Right side up, or upside down?

Another day, another burrito.

I feel like that's all we've been eating lately. I vow that will change today.

It's just that we have sweet corn overload, and the only way I can think to incorporate it into breakfast (because we pretty much have to eat it at every meal) is to add it to a breakfast burrito.

Then, we were in a hurry to put together some lunch yesterday, so I dumped some leftover steak, onion and bell pepper (from the philly cheesesteak sandwiches we made over the weekend) into a skillet with some chili powder, and called it good for making a fajita burrito.

In the process of assembling our lunch, Brandon was kind enough to retrieve us each a tortilla and sprinkle some cheese on top.

Only, he sprinkled cheese on the "outside-side" of my tortilla. You know, the side that clearly looks cooked, and has some darker brown bubbled-up looking spots on it, as opposed to the smooth, solid white inside.

So I quietly tried to remove the cheese from my tortilla, flip it over, and place it on the "inside-side" before he turned around. But I got caught.

"Did you really just do that?" he asked.

"Do what?" knowing exactly what he was talking about, just not wanting to be ridiculed for it.

"Switch your cheese to the other side of the tortilla. Like it really mattered what side it was on."

"Well, no, it doesn't really matter, it's just that...this side is the inside of the tortilla, and you had put the cheese on the outside. I like to make my burritos with the stuff on the inside."

Rolling his eyes... "You are so anal when it comes to food. Who really pays attention to the 'inside' and 'outside' of a tortilla? Have you always been like this?"

"Well, with some tortillas, it's harder to tell which is which. But anytime I have a tortilla where you can clearly tell it has an inside and an outside, yes. They fold better to the inside."

He had really never thought about a tortilla having an inside and outside before. Something I found hard to believe. Just as much as he found it hard to believe that thought had actually crossed my mind.

So, does anyone else think there's an inside and an outside to a tortilla? Or is Brandon right about me being "anal" about how I eat my food?

It'll boil out.

So, we picked some sweet corn yesterday.

A neighbor farmer grew some in the middle of his corn silage and invited us to gather our fill of the stuff. Which, unsurprisingly, turned into an event.

Where I learned a little something about myself.

First, my Easter egg hunting skills do reflect how I handle tasks such as corn pickin'. Translation: I am slow. For every five ears Brandon picked, I added one to my bucket.

To be fair, though, I was also more selective.

I also found out last night I might have a little more of my mother in me than I thought.

You see, my family sits on quite opposite sides of the fence went it comes to food safety.

My dad? Well, let's just say he's probably never even tried to find an expiration date on any sort of food item before consuming it. (Which he regretted once, after a battle with food poisoning from some old cheese in a can. But not enough to change his habits.)

My mom, on the other hand? She's more likely to throw something out two weeks before it expires, and would be more than happy to toss out supper leftovers that aren't eaten by breakfast the next morning.

I tend to lean toward my Dad's line of thought: I test expiration dates (although I do check them, and heed their warning), and eat leftovers well beyond the bounds of a normal person.

My sister typically is more on my mom's side of the spectrum, but not quite as dramatic about it.

And my brothers? Well, they're currently in the typical teenage boy "eat everything in sight" phase, so I'm not really sure where they stand.

Anyway, back to the corn pickin'. So we're trotting along, and Brandon mentions that he's seeing a lot of worms in the ears we're picking through.

I say, "Well, you're not getting those, are you?"

"Sure I am. "

"Brandon, no way am I eating a wormy piece of corn."

"Well you don't eat the worm. It'll boil out."

"So, what? I pick the worm off and throw the corn in the pot?"

"Exactly. It'll be fine."

I was still skeptical, and left with a slight churning in my stomach at the thought.

This morning at breakfast, we were both ready for some of our freshly picked sweet corn, so I decided to get a skillet of burrito fixin's going with some diced potatoes, onion, Rotel, sausage and sweet corn. (And an egg on the side for me.)

