My Dream Job

Right now, I work as a secretary/collections manager. It's an okay job; it gives me a paycheck, and most days I can tolerate being there. It is far from my dream job. Of anything in the world, I want to be a stay at home mommy to my son. I knew when I was pregnant with him, that I would have to go back to work after my 8 week maternity leave. I was tolerant of this idea until I held my son in my arms for the first time. I knew right then that this going back to work thing was going to be awful. When it came down to it, it was either go back to work, or live in our vehicle. I knew what I had to do, I went back to work. Now, three and a half years later, it is still hard to leave my precious baby every day. I miss him. I wonder what he is doing all day. I still wish I was home with him.

Tuesday I was able to take the day off from work. I was ecstatic to say the least. It was only one day, but for one glorious day, I got to work at my dream job. Twenty-four full hours, I was a stay at home mommy. I planned for our day a week in advance; what we would do, where we could go, how long we would play outside. I couldn't wait.

We started out our morning around 8:30. We went down to the kitchen and Gavin requested pancakes. So pancakes it was. After breakfast, I asked Gavin to play with his tractors for a little while so I could clean the kitchen. Between wiping the counter tops and loading the dishwasher, I was able to fit in a little fort building.

With the kitchen now clean, we moved downstairs. We played with all sorts of toys and read countless books. I took a break after a couple of truck books to throw some laundry in the washer and fold a load of clothes freshly dried. Our morning moved along smoothly and quickly. The quickly part disapointed me greatly. I knew this day would end entirely too fast.

For lunch, my little man wanted mac and cheese. We had our lunch together and enjoyed great conversation. We talked about tractors, daddy's work, mommy's work, and Gavin told me elaborate stories. He has a wonderful imagination. After several 'stories' of Gavin driving tractors and planting beans, we moved back downstairs so he could watch a couple of his favorite cartoons. Soon after, I could tell nap time was fast approaching. With a little snuggling and a little rocking, my farmer-boy was fast asleep. I took advantage of this time and cleaned one of the bathrooms and did yet more laundry.

If anyone is actually reading this, I know what you are thinking: laundry, and bathroom cleaning is not exciting to read or even blog about. Oh, but in the life of this want-to-be-stay-at-home-momma, it is the most rewarding thing I have done with my day for a long time. I got more satisfaction out of cleaning the bathroom than I do in a week of 8 hour days behind my desk.

We ended our day together by going to the park. Gavin was so excited when I mentioned a trip to the park. He was full of a million questions on our drive there. We got to the park and walked across the parking lot. Well, not really walked as much as I was pulled across the lot. We spent 45 glorious minutes sliding, running, swinging, and climbing. As 5 o'clock approached we had to bring our play to an end; Daddy would be home soon and we wanted to make supper for him.

Sadly, I realized our dream day was coming to a close. The day went entirely too fast. On our drive home from the park, Gavin told me how much fun he had and I echoed his comments. He told me we should stay home together more often. I echoed that comment too. Maybe someday.

Say Ahhhhhh

I went to the dentist yesterday. It was just for a regular 6-month cleaning and check up. I know, the dentist, not very exciting to read about. But whatever, it happened and I am blogging about it.

It started out like any other dentist appointment. I walked in , was greeted by the receptionist and went to take my seat in the waiting room. I heard my name be called and looked up to see a dental hygenist, but not my dental hygenest. I always have the same one. Ah well, such is life. So I head back to the room. She seats me and goes over my chart, asking the normal questions: Any problems, any new medications, etc. Then she asks me if I know when the last time was I had a full mouth x-ray. Hmmmm, no, I dont. She tells me this is something I should have done every 5 years. As she goes back thru my chart (to 1980), she finds I have never had it done. Now I am off to have a full mouth x-ray.

Out in the hallway, she shows me the craziest machine I have ever seen. I am to stand on a small platform, bite down on something that resembles a bendy straw, and hold perfectly still while this machine circles my head. After doing all this perfectly, I return to the chair for my cleaning. She shows me my x-rays and I exclaim, "Holy crap! I look like a horse!". My hygenist laughed nervously, not at all sure what to say to me.

