Oh, happy day

When I agreed to let Brandon remove me from my lush, water-logged swamp into the dry, barren desert, I had one demand request: a green yard.

That's how I became the designated mower at our house too. He said he would grow the green grass if I would cut it (he's allergic).

Last summer, we did have a green yard. The neighbors let us borrow some water every time they irrigated their lawn. Our yard isn't exactly set up to receive irrigation water - we need a pipeline from the back of our five acres to the front yard. And that project has been in progress for well over two years now.

Just last weekend, we created a workaround for the huge pipeline project, and dug our own little ditch leading to the yard. The very next day, we ordered irrigation water for our yellow grass and trees with fried leaves.


Wilbur enjoyed the flooded yard just as much as I did. Every time we've used the sprinkler so far, he has camped out over it with the water spraying his belly. So, I think we've done just as much watering our dog this spring as our yard.

Here, he found a gopher attempting to escape the flood water. These little things are actually quite vicious. Brandon says, "Ounce for ounce, they're brave suckers."



And here, Wilbur learned a little something about gophers:



So, when we return from Alaska, we will have green grass. That will need to be mowed.

To pack, or not to pack?

This morning, as Brandon is still trying to wake up (and I'm finishing my second cup of coffee)...

Me:  "Hey, do you know if you can pack a razor in a carry-on?"

Brandon:  "Katie, you've already asked me this question three times. I'm going to give you the same answer I did last time. Every airline has all that stuff on their website. I would suggest looking there."

Me:  "I did check the Alaska Airlines site. The only thing it listed on the 'what not to pack' page is a straight edge razor, so I still wasn't sure. Isn't the straight edge the kind they use at barber shops?"

"...Well, you know, it is just a disposable razor. I say I just pack it, and if they confiscate it, no big loss right? What, 50 cents?"

Brandon: "What?! We've had this many conversations about a disposable razor? Are you kidding me? Over 50 cents. Katie..."

Taking law enforcement into our own hands

So, Brandon was quite the little militia man last week. 

Shortly after I published the story about all of our recent misfortune, he came in from night duty and let me know about his 2am adventure — in a high speed hay chase. 

At one point in the night, he had to wait on some irrigation water for about 20 minutes before he could change it, so he decided to take a short nap. When he awoke, he just flipped on his headlights, jumped out of the truck, and went to work opening and closing ports at the ditch bank. 

All of a sudden, he hears a truck barrelling down the field road, trailer in tow, from the exact spot the ten bales had been stolen less than a week earlier. After two incidents of theft in one week, Brandon was determined to 

He ended up chasing the guy for nearly ten miles — the truck flying down dark roads with no headlights, making crazy u-turns, and even chasing Brandon 50 yards off the road at one point. All the while, Brandon was on the phone with 9-1-1, the dispatcher telling him to keep up with the guy, she had three officers in the vicinity. 

Well, after Brandon was run off the road, he realized how serious this thief was, and decided protecting our livelihood wasn't really worth putting himself in such a dangerous situation. So he backed off. The attempted thief was soon out of sight, and one of the officers showed up at Brandon's location 30 seconds later, rather than going to the last known location of the thief.

I tell you what, it's a pretty sad day when a farmer is a little fearful of going out to work alone. 

As if this adventure wasn't enough for his week, the very next day I was able to track down who had stolen my phone over the weekend, thanks to the powers of the World Wide Web. I had a phone number, name and address. 

As soon as Brandon came in that morning (from night duty again), I delivered this information, and he immediately called the phone thieves. At first, they promptly hung up on him. He called back on our office phone, and told the lady she could return my phone or he could turn in the police report we just filled out (which might have been a stretch of the truth) and have them knock on her door.

For a while, she tried to tell him that her son hadn't stolen the phone, he had simply found it. 

Brandon explained to her, "Ma'am, you have the phone. It belongs to me. You took it and used it. That's theft."

