Farm Wife Fitness

Someone asked me last week if I had a gym membership. 

I tried really hard to hold in my laughter, but it seeped out in the form of:
"You can't be serious? By gym.....do you mean Slim Jim? Jimmy John's? Jungle Jim's? Wait. Are you serious?"

I drove home wondering why I don't spend more time - and money - on my health. Why not pay dollars a month to walk around an indoor track (let's be honest: That's all I'd do)? 
Answer: Because I live on a farm.

Which keeps me active, or at least moderately out of breath. 

Farm Wife Planks
Farm wife planks are the motion done when your husband tells you that the electric fence is off, but you have had trust issues since a shocking event in 2009, so you have to roll under the high tensile fence.  But the ground is wet - or cold - and you try to make as little ground contact as possible. 

Farm Wife Weight Lifting
Two things prevent me from going to a gym to lift weights: 1. carrying buckets of feed instead of transporting them via Kubota and 
2. This chunk

Farm Wife Sprints
Farm wife sprints are done when your husband calls and wants to know the sex of the newest calves and you have to dodge all mother cows in order to do a 2-second tail lift before sprinting back to (and over) the gate. 

We have no footage of the farm wife sprint, which further proves the fact that I only run if I'm being chased. However, we do have footage of this broad:

Farm Wife Squats 
Farm wife squats are the action done when you're trying to get under a string of temporary fence by finding the lowest point in the ground that offers the greatest depth between the fence and ground. Arms out for balance. Head tucked down for clearance. Bad word whispered for good measure. 

Farm Wife Chin-Ups
Farm wife chin-ups are done  when there is excess room between the hay mow ladder and the ground so you have to stack buckets to get to the right height to climb. Except said buckets fall over and you have two options: 1. Do chin-ups to get up the ladder or 2. bust your tail bone.

Farm Wife Cardio
Farm wife cardio can be done a lot of different ways, but the easiest way to get your heart rate elevated is to simply get in the hay mow when you're absolutely terrified of heights. Especially if said hay mow has a shoddy floor and every step has you assuming it's your last. 

I hope you've read this and found creative ways to feel the burn in your own little piece of the world. Listen, you don't have to pay for a gym membership to get healthy; you just have to move. 

But trust me: If you don't have a spotter, stay off the buckets. 

Check The Vitals

With my $50 guitar in hand, I was just seconds from taking the stage at The Bluebird Cafe.

Finally.

“Lindsay!” The urgency in Cody’s voice woke me in an instant.

A really poorly timed instant.

It was dark in our room. I opened my eyes wide but didn’t even look at the clock.

"Yeah?" I responded.

“K,” was all he whispered, rolling back over on his side.

I drifted back to sleep but The Bluebird didn’t wait for me.

And to think: We would have paid off the farm in an instant if I could have just sung one rendition of Strawberry Wine. I have, after all, been practicing for twenty years (take a moment to let that sink in).

Sleep came easy and it seemed like just seconds before he pulled the stunt again.

“Lindsay!” The urgency in Cody’s voice woke me in an instant.

It was dark in our room. I opened my eyes wide but didn’t even look at the clock.

“Yeah?” I responded.

“K,” was all he whispered, rolling back over on his side.

I’ve been told I’ve become a mouth breather in the last couple weeks. Not a snorer, but rather a mouth breather "louder than a 454 big block"- what ever that means.  And while I’m annoyed and in denial just hearing of this development, I have to trust my sources. Apparently Cody woke up twice last night and didn’t hear me breathing, so he decided to startle me awake to check my vitals. There are easier ways to do things (I suggested gently checking my pulse, holding his hand an inch over my mouth to feel for breath, lying in the quiet dark for five seconds and listening, etc.), but everyone seems to do what they think is right in certain situations, I guess.

While it was a shoddy night of rest, I’m grateful for a husband who doesn’t want to sleep next to a dead person.

This middle-of-the-night fiasco reminded me of someone I haven’t checked on in a while.

Someone who – I’ll admit – doesn’t enter my mind often, but when they do I feel a bit of a sting. They are a shining example of how I let time and distance drive a wedge in communication and I’ve frankly lost touch with them.

I don’t call to check on them. 

I don’t shoot them a text or an email. 

If memory serves me right (45% chance these days) I sent them a hand written note last summer because I felt the lack-of-communication sting, and that was the last of our correspondence.

No hard feelings, no fall out.

But rather, worse: No effort at all.

Which is a shame; they were a good lesson and good person in my life.

An old co-worker.

An industry mentor.

An aging grandparent.

A previous neighbor.

The one who takes you back to that tumultuous time in your life.

An old business partner.
That once-stranger on your old morning commute to the city. 

A teacher, maybe not even the kind who stood at the front of the class. 

A college roommate.

An acquaintance that changed things.

Your parent.

There is someone who could use a vitals check from you.

A hello.

A “I was just thinking of you…”

A sign that they're thought of every so often.

Do you have that person in mind?

Find them.

Write them.

Call them.

Email them.

Text them.

Do something to let them know they’re still significant enough to cross a mind now and then.

Your mind. 

But might I suggest waiting until daylight until you do your vitals check? 
Waiting until everyone is awake and aware of their surroundings just makes for a better morning, for everyone. 

A Different Kind of Firecracker

An Oklahoma State onsie, a Certified Angus Beef bib and a pair of cowboy boot patterned socks: That is absolutely as far as we’ve gotten.

Seriously.