She proceeds to scrape my teeth with that pointy thing. I notice right away she is not near as gental as my normal hygenist. I know this for two reasons: 1-I can taste blood in my mouth, 2-tears are springing to my eyes uncontrolably. As I try not to cry, I focus on the biggest problem I have when I go to the dentist. I would say I have a normal amount of saliva. I dont drool on myself or spit when I talk. However, as soon as my butt touches that dentist chair, I am slobbering like a deranged fool. Why does this happen? When she takes her fingers out of my mouth, there is a large string of my slobber stretching from her glove to my mouth. I giggle and sound even more deranged since its hard to giggle with my mouth wide open.

Next is the polishing of my teeth. I am not at all sure what flavor of polish she used. I am guessing it was a cross between dog poop and some sort of rotten fruit. I tried so hard not to scrunch up my face and gag. I only gagged once. It was the most foul tasting stuff! And the little bit of rinsing she allowed did nothing to remove the taste. I was using the spit-sucker thing like a mad woman, trying to get the polish out of my mouth. I managed to suck my tongue up in the tiny vacuum hose a few times.

Finally the polishing is done. Thank goodness. The dentist walks in and gives my mouth a once-over. He gives me a good report and tells me to floss. Yes, I know, you always tell me to floss. And I always tell you I forget to. I tell him thank you and I am off armed with a new toothbrush, a sample tube of toothpaste, and a lingering taste of dog poop and rotten fruit in my mouth. See ya in 6 months.

Thirteen Reasons I Would Not Be A Good 'Girl Mommy'

1) I cannot braid hair.

2) I can sculpt a mean spiked hairdo

3) I don't know the names of any of the My Little Ponies.

4) I can name all the farm equipment for miles around.

5) I no longer posess the patience to dress a Barbie doll.

6) I can spend 2 hours untangling the fishing line on a Scooby Doo fishing pole.

7) I don't know what the latest fashions are in little girls clothing.

8) I know that wearing snow boots to play in the sandbox is totally acceptable.

9) I am not good at drawing rainbows, birds, and hearts.

10) I am best at drawing a monster truck, a bean field, and rocks.

11) I dont know how to put bows in a little girl's hair.

12) I do know where to shop to get John Deere Green hair gel.

13) I make a good Green Monster and I let Spiderman defeat me everytime.

Hit Ball

Last night, Gavin and I were restless playing in the house. It was hot and stuffy as our air conditioner quit working. Even tho it was later than we would normally go outside to play, I asked Gavin if he would like to go out anyway. Of course he jumped up and down, clapped his hands, and yelled YES! So we donned our flip flops and headed outside.

Now the important task laid ahead. What do we do outside? Swing? Sidewalk chalk? Ride your bike? None of my suggestions interested him. I asked him for an idea. After tapping his forehead a few times and saying, "Think, think, think.", he came up with an idea: "I know, Mommy! Lets play Hit Ball!!"

So hit ball it was. In case that's not clear, that means baseball. Daddy had a hard time figuring out hit ball as well. We started out with Mommy pitching to Gavin. It went well. For an almost 4 year old boy, he can connect with that ball! I learned quickly that even tho its a soft little baseball, it hurts when it hits you in the face. So we switched from Mommy pitching, to using his T-Ball set. Much easier on Mommy's face.

We played outside much later than we should have, but we were having such a good time. It was probably 10 degrees cooler outside than in our house, so that was a big plus. Finally I noticed the sky was looking dark and threatening a storm. We wrapped up our game of hit ball for the night. We carried all of our equipment into the garage, Gavin chattering all the while. As we make our way back inside, Gavin says, "Mommy, can I ask you a question?". I told him of course he could, and he said, "You are my favorite Mommy. And you play hit ball good too." What a wonderful compliment; makes me thankful for hot, steamy houses, and late-night games of hit ball.

Movie Night

I took Gavin to see a movie last night. We saw Cars. It was the first movie I had ever taken him to. Bryan's parents had taken him to see Curious George and said he did very well. So I buckled Gavin into the van with a nervous feeling in my belly. I hoped he didnt make a scene.

We met some of Bryan's family at the theater. Gavin's excitement grew as he saw his 2 cousins walk into the lobby. He jumped around and yelled their names. I thought oh no, here we go. We got our popcorn and drinks and made our way to the show. I asked him time and time again, "Do you have to go potty?". To which each time he replied, "No, I'm fine."

We found our seats and got settled in. I had to put my purse on the back of Gavin's seat to help keep it from folding up while he was sitting in it. As the theater got dark, I saw Gavin's eyes get big. He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes glued to the big screen. When the movie started, he yelled, "Look Mommy! It's those cars with faces on them!". I giggled and said, "Yes, I see!".