You see, the phone had service for about six hours while in their possession that day, before I realized it was actually stolen and not near the ditch bank at one of our hay fields as I suspected. In that six hours, they made quite a few phone calls, racked up $16 in data usage (downloading things) and sent a million text messages. Thankfully, it was a Saturday, so the minutes didn't count, and I have unlimited text messaging. The data usage, however, would have to come out of our pocket. 

After half an hour on the phone, he finally convinced the lady to meet us and return the phone. She gave us an address we knew was at least 20 miles away, out in the desert. So the next day we set off to reclaim my phone. 

Little did we know we would drive 35 miles out into the desert, only to spend another 20 minutes searching for a road to access the address we had been given. We finally figured it out, and I think we really ended up just driving across the desert - no way could what we were driving on have been a road. 

We rolled up to the middle of abandoned-looking little one room shacks, and were almost expecting to be caught in some crossfire. It didn't look as if anyone was within half a mile. After sitting in the truck for a few minutes wondering what our next move should be, a man came sauntering out of the shack asking if we were looking for the phone. 

Brandon retrieved the phone from him quickly, then we shut the door and drove away — the man still talking. 

The man, who was obviously dirty, reached around in his pockets and dug down deep, pulling my phone from the very bottom. I cringed just watching. Sure enough, I took a little sniff when we were back on the road, and I almost wanted to just take it back to him. 

I went through quite a few coconut lime verbena antibacterial wipes to get the combination of sweat, cigarette smoke and grimy odor to subside. 

So, we put quite a team together. I completed the detective work, Brandon was the gruff interrogation officer, then he handled the confrontation and I was the back-up.   

In three days, Brandon was involved in a high speed hay chase and recovered our stolen property. Just another week on the farm. 

Crying over spilled milk

I took a little trip to the grocery store this afternoon. It was one of those milk, eggs, bread maintenance trips. 

With the luxury of a flexible work schedule, I always try to run errands like this in the middle of the day while most of working America is occupied. Usually, I reserve Thursday afternoons for bank and grocery trips. This week, I waited until Friday and ended up in the store at the worst possible time. 

Turns out the Friday of Memorial Day weekend, which corresponds with the last school day, and apparently an early release, is not a pleasant day for a quick grocery run. The place was packed. With loose children running around shouting, "No more schoo-ool, no more schoo-ool!" Seriously. I passed a brother-sister duo singing that song in the cereal aisle. 

After that fiasco, I got a little distracted with the radio on the way home. Anyone who has ever ridden in a vehicle with me will not be surprised at all. I think it was Sugarland's "Baby Girl". Volume up, singing out loud, dancing around with the upper half of my body - yeah, I'm one of those people you pass on the road. 

Well, with all of the unsuspected early traffic that day, the only stop sign between my house and the store was backed up for half a mile. No exaggeration there. The car in front of me had dim brake lights. 

By the time I snapped out of song-and-dance-mode and realized the line of cars in front of me was at a full stop, I had to throw on the brakes - hard. In that process, I nearly killed my truck (full force brakes in a standard, a little late on the clutch, it happens) and all my groceries went flying into the floorboard. 

I didn't want to look at first. When I did, I saw a little milk oozing out of the tipped-over gallon jug on the floor. And I wanted to cry. I just knew all my eggs were broken, and I was fearful that the force of hitting the dashboard had been too much for a bottle or two of Shiner Bock. 

My first thoughts? Wow, the milk was two bucks, another two for the eggs, six total for the Shiner Bock (which I thought was a good deal)...my little 75 seconds of ridiculously awful singing was adding up quickly. Again, I thought about crying. Just a little. 

When I got home, I gently removed all the grocery bags from on top of the milk jug. All six Shiner Bock bottles escaped unscathed, and miraculously, ten eggs survived as well. The milk ended up not being a complete waste either. There was still about 75% left in the jug, and I was able to pour all of it into a pitcher. 

The biggest disappointment ended up being the orange cupcakes. Every time I go to the store, I bring home a package of Hostess organge cupcakes for Brandon. I think they are his absolute favorite thing to eat. I always scan the rack to find the most perfect-looking pair. A lot of them have a dented plastic container, or icing with cracks in it. Well, now his once-perfect cupcake container is dented, and the icing is definitely no longer smooth. 

