Feeding Time

When supper, baths, homework, and swim lessons don't get in the way, the kids and I love to help the guys feed.


And by help, I mean Cole helps.

This is his "can't you see I am too busy farming to take a picture?!" face.

When the Little Miss and I aren't driving around in the Gator, petting the barn cat, or posing on top of straw bales, we like to pull weeds to feed to the cattle.


All eyes are on us as we move toward them.


Drop the weeds and nobody gets hurt.


Number 9 is the Little Miss's favorite. He thinks he is a big pet. Little does he know his middle name is Hamburger.

To all my vegetarian readers, I am very sorry about the hamburger remark.

My favorite cow at the moment is number 44. He has a big ol' head and loves to be scratched right between the eyes. Who can resist such a face?


Even Cole will take a break from the "real work" to play with us girls.


You have to watch when you are feeding the cattle. They don't always use their manners. Just look at that shameless number 40. See that sneaky tongue making its way over to steal that weed?

Such bull.

Just Perfect

I wish I could bottle this weather.

It has been absolutely perfect.

Perfect weather for baseball,


Gator rides,


dandelion wishes,


and hunting Easter eggs.


Perfect weather for fishing,


no matter how you might catch the fish.


Perfect weather for a tractor ride,


football,

a tractor pull,


and swinging.


Perfect weather to spend time with those you love.


Perfect weather for family.

Kelly Ripa's Black Magic Voodoo

Well, that'll teach me.

Ever since I griped about Kelly Ripa and her amazing laundry abilities with her new Electrolux appliances, I have been fighting the curse she cast upon me.

Last weekend, hubby had taken the kids down to the barn to run off some energy while I cleaned the bathroom. About an hour later, I decided I would bring them some drinks. I walked into the garage, pushed the garage door opener button, grabbed some sodas from the garage fridge, hopped into the car, and backed out.

CRASH!

WTH?!

Somehow, the garage door stopped opening about 18 inches from the top. Just high enough so that I couldn't see it from my mirror, but just low enough for me to crash into.

The garage door was knocked all off track and dented. A brake light wire was sticking out of my car, along with a brand new scratch on the back panel.

The next day...

The husband's truck has been in and out of the shop for a seemingly unknown brake issue. It went into the shop for the 5th time after acting up again, just one day after he fixed the broken garage door.

The next day? Our dryer broke.

Let's pause to reflect upon the irony, shall we?

I taunt a major appliance spokesperson, my husband's truck goes into the shop, and our dryer breaks.

The next day...

Because we need a new dryer, but are currently without a truck, I trade vehicles with my parents. I dropped my car off with them and took their Ford Explorer SportTrac. As I pulled their truck into my garage, Tiger, our 3-legged cat, raced into the garage, hopped onto a step ladder, jumped onto a box, and struggled the rest of the way up to the rafters of the garage. As he pushed off with his back leg, he knocked the box over, which knocked the step ladder over, which managed to put a little scratch on my parents truck.

Luckily it was one very small scrape of many small scrapes on their truck. Meanwhile, my dad was busy washing and waxing my car and repairing my broken visor.

Hello, guilt. Nice to meet you.

Thankfully, we got a new dryer. Hubby's truck is back and *fingerscrossed* fixed for good. I have my clean and shiny car back. Dad has his truck back, albeit a little worse for the wear.

Moral of the story: Don't mess with Kelly Ripa. She is one bad ass mother.