Saturday Mornings

One of the best parts about late Friday nights (see my earlier blog post) is that they are generally followed by lazy Saturday mornings. If we get the chance, here's what a lazy Saturday morning (for everyone but the farmers) looks like around this joint.

It starts with breakfast. Quick quiz: can you guess which egg is the local, farm-raised free-ranger? And then the store-bought organic free-rangers?  And then...the regular store-bought egg? Saaaad little store-bought eggs. But this morning, we were equal-opportunity consumers.

 We spend our morning goofing around in our comfies. You can count on sleep-like apparel until at least ten. At least.

Then, someone always asks for a bubble bath. It's usually me, and I also request things like chocolate and coffee, but the kids generally win out. Sigh.

After we get dressed--sometimes back into jammies, I won't lie--we head outside to take in the sunshine. Below is the tree outside our bedroom window. This amazing beauty is so shimmering gold that it has woken us up the past two weeks with its entirely believable imitation of the sun. Tricky tree, I tell ya.

Usually, by ten, the cattle have gone through their paces. They hold to a seriously rigid schedule. At 9:00, they come by the house on their way to the watering tanks. By 10:00, they are heading back out to the main pasture area. However, on this particular Saturday, the cattle picked up on our lazy groove. Not one was doing anything more productive than chewing cud.

 Something that always makes me smile is a dog enjoying the grass and sunshine. They just make it a whole-body experience! Spencer begins by arching to one side, and then the other, grumbling deep in his throat with enjoyment. Then, he usually drags himself, army-crawl style, across the lawn on his tummy, grinning the whole way.

By this point, the kids have usually jumped onto the kid-sized (and kid-speed) four-wheeler. They have it down to an art: Jonathan hops on first, and then Grace. He laces his arms around her stomach, and she checks and tightens them, just to make sure. He leans into her back, and they take off...at about .5 miles per hour. Seriously, they crawl. But they do move, which makes the entire experience thrilling and liberating, and their range on the farm is vast, so they can venture out, even if it takes an hour one way.

Because Saturday mornings are like that. Freeing. Slow. And totally enjoyable.

Friday Nights

In a small town, Friday nights in September mean one thing: football. If you are lucky, or someone who checks the local paper each week, you may even catch homecoming, with all its glorious festivities.

The first thing we got in on was the homecoming parade. Now, the important thing to consider when you watch any parade is location. This was our first spot, but we relocated as soon as we realized that the candy-to-child ratio was going to be grim.

The fire engine's siren started wailing ("Nee-nah, nee-nah!!" screeched Jonathan excitedly), and we knew the parade had begun!  I was entirely satisfied to see that children still decorated their bikes with crepe streamers. It's not a homecoming parade without this element, folks.

The homecoming float theme this year was 'cleaning supplies' (themes are always random and intended to spur creative and funny results), which meant I laughed often, and the kids didn't get the gist at all...with the exception of the candy and mood. That they understood perfectly.

The two schools' marching bands were in prime form, practicing their songs and strides for the upcoming Gypsy Day competition in Aberdeen. You can have a marching band without a parade, but you simply can't have a parade without a marching band!

After gathering copious, nearly obscene amounts of sugar thrown our way (we chose our street corner wisely), we quickly headed to the school gymnasium for the annual pep rally. Grace and Jonathan, who have never been to a pep rally, thought it was amazing.

 Once the sun started sinking in the west, though, homecoming began in earnest. Tailgating is part of the standard operation, of course. (Jonathan ate three hot dogs. Three.)

I spent time chatting with old friends and a few classmates while our kids ran wild on the playground. Go to any high school football game, and you will see at least one group of boys scrimmaging in sweaty, rough glory on the sidelines.
 

Jonathan watched them intently and wistfully, but he never did interfere. He seemed to know that he was out of his league at that moment. After a while, he ran over to the playground to explore with the other littles.

 The big game began, and the stands were packed. Everyone was ready to enjoy the crisp (okay, downright frigid!) night with hot chocolate in hand.

Side note: want to see the most lovely track and field in SD? Come to this place.

Jonathan recognized the cheerleaders from the pep rally. He called to them and spent the night strutting and doing incredibly goofy things to entertain the crowd. We make an impression wherever we go, man.

The game didn't go so well, but where there's hometown pride and spirit, there's fun. The kids came home sandy, hot-chocolatey, frozen, and tuckered out...and so did their parents.

Birthdays and Such

What can happen in five years? How about thirty five? Well, let's take a look:

This can happen in five years,

 

 And this,

 

And in a moment of quiet beauty, this,

 

And thank goodness (melt my heart), this,

And even this,

Or this!

Our sweet little Grace celebrated birthday number five this week with a princess party (see photos of Cinderella's castle and garb above), and we couldn't be more delighted (or more nostalgic) as we mark this special holiday. How can one little person change the world this much? People across a tri-state region (heck, nation!) know our girl--sometimes better than they know us--because of her sunshine spirit, which emerged on day one when she became the adored baby in the hospital nursery, "the prettiest, happiest baby here who never gets put down," as one nurse proclaimed. We were enamored then, but that was before we really knew her, and knew the compassion, intelligence, and exuberance she holds within. Happy Birthday, Sunshine Girl!

Now, back to the original question: what can happen in thirty-five years? Well, let's hit the high points, shall we?


This can happen,

 And this,

 

Which may just lead to this,

 

 

And then this,

  

 And even this!