I didn't have too big of a mess to clean up afterward. I left my truck door open for Wilbur and Dixie to clean up the milk on the floorboard (thank goodness I don't have carpet), and the eggs just got a little bit of goo on the tortilla wrapper. 

So, I didn't have to cry over the spilled milk after all. But I do think it's time to take a good look at my sing-along habits while driving.  

Waiting for Lady Luck to happen upon us

Last week was quite eventful around here. 

Tuesday morning, I had a new post ready to go. It was just waiting on a picture of our first load of clean laundry — from our house — and the "publish" button. But I never did get to publish it. The weekend before, Brandon actually found a spare couple of hours and managed to get some pipe soldered, hoses connected, etc., and we thought we were in the laundry business, at long last. 

I put my first load in the wash early that morning, and went to work. About an hour later, I went to change the load over into the dryer with a smile on my face. But I still heard water running in the washing machine. Not a good sign. 

I opened the lid and the top layer of clothes was still completely dry. I glanced out into the yard at the drain hose. The surrounding area was flooded. We had a faulty machine. Brandon dropped by shortly after, and said he couldn't fix it. 

So, I loaded up the washing machine (by myself, at 4:30 in the morning) and sold it at our community yard sale for 20 bucks on Saturday.    

While this was a disappointment early in the week, it soon became the least of our worries. 

Brandon was baling hay Wednesday morning, and as the sun came up, he thought the stacks he made at the other end of the field the day before looked a little low. Sure enough, he got over there, and found truck and trailer tire marks from someone who stole 120 bales of hay from us during the night. Definitely a costly ordeal. 

Another hay thief hit us on Friday, and took 10 bales in his pickup. He was nearly caught, but escaped with no lead because he didn't have a license plate. So, Brandon's parents spent the next few nights in their camper, parked right next to hay stack for us until we were able to get some cables installed over the weekend.

Oh, and the same night the big load was stolen? Someone graffiti tagged the irrigation ditch on that field. 

Then, on Saturday, I must have kicked my phone out of the truck while we were out irrigating. The ditch bank is the only place I possibly could have misplaced it. Well, someone happened upon my phone and took it home with them. They answered later when I called. I'm just hoping I got the service canceled before they made a few calls to Mexico, but we'll see. 

Needless to say, we're wishing for a better stroke of luck this week.  

On a brighter note, the morning sky is full of clouds, which you never see out here. It will also be our first day below 100 degrees in two weeks — just a mere 98. And, all of our hay is off the ground for the 30% chance of precipitation they're predicting. Wow, it's been a while since I've used that word. 

This is the man I agreed to marry

Brandon overcame his recent aversion to spaghetti, and more than willingly ate it for lunch yesterday when he came in starving and it was the only thing readily available. 

Of course, I still had half my plate left when he took his last bite. 

I heard him sort of chuckling to himself, and when I looked over, he was licking his fingers (yes, he is 28) with a huge grin on his face. I asked what in the world was going on, and he held up this hand:

And said, "Blog that, Baby."

So I did. 

Notice how the tips of the fingers are shiny clean and the rest of the hand is solid black.

He said, "These are working hands. Everyone who works has hands like this."

Me: "Yeah, but some people wash them before sticking them in their mouths, too."

The Clean Plate Club

Growing up, my family had a "Clean Plate Club" at supper time. You were only a member if you cleaned your entire plate that night, and as competitive as my sister and I were, it soon was a race to be the first member of the Clean Plate Club every night. I don't think we actually even had a real incentive to join the club - just a claim on the title. 

[Sidebar:  I understand the concept behind it - get the kids to eat the green beans and the beef, not just the mac-n-cheese. But still, I'm not so sure this is the best way to instill good nutritional habits?]

Well, Brandon takes the whole Clean Plate Club idea to a new level. 

