It's Not John Deere Green

Many an age-old debate rage on about topics such as Chevy versus Ford, Budweiser versus Miller, and Coke versus Pepsi.  You get the point.  Well, in farm country the debate is John Deere versus Kubota.  Let's suffice it to say that I think there are going to be two pretty disappointed uncles when they find out that Natalie's first tractor ride was in an orange (that's Kubota, for you city folk.)!

That's right, that's Nat sitting right in the cab, helping mow a field.

On the second lap, she even had both hands on the steering wheel, which is in the video (but I'm not sure how clearly you can see it):

She might be ready for duty by the time hay is ready to be cut in the fall!

As if mowing wasn't enough work for one day, 

Nat stomped some mole hills out by the dirt pile in our yard.  What a helper.

In other news, our water bug is registered for swim lessons.  Nothing too special, a 7-week class at the YMCA for 30 minutes each week that teaches the beginnings of water safety for kids under 2.  I'm expecting Natalie to swimming backstroke by week 4.  No pressure.  Did I mention that it's a "mommy and me" class, so I'll be taking the lesson with Nat?  

Pool Party

Given that the temperatures have been unseasonably, and somewhat obnoxiously, warm, we are very thankful that we know someone who lives close by generous enough to let us use their pool whenever we want to.  Needless to say, we've been taking advantage:

In case you think you recognize this suit, you're right! 

It is from last summer, size 6 months or 10-18 lbs.  Hmm...

but check out how adorable it is.  

Seriously, wouldn't we all want to spend everyday at the pool if WE 

looked this good in a swimsuit?

the life preserver tutu.  I love it!

Yesterday, we braved the heat to water flowers and watch Eric do some mowing.

It was a real scorcher.

Farmer Nat

Earlier this week, before the heat reached arid desert status, we headed over to the garden to do some weeding and to pick some produce.  Here's my little farm girl:

stylish mix of tights and cowboy boots

into the hay

taking Jack for a ride in the garden cart

snacking on fresh strawberries

Laundry Lines

For, oh about 3 years, or since about 3 days after we moved into our house, I have wanted clotheslines.  Given that we live on about the windiest section of land not located on a coast, it seemed only natural to take advantage of wind power to dry our laundry.  Instead though I've resorted to draping clothes over the backs of chairs and over our porch railings, only to have to run into the yard, chasing blowing laundry, as soon as it dries just enough to catch in the wind.

But, finally, I was gifted a brilliant set of poles and lines!  Slipping between sun-dried sheets at the end of the day is just as glorious as your childhood nostalgia has led you to believe that it is.  And, best yet, I can run 3 or 4 loads of laundry and only use the dryer once for a few things, rather than for every load!

My number one helper is a big fan of laundry outside.

Here, she demonstrates that by getting into the basket, one can more effectively hang it.

She's also pretty handy at doling out clothespins as needed.

Sheets blowing in the breeze

nothing sweeter than tiny laundry hanging out to dry

I love this face.

We have a dog again.  Well, sort of.  We are dog-sitting for the week.

Nat and Turner, while not always on the same page about how best to play with one another, 

have come to an understanding.  I think they might both be a little lost 

when T-dog has to go back home.

Why I Run

(obligatory photo of Natalie)

When people I've just met, or people I've known forever, learn that I run, the first question they always ask is: Why? (Or: Is somebody chasing you?  I've got a sense of humor, but it really only goes so far, people.)

The short answer is: I'm not sure.  The other short answer is: For lots of reasons, most of them unbeknownst even to me.

Truth be told, I fell in love with running long before I even I knew it.  Back in those days, I was convinced that my abilities extended only so far as the distance that covered about 25 feet on the approach to a high jump mat or a long jump pit.  On a good day, it was a 400 meter leg of a relay.  I can specifically recall thinking that the 1.5 mile run that we had to do as part of the tryout for the soccer team in high school was at best described as some form of torture, an unfairly subhuman exercise to weed out those of us who really couldn't hack it.  I always came huffing across the finish line about 9 seconds under the allotted time, which I think was probably something ridiculous like 17 minutes.

But, for whatever reason, over the years, I have felt compelled to add more and more miles to my runs.  My favorite distance today is 15 miles.  Bizarre, right?  A lot of runners might tell you that the reason they run marathons or half marathons is because they are crazy.  Maybe.  My theory is that runners sign up for those races to feel less crazy.  Only a person who has endured the months of training and the emotional highs and lows of race day can truly appreciate what another runner is experiencing.  And races always seem to occur at a point in training when one wonders just why it is that they set out to achieve such a feat in the first place.  So, perfect that you can show up somewhere and be surrounded by a few thousand others who had the same hair brained drive that you did.

I've run my fair share of races over the years, and have received a fair amount of skeptical questioning for pretty much every one.  But none so much as the race I ran 2 days ago.  I'll admit, it did seem like a better idea in December when I initially registered.  Support or attempts to disuade, it made no difference.  I was determined all the same.  When I toed the line for the start, I was much less certain of the outcome than I generally am, and maybe that's because in addition to having spotty training for most of February and all of March, I was nearly 17 weeks pregnant.  That's right, readers, in case you didn't already know, baby #2 is set to make an appearance in October.  

I had a plan though, and backed by the assurance (and reassurance) from my doctors that running while pregnant is perfectly safe so long as a few simple precautions are taken, I went ahead full steam.  And, you know what?  I finished.  Sure, my time was almost 40 minutes off my personal best, but that's not what Sunday was about.  (Speaking of, the second most frequently asked question I get is: Do you think you will win?  If you have ever asked me this seriously, and I laughed out loud, I apologize.  I would say that in any given marathon or half marathon field, there are maybe only 20 people, 25 tops, who seriously and honestly believe that they have a shot at winning.  The other 4,920 of us run to prove that we can do it, to beat our own personal record, or whatever other reason, but certainly not to win or even compete for a top spot.  Odd, I suppose.  I mean, I guess no baseball player ever steps up to bat and says, I just want to finish these 9 innings, and I'll be happy.  In other sports, the object is victory.)

Anyway.  Being a "runner" is part of my identity, just as is being a wife, a mom, a daughter, and sister, social worker, an average cook, an obsessive organizer, and the list goes on.  I wanted to run to prove to myself that I could finish what I started, to set a positive example for my daughter.  I do not believe pregnancy is a disability, or a pass to sit on the couch for 10 months (that's right, 10!).  Research abounds on the fact that active pregnant moms have healthier kids.  And, I guess, the other reason was, why not?  What did I have to lose by trying?  Nothing.  It's a lesson that I drive home at the end of each long run, and the impact is never any less.  If I can do THIS, what else can I do?  

I challenge you all to do what you love, to go beyond what you think is possible.  You CAN do it.  

Picnic Play Date

The weather is warming up....again.  Monday we hosted an impromptu picnic.  It was the best kind: be here for lunch, bring whatever you want to eat!  It was a beautiful day, and we were joined by some of our favorite people:

Jack proves that age is just a number: the swing set was rated for ages 3 and up

daredevil atop the slide

Nat and her first mate, Aunt Beth, scoping out the scene

giving Jack a ride

even a visit from Daisy, our favorite loaner dog

popsicle time!

not wanting to waste a single drop