When it was time to slice some corn off the cob to add to the skillet, I reached into one of our bags, and came out with an ear Brandon had already chomped into to "test" it. I unwrap the husk a bit, and there sits a fat, juicy worm.

I tried, y'all.

I really did.

My stomach just couldn't handle throwing those particular kernels in the skillet. So I dug around until I found two worm-free ears.

When Brandon came in the kitchen, I told him I just couldn't eat his wormy ears of corn.

Once again, he resorted to his comment, "It'll boil out."

So, who's with me? Do I just sound prissy? Or does anyone else find it a bit disgusting to gnaw on an ear of corn a worm inhabited just prior to boiling?

A night of dancing

For some strange reason, Brandon and I have been watching movies pretty regularly here lately, staying up way past our normal bedtime to finish them.

Granted, most of them have titles like Extreme Bulls or Texas Predator Pursuit or Dead On, Elk and Coues, but occasionally, a Redbox rental slips in there.

And, sometimes, like last night, we pull one out of our extensive DVD collection. Meaning we have an entire 23 non-hunting DVDs to our combined name, including a couple of duplicates, and one titled Slim in 6. We have more VHS tapes than DVDs (even though neither of us has owned a VHS player in ten years).

With a collection like that, let's just say at this point, we've seen them all. Multiple times.

With one exception.

Last night, it was Brandon's idea to watch a movie, but he told me to go get one out.

"A hunting one, or a regular one?" I politely asked.

"I don't care. Your pick."

So I rummaged through the movie drawer. Which took all of about 45 seconds. At the very front, I found the only movie one of us hadn't seen.

Dirty Dancing.

I figured it was about time Brandon joined the rest of the world and at least knew what people were talking about when he heard Patrick Swayze's famous line, "Nobody puts Baby in a corner."

And so we watched it. Brandon's defense? He watched it "for the dirty, not the dancing."

But he ended up being pretty impressed with Patrick Swayze's dance moves. Which means he knew nothing of his career in dance.

As we were climbing into bed, he said, "You know, with Patrick Swayze being able to dance like that, I wonder why they never have him on Dancing with the Stars."

"Probably because he's dead."

"Nah-uh! When did that happen?"

"Uh, last year."

Apparently those headlines don't come across talk radio in the tractor cab.

Days to remember

When we picked our wedding date (as in, finally found one that worked for both families and a preacher), Brandon was pretty excited.

We were married on June 7, 2008.

As in, 06.07.08.

He was all, "This is going to be so easy to remember. I'll never forget it!"

And to top it off, my birthday is exactly two weeks later, so it's quite possible to celebrate both at the same time and that sort of thing.

Anyway, he thought he had it made with an easy-to-remember date, and a birthday close behind.

Last year, my birthday gift was him driving me to West Texas to meet my family for the weekend. Which was quite generous, when you take into account the 15-hour drive. One way.

So this year, as June approached, I mentioned how much I loved my birthday gift last year, and we talked about trying to make a Texas trip again this year in honor of the occasion.

The only problem? We farm. Therefore, have no predictable, plan-in-advance schedule for both of us to leave for a few days.

So we sat back and waited to see what the June calendar might bring to our program of activities around this place. Around the first of the month, Brandon called me ten minutes after he left the house to change some irrigation water one night.

"Hey, so I was just going through all this in my head, and we're going to finish the water on the cotton on [this date], we'll have the new grass done on [that date], and we'll have all the alfalfa done on [this date]. Tell me one thing we have to do after June 5th! Nothing! Ha!"

"Brandon, I have Vacation Bible School the 7th through 11th."

"What? Why would you do that? That's your birthday! You've been telling me for two months you wanted to go to Texas for your birthday! How we can we go to Texas if you're doing Bible school?"

"Brandon, Dear, that's not my birthday. It is another important day for you to remember, but it's not my birthday."

"Oh...it's the 21st...yeah...our anniversary..."

"But I do appreciate it. It was a very nice try. Thank you."

Brandon, deflated: "Yeah..."

