Redemption

It's 2:00 in the morning and I am blogging on my iPhone.

In the field.

Just to let you know, that in a pinch, girlfriend can get her shiz together and redeem herself as a heavy equipment operator on this farm.

Does a forklift count as heavy equipment?

Who cares. It does tonight.

And in 30 degree weather and no cab, I better be earning some serious brownie points around this joint. I mean, I missed the season premiere of 16 And Pregnant for this as well as a highly anticipated episode of The Real Housewives of Orange County. (Both of which my husband has unsuccessfully banned me from watching.)

I take that back, he's having some pretty good success tonight.

All this for the love of a man, and for his love of farming.

Why can't I love a man who works 9:00-5:00?

Downhill in a Hurry

I was at dinner in DC last night with some dear old friends who just moved to the city when I got a text message from my husband.



(Welcome Ted and Jackie!)

His message said:

Is this where you parked my truck?

He sent it with the following picture:

Why no, that's not where I parked your pick-up.

I parked it up at the farm shop.

In a parking spot.

Somehow it ended up about 50 yards downhill ... in a field.

Come on people, I drive an automatic. Emergency brakes are not a part of my everyday routine.

I feel like there should be some kind of checklist for starting, operating and parking these things.

If these little incidents keep happening to me, I'll never get to drive the fun stuff like tractors and big trucks around here.

Apparently, I can't even handle a pick-up.

Need I remind you of this event, or this ever-living holy disaster?

I'm Practically A Professional

This is me.

Driving the big truck this morning.

Jamming to Steve Earle's Guitar Town like a boss.

Acting like I know exactly what I'm doing. Feeling super cool.

And then 100 yards later, I reached my destination.

Because that's all the farther I'm allowed to drive the big truck when I'm unsupervised.

Probably because I still haven't mastered the art of using air brakes without sending myself barrelling through the front windshield from the shear force of inertia.

Once I stopped and managed to kill the motor (unintentionally, of course), I just simply peeled myself out of the dash board and went on with my day.

Secretly feeling like a badass because I just drove the big truck a whole 100 yards.

Full Bellies and Naptime

Good little farm wives bring their husbands a feast of fried chicken to the field for lunch everyday.

But cool farm wives bring Five Guys.

And I would rather be cool than good.

Because nothing says love like a 4,000 calorie lunch.

Crap.

He fell asleep.

This was not part of my plan.

Doubt we'll get much more work out of him today.