He was so good thru the movie. I was completely impressed. I had to remind him a few times to lower his voice. Only because he is the type of person who asks questions throughout an entire movie. "Why is he doing that?" "Where did she go?" "Why is his name 'Mater'?" I smiled each time he turned to me with a new question and answered the best I could. He giggled wildly at the funny parts, danced in his seat during the music, and covered his ears when the sound was too loud.

I walked into the theater feeling nervous and anxious that my son would not be able to sit throughout the movie, and maybe even disturb those around us. I walked out of the theater with Gavin's hand in mine. I told him how proud I was of him for his behavior and thanked him for being such a good boy. He swung our arms back and forth as we walked and said, "You're welcome, Mommy".

How It Feels To Want

When I was young, my parents had this little saying they used when I wanted them to buy me something. This would be something I didn't necessarily need, just wanted. So they would ask me, "How does it feel to want?". Boy, would that ever make me mad. Not only was I not getting the toy I wanted, but now I had this question to ponder.

Here I am, now 29 years old, married, and a mother. I still find myself wanting lots of things. Maybe not things I need, but want. Actually, its not things I want, but things I want for our house, or for our son, or even for my husband. Not often do I want for myself. That's just part of being a mom. Then there are other kinds of wants that I have. I want my child to be happy and content. I want to create memories for him to carry with him throughout his life. I want my husband to look at me with love in his eyes 5o years from now. I want him to see that his hard work will pay off at his job. These kind of wants feel good. They give me hope, and something to strive for. They give me a reason to be a better person.

There is one thing that I want so badly. For myself, and for my family. This want has followed me through months and months. Each time I try to push my want aside and ignore the feelings, the desire. I succeed sometimes and other times I don't. After all this time, I thought I would eventually get used to the disapointment. Each time, I am alone with my thoughts and wonder why. Why? Why not? I dont understand it. Have I done something to make myself unworthy? I'm not perfect, I know that. But I have been doing so much soul searching over the past months. I see some areas I need to improve upon. I try. I really do. I hoped that would be enough. I hoped that would be enough to prove I am worthy. We are worthy.

I'll keep wanting. Each month I'll want and I'll hope, and I'll pray. I'll ask that my want is recognized, and the work I put into being better will count for something. For right now, yes, I do know how it feels to want.

Memories

The previous blog in which I talked about my grandpa, made me start thinking about my grandma a lot. I decided to dedicate one to her and some of the memories I have of her. I could go on for pages and pages, but I'll try not to.

My grandma was quite possibly the most wonderful woman the world had ever know. She was a loving woman to her kids, grandkids, husband and freinds. Grandma was also the most stubborn woman I had ever known! It was said she had a firey temper too. I had never been on the receiving end of that temper, but my dad had been! Dad shared this story with me...

My dad was still living at home and working on the farm, but had a job and supported himself for the most part. He decided to buy a motorcycle. Knowing my grandma was not a fan of motorcycles, Dad bought the bike and hid it in the barn. The secret was safe for sometime. One evening Dad came in for supper. He walked into the kitchen to find only two place settings, one for Grandma and one for Grandpa. Grandma refused to talk to my dad, acted as if he wasn't there. Grandpa had to get Dad's place setting and even be sure to pass the food to him. At that moment, Dad knew Grandma found the motorcycle. She never had to say a word about it.

Grandma told me stories all the time. She told me about the first time my dad smiled as a baby. She told me about the day she saw my grandpa on the stairs at school and knew he was the man for her. I gew up just across the field from where my granparents lived, so I walked to their house almost daily, especially during the summer. Grandma and I spent countless hours on the porch rocking and talking. I remember standing in the corner of our yard, looking across the field and seeing Grandma outside. I would yell as loud as I could to her and wave like mad. If the wind was blowing just right, it would carry my voice across the field and she would hear me. Grandma would wave back at me, and the treat-of-all-treats, she would ring the dinner bell. I can still hear that bell ringing. A deep, long tone.

She loved Cardinals, or red birds as she called them. As we sat on the porch and talked, our chatter would come to a standstill if we saw a red bird. We would sit in awe and watch it hop around the yard. Grandma would break out into smiles if it graced us with a song.