So, note to any men: while having both your anniversary and significant other's birthday in the same month can be convenient and helpful for remembering, it also increases the chance you get the two mixed up.

'Cause I'm a man

Yeah...

This is the new catch phrase in our house. Well, for one of us, anyway.

But seriously, here lately, anytime Brandon completes a task around the house, it's usually followed up with this line.

For instance, let's say he opens something that was screwed on tight, and I say, "Wow, you made that look easy."

He responds with, "'Cause I'm a ma-an."

Or, I tell him way to go on smoking the pigeon he just nailed with the BB gun in our barn.

He says, "It's 'cause I'm a ma-an."

Better yet, I simply tell him he looks handsome on our way out to church.

You guessed it: "'Cause I'm a ma-an."

I guess sometimes we just all feel the need to state the obvious.

Or inflate our egos a bit.

"I'll be there in no time."

We were farming in style last week with a just-entered-into-production John Deere test tractor one of Brandon's good buddies hooked us up with.

Let's just say we don't have anything that even compares.

When a friend stopped by to ride along with me and check it out, I said, "Step into my office," as he entered the cab.

Because y'all, that's exactly what it felt like. It was spacious, held two computer screens (one for the GPS, the other for the tractor itself), a digital screen for speed and RPM, a pretty crazy stereo system complete with an MP3 player, and who knows what else.

The first day I was supposed to take full reins on driving this sucker, I, of course, beat Brandon to the field. I gave him a call, and he said he was just pulling out of the shop. The shop that is more than ten miles away.

I was a bit antsy and didn't want to sit and wait for him to drive a tractor that far. So I asked if I could drive through the bank and run another errand until he arrived.

He said, "Katie, this thing flies down the road. I'll be going 26 miles a hour. I'm going to be there in no time."

And that's when I knew something was officially wrong with us.

When I heard my husband say he would be flying down the road at a whopping 26 miles per hour.

Wow.

The second best anniversary gift ever

Since Brandon already declared my laundry duties as the best anniversary gift ever, I think it's safe to say that what I found waiting on my kitchen counter that evening was the second best anniversary gift ever.

First, I saw this:

Granted, it's not quite as detailed and artistic as the card that awaited me on our first date, but who complains about this sort of display of affection?

Then I opened it to find these sweet words:

In case you have trouble, it reads:

"To: Katie

I love you so much I didn't want to waste your money on a store card!

Love, Brandon"

And just in case he hadn't satisfied my desire for thriftiness enough, there was the clear evidence he had used recycled printer paper from our days at A&M:

A man after my own heart for sure...

And this, folks, is why we're going to live happily ever after. Just give us some clean underwear, a highlighter and old paper, and we have the best anniversary ever.

The best anniversary gift ever

So, yesterday we celebrated two years of wedded bliss.

And, according to Brandon, I gave "the best anniversary gift ever".

Anyone who knows me well is probably a bit confused by this, because you know I am completely anti-anniversary gifts. No joke. And it's not one of those girl moves, where I just say that, but secretly hope for a surprise.

My point on that being: it's a day for us to celebrate the fact we are together; neither of us deserve an individual gift for that. And also: if either of us has to go above and beyond with some sort of grand gesture on that day, we're probably not doing something right the rest of the year. So we just try to spend as much time together as possible during the day, whatever that may be (last year, it meant I accompanied Brandon on the swather all day).

But I digress...

It all started the day before, actually, when Brandon entered the kitchen and announced he was on his last pair of clean underpants.

Which probably gives no indication of the good little wife I really am. But that's okay.

Not wanting my dear husband to suffer the consequences of opening an empty drawer the next day, I found time between my water changes to wash a couple loads of work clothes and accompanying undergarments.

So when Brandon met me in the office Monday morning, he thanked me for "the best anniversary gift ever".

"Um, what's that?" knowing I had nothing planned to "give" him in honor of our vows.

"Clean underwear," he proudly announced.

And there you have it, y'all. The best anniversary gift ever.