Other than our wedding pictures, we've never had professional photos taken before.
My husband says it's vain.
This, coming from a man who can't pass a window or reflective surface without secretly checking himself out from the corner of his eye.
So I convinced him that we should have a photographer come out and take pictures of the farm.
Oh yeah, and insert ourselves in them. Minor detail, whatever.
Luckily, the man seriously farms in button down shirts and sweaters and is ready for a photo shoot at a moments notice.
You think I'm kidding?
I married the preppiest farmer on the planet.
My mom, his personal stylist, single-handedly keeps Ralph Lauren in business by buying him every button down and polo they make.
He gets more clothes in the mail than any woman I know.
But despite all this, he still thinks displaying framed photos of ourselves is vain.
So other than this blog post, these pictures will probably never see the light of day.
Other than one or two potentially making it up on my parent's refrigerator door.
We even let Woodrow jump in for one.
This farm is slowly becoming a zoo, by the way.
Cows, schizophrenic Border Collie, ego-maniac Chihuahua and a four-month old kitten that just might be pregnant already.
Little hussy.
So. There you go. Our pictures.
And I just thought you might like to know... I can bring the sass...
... at dusk
... and dawn.
On a hay bale.
Because I'm cool like that.
In my own head.
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