He has this thing about eating every single bite on his plate. This is somewhat convenient when it comes to disposing of things I don't want to eat. I just load his plate up, about halfway through he complains of being full, I remind him he doesn't actually have to eat every bite (knowing he will anyway), and he forges on until he's stuffed and the plate is empty. 

Now, I realize in the long run this probably isn't healthy. I'm just saying that it does have its advantages at times. 

When Brandon finally stumbled in last night about 9:30, he had been working for a solid 21.5 hours, and hadn't eaten anything since he stopped in for lunch around noon. So, it was a typical day around here. 

The supper menu last night consisted of spaghetti I made one night last week, then froze the leftovers to eat sometime when I was busy. I had to conduct a couple of webinars for work in the evening hours last night, so it was a good time to thaw the spaghetti. 

Only Brandon has been a little turned off by spaghetti lately. By lately, I mean in the last three weeks. He says he doesn't even know why, it just doesn't sound very appealing to him. 

So, he opted to eat the last of the leftover enchiladas we had, along with a burrito filled with leftover ground elk, cheese and taco sauce.  

I had eaten hours earlier, but I joined him at the table while he ate supper. 

He had already consumed the enchiladas, and was nearing the end of his elk burrito, when he asked, "This isn't the same ground meat I used on the burritos I made a couple days ago, is it? It tastes a little different."

"Yeah, it is. And it tastes different because it's elk. And that's a pretty full burrito. You're probably just tasting more of the meat than you did before." 

"Yeah, I bet the burritos I made were only a third this size."

"Well, I thought you were hungry." (and the ground meat had been in the fridge a few days...)

"I was, I'm just having a hard time eating all this elk by itself." (with just a bite or two left) 

"You know you don't have to eat that last bite, right? I could always put it in a casserole."

[Joking, of course.]

The accidental garden

As it turns out, I'm not nearly as bad of a gardener as this story suggests. In fact, I can grow quite the onion crop. Just not when I actually try to. 

A couple months ago, I threw out a bunch of onions that were finally going bad on us (we'd had them since last summer). Before that, I had thrown out some rotten apples. 

The hole in the corner of our yard had been a good place for the apples, so I dumped the onions there too. 

Now, this is what we have on our hands: 

 

And I'm thinking I should have just tried onions to begin with. They just sprouted up without us doing a thing, and the dogs haven't bothered them a bit. I noticed them a couple weeks ago, but I didn't mention anything to Brandon. He found them over the weekend. 

He came in and asked if I was aware we had a bunch of onions sprouting in our yard. 

As he was headed back out, he added, "Oh, and the next time you want to grow a million onions? How about we try somewhere other than the drain for our yard? I just hope we don't have apple trees growing in there soon."

Anyone interested in a few onion bulbs to plant?

The first failure

It finally happened. It took almost a year, and it was even from a recipe. Not a Katie Surprise. And in a crockpot of all things!

But it was awful. It looked bad, smelled bad and definitely tasted bad. 

Yes, last night's supper was a complete and utter failure. From the moment I dished it up, I was dreading taking that first bite. With good reason, turns out. 

I waited until Brandon tried it first. He took three huge bites (probably trying to stuff as much in his mouth at once, to limit the pain to only a few big swallows). So, I mustered up the courage to take one tiny bite. And promptly declared I would not be eating any more of it. Brandon dropped his fork upon hearing that. 

He said, "I would have kept eating it if you were going to, but if you're throwing yours out, mine's going with it." 

Good thing we had leftover twice-baked potatoes from the weekend. As soon as we finished those off, I walked outside with the crockpot and poured the whole thing out for Wilbur and Dixie. 

I was not happy for the rest of the night. First, you have the time it took to put it all together. Then, there's all the wasted food. And on top of that, one hour later I was hungry.

Hopefully I can redeem myself tonight. 

Unwelcome guests

I hate birds. All of them. Everything about them. Especially the feathers. Along with the constant chirping and surprises they leave behind everywhere marking their presence. 

That said, I am currently cohabiting with them. 