Since I’m in the third trimester and Momma continues to ask if we’ve considered buying a crib, we thought now might be the time to share with you the best news we’ve ever had:

Our first child is expected 

to shake up life as we know it 

on the 4^th of July.

Cue Shooter Jennings:

Kinda destined to be a firecracker: Double bred crazy.

A lot of names float across my mind as I write this, this morning:

Bob and Barbara Jean

Larry and Melva Jean

Paul and Marie

Ralph and Martha Jean

And after them come Chris and Sharee, Phil and Linda

We have just a little bit of pressure to raise a great American, much like their grand parents and great-grandparents.

A well-grounded, cattle-committed, rooted-in-faith, humble-and-kind, kid.

I hope you’ll help us.

No, we’re not asking for a babysitter before they even hit the ground (figuratively speaking). We’re asking that you help keep this child on track at the 2031 Junior Nationals and you’ll encourage them just a bit if you ever notice they’re having a bad day.

It takes a tribe to raise a good kid and you’re part of our tribe.

We promise to do the same for you.

I’ve absolutely loved being pregnant, though I’m not clueless to the fact that the tough part lies ahead. Ask me again in June when I can’t see my boots and the Dollar General is out of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

Side Note to the Losantville Dollar General Customers: You’ll leave the entire stock of mint chocolate chip ice-cream in the freezer case if you know what’s good for you. And Cody.

We’re almost done with our childbirth classes and that experience has produced weeks of blog-worthy stories. Just wait. I didn’t realize just how awkward Cody could get in certain situations until we sat him in a room full of 8-months-pregnant strangers and exercise balls. 

There are so many things I want to share with you about the hopes we have for this child. In fact, much of the six years of content inside this blog is reflective of things I knew I wanted to pass on, but wasn’t sure if I ever would. The news of an Independence Day baby has greatly changed my perspective.

And my sleep schedule. There have been Tuesday nights when I’ve fallen asleep mid-keystroke and never finished  five sentences of a weekly blog. Now you know why.

We’re often asked when the gender reveal party will be. 

We've approached parenthood - and enjoyed it - like it's 1995. Leaving it off Facebook allowed us to tell folks when we saw them and share that moment of excitement. There are no neck hugs on Facebook. And I really like neck hugs. 

Secondly, this is a baby, not a movie premier.

Thirdly, the party will be at the hospital. On the day of the birth. 

But please, don’t show up. 

Unless, of course, you're thinking of bringing a gift:

We could guess the gender now, but we would only have a 50% chance of being right. 
I think I better wrap this up; I'm getting hungry (shocker).

Thanks for sharing in our joy with us - 

We couldn't be happier. 

 

If We Make It Through December

Someone called me last week and they shouldn't have. 

No really. 

It was by accident.

I didn't hear the missed call, but when I found it later that morning I was surprised to see the name in my call log. Though an acquaintance, the caller wasn’t someone that would typically call me. Or even text? So I was even more surprised to see that they left a message.

A long message, at just under three minutes.

Minutes later I was in my car and pulled up the voicemail to review it over Sync – the vehicle’s hands free feature – as I drove. Sync made the caller’s message audible over the sound system of the vehicle, making it easier to listen and drive.

Only seconds into the message filling the interior of my car, it was obvious that the caller hadn’t meant to call me. Like any curious (nosey? bored? curious?) person looking to pass time on the road, I listened through the duration, anyway. The caller moved around a lot. And talked a lot. I think to only themself. And seemed to have a lot on their mind. 

“…just get through this week...” they said in between shuffles.

Amen, I thought to myself. It seems since November I’ve been repeating the same mantra, giving myself a similar pep talk when no one else is around. My theme song has become Haggard’s If We Make It Through December. But honestly, I’ll just be happy to make it through this particular week.

Anyone else feel like that?

If I can just make it through this week…

If I can make this last to my next paycheck…
If I can just hear back from them...

If I can survive this next event…

If I can wait just five more minutes…
If I can survive this shift...
If I can make it through this next semester…

If I can get through one more obligation…

If I can just give them one more chance…

If we can just push a little further, we’ll make it to the other side…

Everything’s gonna be alright, I know.

The trouble is that we always think that we have time. We think that if we can get through some thing in our path, some next step, some big challenge, that our life will begin – or we will begin – after that. But life isn’t meant to be lived that way, by a series of “ifs” and “whens”, marking days off the calendar like it’s some kind of personal feat to become one day closer to the end of a long, exciting ride. When I consider myself hoping that I make it through December (or February?) in that way, I’m actually embarrassed by myself. 

But it’s so easy to do!

The days are long 

but the months are short 

and the years are actually 

a blink.

I didn’t call the pocket dialer back. 

I didn't need to. 

And there wasn't enough time in my day. 

I didn't even give it a second thought. 

What would I say, anyhow?

“Hi. This is Jean. You called me on accident. Last week. I can't believe you have my number because I was surprised that I had your's stored. Anyway,  I (now) know that you’re going through a rough time but I hope you make it through December. Or this February. Or this week. Or, through this voicemail. 

And - hey - thanks for giving me a message to share on the blog this week. You were my inspiration because I really don't think you're alone. In fact, I know you're not. We all have times or experiences that relentlessly drag on. Or drag us. But we make it. We always do. And you will, too. The days are long but the months are short and the years are actually a blink.

And you really should lock your keypad. That's how people get in trouble. Or end up as the subject of blogs.  And – there is a really good chance that in two years you won’t even remember this week of your life that you’re trying so desperately to get through. So hang in there.”

Nah, I didn't call them back 

or even think about it. 

Not even once. 

I wouldn't want to waste their time.