All right, all right...I'm probably missing a little bit in there, but you get the idea--thirty-five years is plenty of time for really good stuff to happen! When I was a little girl, dreaming of the life I'd have as a big person, I had no idea what a wonderful, kind, talented, babe-a-licious man I would eventually meet and marry. I had no clue what amazing children we'd have (or that they'd look exactly like him). And you know what? I'm really, really glad it was all a surprise.

Kind of like this:

(*Note: party decor and guest list assembled by Grace)

Happy birthday to you, Matt, the best husband/daddy/farmer-in-training we could imagine. I am entirely excited about the next five...and thirty-five!


P.S.--For the record, and because I know some family member will call me on it, Matt's actually 34, but the 5-35 comparison just works better. Hush.

Well, My Job Here is Done!

 This was the sight that greeted me when I came into the living room yesterday:

 

I said, "Oh! You must be playing 'car' with your brother. That's one cool ride, Grace!"

"No, Mama, I'm not playing car," she said with a serious look in her blue eyes. "I'm busy training Jonathan."

"Potty training him?" I asked, figuring there was another misunderstanding about the whole 'train/train' homonym.

"Nope. Jonnie's always so fussy in the car, so I'm car-training him so he'll learn to ride better. I gave him a book to read to keep him busy, and I made him a booster seat. I'm also singing him songs."

"Well, OK then!" I said. Because what more could I say? This big sister has an incredible inner drive to organize, mother, and do all things typical of a first-born female. As a result, my job as a mama is made either much easier...or much more difficult. It largely hinges on little brother's mood at the time.

He is, however, always happy to have her read him stories. He will never, ever get tired of his favorites: The Little Blue Truck, Please Baby Please, Harry the Dirty Dog, Baby Cakes, and the one you see here, Old MacDonald's Farm. Fortunately, Grace still loves these as much as Jonathan, and she's had them memorized since she was about his age, so they will sit, read, and re-read them until something rumbles through the yard needing their immediate attention.

They are peas in a pod, my two little blondies. I'm so glad they have each other, and I'm so thankful I have them.

The View from Here

Today was, as Grace termed it, "a perfect day on the farm." The weather was just right--not too hot, not too cold, beautifully sunny, and dry. This meant harvest was in full swing, and I even had time enough to capture it on film as I ferried people between fields with the kiddos by my side. Here's what we saw today:

Back in MN, we regularly look out our kitchen window to see our elderly neighbor making his morning coffee in his skivvies and a flannel. Ahem. Here, we have a bit more privacy, but the lack of trees and open farmland make even distant neighbors feel a little closer. I love the different shades of gold and tan in this photo above; it's autumn on the prairie. The field in the foreground held rows of soybeans just this morning!

When I was younger, I could always find a willing cousin or friend to explore old farm sites with me. How exciting it was to run across an ancient piece of rusty equipment, a license plate tacked on a barn wall, or an old rope swing tied to a rafter!

Grace is determined to climb on top of this monster before we go. I'm hiring Daddy for the job of spotter.

No, the blue of this lake hasn't been doctored; today, it was an amazing shade of teal. Who needs Bermuda when you can have South Dakota's alkaline lakes?

It really is a lovely place to have a snack, don't you think? The kids and I took a short break to munch and take in the scenery before heading to the next field. Jonathan kept giggling when he saw me climb into the pickup: "No, Mommy! Papa brrrm-brrrm!" Apparently, I'm supposed to drive things like minivans. We're working on this.

 

 The goldenrod (Achoo!) is just fading, leaving the rose hips to take center stage. Call me crazy, but I think this bunch of grass would make a lovely bouquet. And come to think of it, that may explain my childhood logic; I was more of a prairie-grass kind of gatherer than a dandelion picker. That may also have stemmed from the fact that my dad detailed the whole noxious weed thing to me at a very young age: "We spray for those." The life of a farm kid, I tell ya.

In the top photo above, Greg M. gets the truck ready for loading. He's just moved it from our last field, and we're getting all set up for another round. My dad's driving this combine--the newer of the two, because Matt's almost sleepless with anxiety these days due to his fear of wrecking one. (OK, he's really sleeping like a log right now, but it's a concern!) See that golden pile of soybeany goodness ready for unloading?

Aaaaand, thereyago. Get the auger to the right spot, and all goes well. Place the auger in the wrong spot, and...well, grab a shovel.

Quiz: Why is my dad smiling?
A. He is harvesting, a farmer's favorite activity
B. He finally has his sack lunch in hand, delivered two hours late (Sorry, Dad!)
C. He knows I'll be posting this photo to the blog tonight
D. His grandkids are laying on the horn back in the pickup and cheering his name
E. All of the above

Answer? C!

Nah, just kidding. E all the way.

My, my, mymymy. Who is this professional combiner? (Is that a word? Combiner? Well, it is now.)

"Hello, handsome farmer! You come here often? Gosh, you sure do know how to maneuver that 9600!"

"You're crazy."

"Crazy-impressed, maybe. But here. (*picking up a pod from the ground*) You missed this one."

"Har har."

"Alright, get back to it, man. Some of us have to work around here."

Like Grace, for example! The child is entirely convinced her responsibility on the farm is to go forth each day seeking grease and dirt. She feels as if her day's been a success if her entire wardrobe has to go straight into the wash come nightfall.

And speaking of nightfall, here's what we done-did after everyone got cleaned up: not much of anything at all. Happy harvest, everyone!