I have a red bird that frequents my house. It lands in my front yard and sings a beautiful song for me. Each time I see my red bird, I smile. I can't help it. I smile, and I know, my grandma is near. She sent me a red bird.

Wealth of Knowledge

Last night, I was hanging out on my family's farm. My husband was helping my dad, my son was riding his 4-wheeler, and I was spending time talking with my grandpa. My grandpa is 92 years old. He lives alone, since Grandma passed away 5 years ago. He still does almost everything himself, even carries his own water softener salt into the cellar. We all look out for him, especially my dad since he is around the farm so much. Grandpa spends most of his days on his golf cart, tooling around the barn yard or scoping out the crops, gardening, and fixing old things most would have thrown away long ago. His latest project was a rototiller. The tiller hadn't run in years and was just sitting in the barn. Grandpa decided to see if he could fix it. The tiller was at least 30 years old, but after some tuning from Grandpa, it runs like a top.

Grandpa and I were standing in the barn chatting last night. He started talking about a farm down the road and timelines. He could remember when the house on that farm got indor plumbing and a furnace. He told me about an Indian Mound I had passed by darn near every day of my life and I had no idea that was what it was; I thought it was just a hill of dirt. He told me about the land he farmed, the farmers he helped after his own farming was done, and the tractors he owned. He told me how his neighbor asked Grandpa to help locate a well. Grandpa found it. With a no more tools than a stick.

At one point during the conversation I realized I was doing the majority of the listening, and Grandpa the talking. It was such a wonderful place to be. I watched my grandpa talking and saw his eyes light up when he could see that what he was telling me was new information. Just in the 30 minutes I listened to Grandpa, I found out so much. I wish there was a way to record everthing that was said; I want Gavin to know those stories someday. I tried to absorb all he was saying and remember it. My grandpa is such a wealth of knowledge. He knows things and has seen things we will never know or see. I just hope to retain a fraction of what he tells me so I may share his stories some day.

I am lucky. I am lucky to have a grandpa who does most of the talking while I do the listening.

Commiting To Decide, Deciding to Commit

I have so many things I want to change about myself; being better at some things, getting rid of some bad habits, etc. I am horrible at getting started. Then I expect change to take place and see results immediately. When that doesn't happen, I get frustrated and quit. I hate failure. I am scared of failure. So to remedy that, I don't commit to do anything. It's like I say to myself, Ok, I am going to try xyz. I'm not going to set goals or get really serious about it. That way when I dont accomplish xyz, I won't feel as bad.

I need to get to the root of this. Why am I like this? How can I fix it? I want so badly to change certain things. Maybe I don't want it badly enough tho. Maybe I don't surround myself with the right types of people.

So here I sit. Trying to commit to making a decsion. Trying to decide to make a commitment.

The Baby Shower

My younger sister and her husband are expecting their first child. My first blood-related nephew!! I am so overjoyed!! I have been awaiting his arrival since November 21, 2005--the day she found out she was pregnant. Other than her husband, I was the first to know. I began buying baby outfits and blankets immediately. I just couldnt resist! Besides, its my job as the aunt. Another one of my jobs as the aunt and sister, is to plan the baby shower.

Along about a month ago, my mom and I began our preparations. My sister made her guest list and it ended up being quite large, in my opinion. Forty people. Neither my home nor my mother's is large enough to accomodate a baby shower of that size. So we went in search of someplace to rent. My sister made some calls and found the Church was booked, a reception hall in town was booked, and we were running out of ideas. My sister's friend, I'll call her "E", steps in and tells my sister that her Church was available for that day, and she would reserve it for us. That was nice of E to help out. Soon after she saved the shower (rolling eyes), she called my mom and offered her help. She would help with anything we needed, just ask. Well, being the over-protective sister I am, and a first-time aunt, I really didn't need help, other than from my mom. I wanted to take care of the shower.

My sister is a bit anal, and decided to buy, address, and mail her own invitaions. I expected as much from her and wasnt too hurt when she told me. My mom then calls me and we go over the menu and what each of us will make. She wraps up the call with a new bit of information. E wants to take care of the game portion of the shower. I fell silent. Now I'm annoyed. I tried to let it go, but couldn't. If E wants to throw a shower, she can do it for her own sister, if she has one. I will throw one for my sister. My sister.

I explain to my husband the situation and how I'm feeling. He listens; he is a good listener. He doesnt comment much. But he has a look on his face during my story. The look tells me he has a feeling I'm over-reacting. I just don't see it that way. Posssessive, maybe. Over-reacting.....nah.

