This entry isn't about the farm...for once. I know, crazy, huh?
So here it is, I'll lay it out on the table for those who don't know us. We're always late. All the time. I'll be late for my own funeral. D says that all I have to do for his, is squish him up and shove him down a post hole in the feedlot when he kicks the bucket so we won't have to worry about that one. People can come for a viewing and look at what a great job I'm doing with the cattle.
Enough of the funeral talk, it will never happen because frankly, we are too busy to die.
What I want to talk about is what a great night I had with whom I call, "The T-Ballers". They had their second game tonight and did super well for a couple country bumpkins.
Anyway, back to being late. Of course we were late as usual and I had to get gas in the truck. When we were finally back on the road, Grace says to me, "Mom, I'm sure glad we got our feet on in case we have to walk to T-ball. You know, if you ran out of gas."
Out of the mouths of babes.