Four months ago, I woke up early one morning to an awful sound. Birds chirping. Loudly. I woke Brandon up and I was all, That bird has to be in our house. No way could it be that loud. And he, unfazed, said, "Yeah, it probably is. It's happened before," then rolls over to go back to sleep. 

I was not having it. "You mean you're not going to go get the BIRD out of our HOUSE?"

So he begrudgingly drug himself out of bed to retrieve the bird. When he opened the door to our renovated (read: demolished) master bathroom, sure enough, there was one live bird flying around in there making all kinds of racket, and one dead bird on the ground (not making racket). He let the live bird out the window, and disposed of the dead bird. 

Then, just a couple months ago, I had a pigeon problem. Two pigeons sat in our laundry area (assuming our washer and dryer were connected) and went coo, coo. All day long. Not pleasant. And rather distracting when you're trying to concentrate. 

I kept trying to shoot the pigeons with Brandon's BB gun, but it's so old and used you have to hold the thing together in two or three places while you try to shoot it. I never did get it to work. 

That's when I requested the Red Rider BB gun my brother got for Christmas when he was six. They both think they're much too old for BB guns now, so it was perfect. But my parents left it in Texas when they came to visit. 

Luckily, the pigeons have now moved on. Probably to our barn, judging by the bird population there. 

Just about a month ago, I complained politely mentioned to Brandon there were some scratching noises in our attic during the day. It sounded like little birds scurrying about over my head in the hallway. He's used to me "hearing things" when I get scared at night, so he dismissed it. Told me I was crazy. Nothing up there, no sir. 

Well, fast forward to yesterday. 

Baby birds are hatching all over our house. 

I first noticed them through the air vent in the hallway. There must be a whole nest of them on top of the air vent. It's that loud. Then, I was changing the sheets on our bed later that morning. More loud birds. I opened the door to the gutted bathroom. Sure enough, there's a partial nest hanging out of the corner of the wall. IN OUR HOUSE. 

Brandon thinks the birds in the bathroom are okay. "Happens all the time," he says, "No big deal." He doesn't really see that bathroom as "part of the house." I, on the other hand, do not think it's okay. 

When he learned about the birds near the air vent, he did show some concern, which made me feel a little better. I explained to him exactly where the loud chirping was coming from - you know, that place I was telling you a whole month ago had critters living in it? Remember that? That's where the baby birds live now. 

He said, "Oh. That's not good." 

Then rolled over to take a nap. 

[He's been working nights, so the "nap" was more his sleep for the day. But still. There are birds in our house.] 

Recycling casseroles

I've wanted to start making a weekly meal plan for a while now. I like knowing what's for dinner, and being more prepared so I don't have to use the microwave defroster or plan on something all day to find out at 7pm I don't have one ingredient I really need. 

Another good reason for the meal plan is to keep ingredients fresh. With only two people to feed, we end up eating nearly-ready-to-be-thrown-out produce all the time, mainly because I buy too many vegetables, forgetting that if we cooked every night our fridge would be stuffed with leftovers. Sometimes, I have to throw out a potato or only use half the head of cabbage, and it kills me to do so. 

This week, I am determined. It is on my schedule for today: Make meal plan and grocery list. Wednesdays are going to be designated meal planning days because Thursdays are going to be designated grocery shopping days. Starting this week. 

Brandon and I were both working at home yesterday afternoon, but he was on his computer in the dining room, so I sent him a Gchat to remind him about today's meal planning so he could send any requests.  Yes, we were only 30 feet from each other, but what's the convenience of technology if you don't utilize it?

He sent his one request for the week:  fried game meat (his favorite), served with mashed potatoes and gravy. 

Then, he wrote: "No more Katie surpises. You made a 2nd generation Katie surprise by turning a first generation Katie surprise into a new Katie suprise. Dangerous. Let's stick with the first generation Katie surprises."