Then comes the phone call. I get home from work last night to find a message on our answering machine. Its her. By her, I mean E. She wants me to call her to make more arrangements for the shower. Did I mention its a baby shower for MY SISTER?? I flew into a small fit. It makes me so angry! I didn't call her back. The shower is just over a week away. I wonder if I can avoid her for 9 more days?

We have lift off!

Well, not really. But we do have a completed swing set!! Hooray! Gavin is ecstatic to say the least. We spent time on the swings, the slide, the glider, and started over again. He giggles deep in his belly when I push him on the glider. It makes me smile. The fact that the swing set put a huge pinch on our checking account doesn't even matter any more.

After the swing set was finished, we decided to load up the older of our two Mastiffs and take him for a ride in the back of the truck. Zeke just loves that. We drive out in the country for awhile. Then past Bryan's parents house. They were outside so Bryan wanted to stop and say hello. I advised against it because his parents neighbors were over at their house. He stopped anyway.

We pull up in the driveway and we are almost immediately rushed by adults and kids. They want to see Zeke. Our dogs draw a lot of attention due to their size. Zeke is by far the most calm dog I have ever had. Nothing excites him, nothing upsets him. He is mellow. He is great with Gavin. This is why what happened next startled me to the point of almost having to scrape out my underwear when I got home.

All of these people surround him. Adults petting his head, kids standing and waiting their turn, and one boy who reached up and grabbed him with both hands on either side of Zeke's mouth. That did it. Bryan didnt even have time to get out of the truck. Zeke let out this gimongous bark, and lunged forward. He threw slobber all over the boy and sent people scattering across the driveway. The boy's mother yelled, "That dog almsot bit him in the face!" Bryan jumped out of the truck but Zeke had already returned to his sitting position.

We explained that Zeke was probably just nervous because everyone rushed him at once. Bryan's mom assured them she had never seen Zeke act that way. We said our goodbyes and made a quick exit. We were just so shocked at Zeke's reaction. We have never seen Zeke do anything like that. It makes me uneasy, but at the same time very defensive--he really is such a great dog. I understand Zeke is a dog, and can be unpredictable. But wow, what a shock.

From this point on, we will be more aware of Zeke's personality and what he is comfortable or uncomfortable with. I dont think this changes my opinion of Zeke, or makes me leary around him. He is still our loveable, easy-going, lazy, Zekey-boy.

The swingset and the snowball effect

We bought a swingset for our son. A week ago. It's still not put together yet. Come on, its a swingset, why is this so complicated?? Well, it is. We decided to tackle it yesterday. We were setting a goal to, at the very least, have the frame together at the end of the day. We tried, we really did. Well, 'we' meaning I held poles up and tried to offer advice as my husband cussed the swingset parts which littered the backyard. Gavin was off doing his own thing. As excited as he was about putting the swingset together, the fun wore off when he saw the parts laying on the ground and the look of dismay on daddy's face. Even a 3 1/2 year old could read that look. Gavin quickly took to digging in the sand box and trying to convince the dogs to eat shovels full of sand. Much to my disapointment, all three of the dogs were more than eager to lap the sand Gavin offered to them.

But I digress, back to the swingset. We had one section that just wouldnt line up. Try as we may, no matter where we put this section of the frame, the holes to place the all important bolts in were off. Bryan was growing more frustrated by the minute, cursing under his breath . It was becoming tedious for me to hold up poles and watch him sigh and stomp about. Then I got an idea. I would run the weed eater around the fence while Bryan studied the swingset instructions. Off I headed to the shed, proud of my idea to help. I carried the weed eater out across the yard like a warrior carrying his weapon off to battle. I placed the weed eater on the ground, pushed the primer button a few times, and pulled the rope to start it. Nothing. Well, maybe some sputtering, but not what I expected. Again and again I pulled the rope to no avail. Hearing a heavy sigh behind me, I turned to see Bryan coming to my rescue. After putting gas in the little tank (what a genius husband I have), I had a running weed eater. I pushed the trigger-like throtle to speed up the trimmer string. Nothing. By this time I had a bad feeling. With another heavy sigh, Bryan begins to examine the weed eater. He finds the cable from the motor to the throtle is broken. I decide to work on it myself as he is still upset about the swing set. So I tie a small piece of string to what's left of the throtle cable, then all I have to do is pull the string. Great idea right? It was, until I pulled the string up against the gas line and knocked it loose. Gas is now running all over me and the garage floor. Bryan walks in just in time to see my invention work, grabs the weed eater from me and runs it outside. He reattatches the gas line and places the weed eater on the garage floor, sighs and looks at me. I can see in his eyes he is begging me to just walk away. Now a defeated warrior, I comply and walk away.

