and forty-five minutes everyone else looked clean. As a matter of fact, at the end of the entire day, everyone else looked fairly clean.

I, on the other hand, somehow ended up with 25 pounds of mud clinging to my clothes, finger nails and eyelashes.

And my wedding bands.

Supposedly there are diamonds in there somewhere.

I have never taken my bands off, and I certainly wasn't going to break tradition because of some pesky mud.

And it's funny how things work, but when I headed up to the farm shop to scrape off the layers of mud, I noticed that somehow my husband had slipped up there undetected while the rest of us were slaving away in his field. He was in his nice warm office "sending e-mails" and doing "important things."


I didn't know YouTube was a vital ingredient to this farm's success.

Okay, I'm totally kidding and I don't want my husband to kill me.

He could have been on Facebook, I don't know.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Born For Corn

Meet the myth, the legend, the one and only Born for Corn.

I had only heard about Born for Corn, but had never seen her in person. I was starting to think she didn't exist. Like maybe it was just a joke someone made up here on the farm.

That's until my husband called the other day and said "look out the window."

For those of you unfamiliar with farming equipment, this old relic is made for harvesting corn. A laughable concept when you get an up-close look at the old bucket of rust.

For the past six years, I have heard jokes and cracks about this old combine that was tucked away somewhere on the farm. You know it's gotta be good when the thing has earned a name for herself.

I don't think Born for Corn  has seen any fall harvest action in a long, long time. She had to be pulled out of the pasture.

I always had visions of turning her into a jungle gym clubhouse type thing for our kids someday.

Something sort of like this:

Keep in mind I had never seen the thing.

But the minute I finally laid eyes on that hunk of junk, my dream was suddenly shattered.

I think that might be mold or moss or some type of furry green substance growing on top of rust.


She's rough.

Like really rough.

When I tried to go up the steps to the cab, I start swinging through the air like Tarzan. Apparently, the steps are being held on by one last rusty bolt. They swing back and forth all over the place, practically just dangling there.

Forget the jungle gym idea, the kids would have to get a tetanus shot before they even climbed in.

So it sounds like this old beast is headed for the scrap yard.

Our future kids will have to settle for a plastic swing set from Home Depot.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

My First Born

While most women my age have actual five year olds, I am quite content with a 5-year-old Chihuahua for now. Who needs a snot-nosed crumb-crunching human baby when you can have the canine version as cute as this?

My tiny furbaby turned half-a-decade old recently. Puppy birthdays at our house are celebrated with a trip to the pet shop.

Yes, I am the crazy dog lady who puts cloths on her pup.

And I can't even explain the great restraint I have to practice not to put my boy dog in any of the cute girl dog cloths.

They don't make all of this cute stuff for the boys.

Just ugly t-shirts, that say dumb stuff like "scratch my belly" and "fetch."

I'd like to think little Banjo is more sophisticated than that.

So, like any self-respecting dog-owner, I opted to get him a leopard-print snuggie instead.

That's right, we headed straight for the As Seen On TV section of the pet store. Who even knew they had one?

And with a clearance price of $4.98, I just couldn't pass it up.

I swore I would never do it.

But the little weirdo loves it. 

Look at him all stretched out like a crazy man.

((Note: Yes, he is sitting on my lap. No, I am not wearing a blue snuggie ... although my electric throw blanket's vibrant blue color does bear a striking resemblance to the original snuggie))

((Another side note: While I'm already making myself look like a dang fool by admitting that I bought my dog a snuggie ... then I may as well confess that I did at one time own the original blue snuggie myself. They were all the rage at my old TV station. All the cool kids had one.))

I think he really likes it.

Or maybe not.

I'm pretty sure he's giving me the stink-eye right now.