You see, for lunch yesterday, I took a casserole I made last week (I actually had a recipe for this one, so he was wrong about it being a Katie Surprise), threw it in a skillet with a chopped up leftover baked potato, some barbeque sauce, topped it with cheese, and poured it between two layers of biscuits in another casserole dish. I thought it was a creative way to get rid of the one serving of casserole left no one wanted to eat.

When we started eating, Brandon said, "This is good. What all did you put in here?"

"Um, you really don't want to know. If you like it, just keep eating."

"No, I really do want to know. What is it?"

"You remember that casserole from last week? It's in there. With a potato, barbeque sauce and cheese."

"What casserole was it?"

"You know, the one with the beef, rice, cornflakes, you liked it..." [I realize it doesn't sound appetizing, but it really was good, and he really did like it. We're way past the pretend-it's-good-and-choke-it-down phase.]

"Oh. Yeah, I didn't want to know."

And then, after eating in silence for a few moments, he said, "So, you took a leftover casserole, and made another casserole with it?" 

"Yeah, pretty much."

"I think my favorite part is the biscuit now."

When two economics students make ice cream

Or rather, when a frugal couple makes ice cream.

Ice cream is my dessert of choice. I could go without ever eating any other sweet thing. But I have a weakness for ice cream. Several months after we started dating, Brandon told me, over a bowl of ice cream, "You know, I think I've eaten more ice cream since I met you than the rest of my life put together." 

Which is impressive, when you consider his age. (He says the same thing every time I make rice. What can I say? Sticking to my swampy, rice-growing area roots.)

When I moved to Arizona, I introduced Brandon's family to Blue Bell ice cream. There is no other ice cream in Texas. And now, there is no other ice cream for the whole family, either. I have converted all of them, Grandma Mary included. 

But, Brandon and I received a giant, very nice ice cream maker as a wedding gift last June. We opened it and used it for the first time in March. And he really likes it. He likes the ice cream, and he likes the fact that we made it. 

At first, we were just making this orange-flavored (if you can imagine that) sherbet-like blend, that doesn't require very many ingredients. We made it from the Big Red ice cream recipe my mom uses, but we had to substitute with Orange Crush. It's more of a slushy frozen treat, rather than creamy ice cream, but good nonetheless. 

After making the orange stuff, we were thinking the homemade version might be the way to go. It didn't take many ingredients, it was fun to make, and made a giant bucket that lasted quite a while. It seemed like a fairly good deal, compared to $5-6 for a half-gallon of Blue Bell. It wasn't quite that good, but it was ice cream.

Then, for Easter, since we were on a roll with this ice cream-making, we decided we would make a bucket of homemade vanilla for the family. We just didn't realize how much would be required. Once we dumped all the ingredients in the bucket, we started to consider whether the homemade version was really worth it. 

So, being the number-crunchers we are, we gathered prices on the ingredients (which took some time to convert all those quarts to gallons and cups to ounces and account for partial egg cartons).

A general idea of the cost analysis: 

Blue Bell wins on price alone, not to mention the time factor involved of gathering all those ingredients and the actual process of making the ice cream. So, in the end, we decided to stick with Blue Bell, and save the Brandon and Katie ice cream for special occasions. 

This isn't the first time we've had spreadsheets dedicated to trivial decisions. I made a similar one when deciding which cookware set to register for: 

I was told, "But Katie, you're not even buying it. What's the point?"

"No, I'm not. But I want whoever does to get the best deal on it. It's the principle."

If you ask my family, they would probably say "It's the principle," is my signature line. For example, I refuse to eat in ball parks - $7 for a hot dog? My parents say, "Katie, it's okay. We'll buy the hot dog."

"No, Mom. It's the principle. I don't want anyone spending seven bucks on a hot dog. It doesn't matter where the money is coming from."

This exact conversation happened while they were visiting, when I was busy making everyone a sandwich before we left for a spring training baseball game. 

Now, we'll have to see what calculations we come up with for the $1 burger specials at McDonald's and Jack in the Box. From previous discussions, we don't think you can make them cheaper. 

Signs of adulthood: Anniversaries

We're almost there. Just one month and a few days before the big "anniversary". 