We discovered one section of the swingset was misdrilled at the factory. With help from my dad and his drill, the section was redrilled. Once again, in my plight to help, I walk along the privacy fence looking for something to do. I notice a section of the fence leaning a bit. Upon closer inspection, the fence has come completely off the post. Without thinking I yell to Bryan and tell him my finding. Just as soon as the news starts to spew from my lips, I see his head hang and hear that all to farmiliar heavy sigh. I feel a sudden sense of guilt for laying that on him at this particular moment. My dad also turns slowly toward me with a look of shock on his face. Obviously, I think to myself, the filter between my brain and mouth must be plugged. To remedy the situation, I look at Bryan, smile sweetly and utter a quiet "Sorry".

So there we were. Two hours after the swingset assembly began. Parts and pieces strewn about the yard, a little boy with sand in every crevice he has, three dogs hacking from eating way too much sand, weeds still lining the fence, a broken weed eater in the garage, and a newly found broken section of privacy fence. With one more heavy sigh, my diligent husband calls it quits. As we gather up tools and walk to the house, I survey the damage. Putting a swingset together is more complicated than I ever imagined.

I just love you

The love I feel for my son is immeasurable. It is a love I had never know before he arrived. It is so strong that love just isnt a big enough word for it. Even during his worst temper tantrum of the day, I cant help but look at him throwing himslef around, crying, and telling me I'm not his friend anymore, and feel nothing but pure love.

The other night, I found myself thinking about love, and how much I love my son. Then it dawned on me, how often do I as a wife, think of the love I feel for my husband? Wow, not too often. I mean, of course I love him. But when one has a child, the love for the child often takes precedence to the love for one's spouse. So I pondered on this for awhile. As I sat on the porch swing and watched my son playing, and pondered the love I felt for my husband, my husband came home from work. He greeted our son, then approached the porch and leaned over to kiss me hello. He sat down with me on the swing and we discussed our days. I looked at him, I mean really looked at him. I saw his brown eyes, his strong jaw line, his broad shoulders and muscular arms. I noticed the way he has this little half grin while he watches our son play. Then he noticed me noticing him. He greeted my gaze with a sweet smile and reached over to hold my hand. It hit me. RIght then it hit me. I love my husband as much as I love my son. The love I feel for my husband is just as immeasurable. It's just a different kind of love. A love that is stored someplace separate in my heart. The feeling that rushed over me was intense. In an instant I thought back to our first kiss, the first time he held my hand, the first time I caught him just watching me. After 6 years of being a couple, I still love him as much as the first time I confessed my love to him.

We continued to sit on the porch swing together in silence, holding hands and watching our boy ride his bike. I glanced at Bryan and he again caught me watching him. This time, however, I had a small tear welled up in each eye. He tilted his head to the side, squeezed my hand and asked, "What's wrong babe?" I smiled thru my welling tears, looked him in the eyes, and replied, "Nothing. I just love you."

Intro

So, I have a blog. Now I can bore anyone willing to read the events of my life. As you may have guessed, I don't think my life is really all that exciting; we are fairly normal people. However, my friend, LO, insisted I do this. She is a persistant little thing!

So I will use this first entry to basically introduce myself, my family, and my life. Hold onto your hats, here's the low down.

My name is Julie, I am 29 years old, and live in Ohio. I am married to my soul mate, Bryan, and we have a 3 1/2 year old son named Gavin. I love my boys more than anything in the world. We have 3 dogs; a Mastiff named Zeke, a Mastiff named Gus, and a Boxer named Molly. Bryan and I both work full time; Bryan works at a Budweiser distributorship, and I work at a grain elevator.

That's the basics of who I am and what I do. There's way more to me than that. You just have to dig for the rest. Hopefully as time goes on and I continue to work on my blog, I will have insightful, thought provoking entries. Or maybe, I'll just talk about ordinary things, like trying to get my son to sleep in his room. I guess we'll find out together.