I was never one of those girls who thought you had those when you were dating someone. To me, anniversaries only applied to those who were married. So, this is the first one I will be celebrating. Which makes me feel rather grown up.  

A few days ago, I asked Brandon, "Can you believe that in just one month we'll have been married for a whole year? Isn't that crazy?"

Brandon: "Yeah, I know. Seems like a lot longer than that."

Me: "Actually, no. That's not where I was going with that. I was thinking it had gone by fast...It really seems like a long time to you?"

Brandon, with his I'm-saying-this-to-make-you-happy face: "Umm...no...of course not..." 

Apparently we have different perspectives on our first year of marriage.

We did both agree that it felt like it had been pretty easy. Easier than we expected, anyway. Which leaves you wondering if we had bad expectations, or were just realistic enough to not have them too high?

Either way, we were feeling pretty good about the fact neither of us thought this first year had been difficult. 

Then I asked, "But don't they say that most marital issues revolve around money and kids?"

Brandon replied, "Yeah, I think so. And we don't have either one of those to be fighting over."

So maybe we're still in the "calm before the storm" stage? We're hoping it stays this easy though. 

As we approach that milestone first anniversary, I was wondering...How long do you have to be married to ditch the "newlywed" title? Are we already past that? Is it at the 12-month mark? Or later? 

Oh, those lonely summer nights

A couple days ago, Brandon sat down with his dad and a calendar, and mapped out the Leister Farms and Rocker 7 Farms hay harvesting schedules for the summer. 

The result of the schedule can be summed up in one sentence:  Katie will be sleeping alone for many, many nights this summer. 

Which also translates into:  Katie will be sleeping with a shotgun in her hand. 

Now, this would be perfectly fine in another climate, where hay season only lasts a few months. But when "summer" is April to October? I just thought we had a long one in Texas. 

Another thing that makes it different than Texas:  There, we practically have to wait until midday to bale any hay, because there's too much moisture until then. Here? You bale hay in the middle of the night because it's the only time there is any moisture. 

Today, my little basketball team had a pizza and pool party. One of the parents asked, "Hey, did anyone else notice that tiny bit of moisture in the air yesterday. Anyone? I felt it." I was thinking these people would drown in the air where I'm from. 

Anyway, at this point I am fully convinced I will be spending my first anniversary cuddled up with a bottle of wine. Or maybe riding on the armrest of a tractor seat, which is comfortable for about 32 seconds. Now I'm just trying to decide which option is most appealing. 

I am hoping Brandon's night irrigating and hay harvesting schedule will help me overcome some of my fears of the dark and being alone in our house at night. I'm sure my parents hoped I would overcome my fear of the dark by age 16, but that didn't happen. 

When I started driving, my dad had to install a flood light to keep me from pulling up to the house and laying on the horn until someone turned on a light for me. When Brandon realized how serious my fear of the dark was, he just gave me a shotgun.   

Hopefully, I will have a little company later this summer. Mason plans to spend the whole month of July with us, so unless he's going to be on the hay harvesting crew every night, I might have a new protector in my house for a while. And he did make me feel pretty good last night when we were talking about his visit. 

Mason has always been the "mama's boy" in our family, and now that he's a teenager, it's especially fun to tease him about that. So, last night I told him, "Now Mason, are you sure about this? This means three whole weeks without your mommy." 

He said, "Yeah, but I'll have my sister."

[But he'll probably think differently when he finds out I wrote that.]

Then he said, "As long as you feed me, anyway. Like the last time I was there. Not like the first time I came and you starved me."

Me: "Mason, there was plenty to eat."

Mason, at 10pm Texas time: "Katie, don't you know? I eat like 24-7. I'm even eating a Fruit Roll-Up right now." 

So looks like I'll be stocking up on groceries before then.

Brandon is excited about the free labor. Not so much about having a 14-year-old hell-on-wheels trouble-making boy in our care for an entire month. 

Me? I'm just hoping one of my boys will be at home for a night or two.