And on the eighth day, God looked down on his planned paradise and said, "I need a caretaker." 

So God made a farmer.

God said, "I need somebody willing to get up before dawn, milk cows, work all day in the field, milk cows again, eat supper, 

then go to town and stay past midnight at a meeting of the school board." 

So God made a farmer.

God said, "I need somebody willing to sit up all night with a newborn colt and watch it die, then dry his eyes and say,'Maybe next year,' I need somebody who can shape an ax handle from an ash tree, shoe a horse with hunk of car tire, who can make a harness out hay wire, feed sacks and shoe scraps. Who, during planting time and harvest season will finish his 40-hour week by Tuesday noon and then, paining from tractor back, 

put in another 72 hours." 

So God made the farmer.

God said, "I need somebody strong enough to clear trees and heave bales, yet gentle enough to yean lambs and wean pigs 

and tend the pink-comb pullets, who will stop his mower for an hour to splint the leg of a meadowlark."

It had to be somebody who'd plow deep and straight and not cut corners. Somebody to seed, weed, feed, breed, and brake, and disk, and plow, and plant, and tie the fleece and strain the milk, . Somebody who'd bale a family together with the soft, strong bonds of sharing, who would laugh, and then sigh and then reply with smiling eyes when his son says that he wants to spend his life 

doing what Dad does. 

So God made a farmer.

It has been one of the things Andrew has talked about over and over again this fall.  

"When can we figure out a time to make sure Henry can go back during harvest to ride around in the combine?" 

I get it.  

I hate coming home and smelling like cow poop and dirt.  It's hard to pack everyone up and travel three hours one way for a less than 24-hour trip with a toddler.  Farms aren't baby-proofed with loads of machinery, piles of metal, hotwire fences, cows, farm cats with claws, chemicals, tools and the like strewn about.  No one ever sleeps as well as they should.  I have hours of photos to edit.  Franklin needed a bath as soon as we pulled into the driveway, and Henry and I weren't far behind. 

But I get it now.

When you grow up making your way up and down, up and down, up and down those rows with your grandpa, with your dad...

you can't help but want that to be a part of your son too.  

So God Made a Farmer speech pulled from the 2013 Dodge Ram Super Bowl commercial...absolutely made both Andrew and I tear up the first time we saw it...originally from Paul Harvey.

I just got back from dropping Henry off at his first morning of Kids' Day Out.  He went right over to one of the staff, let them take off his jacket and scanned the room for something he wanted to play with.  No tears.  He looked at me a bit confused, but he seemed content so I left as quickly as I could so he couldn't change his mind about being okay with this new transition.  I'm so excited for him (and me!) to have this time to play with other kids, with other toys, and without the interruption of my errands and to-do's.  

Andrew and I have both always agreed that we wanted him to continue to get socialization even though he's not in full-time daycare since I stay at home now, and especially with #2 coming soon in the dead of winter, this special Henry-time where he can play and play and play is going to be something I think we both really need.  #2 will enjoy a few hours of undivided attention from mama, I can hopefully get in some extra work time, and Henry will continue to develop his skills and personality.

 

Oh his personality.  He really is a Ham.

He loves to laugh a loud har-har and then look around with the hugest grin to see if he can get any reciprocated laughs.  He had friends over last week for a backyard leaf party (aka, my parents haven't done yard work yet and the piles are forming themselves) and at one point when he and Greyson weren't tackling each other in the leaves, he stood up and screamed out of pure joy for a good solid 15 seconds, stopped and then ran off again to throw leaves and pull out Lyla's hair bow (for the third time?).  

He's repeating more and more words, trying to make them right.  He loves to spin in a circle, but not as much as he loves to hide, 

particularly under the table and chairs.  His giggles usually give him away.  That, and his little tushy sticking up and out.

He loves babies and wants to be close to them and touch them.  

He's learning about the features of our faces - eyes, ears, mouth and nose.  He loves to tickle and be tickled.  He hates his toothbrush.

He loves to respond to every question with "nah" for no and shake his head from side to side.  

Particularly when Willie the Wildcat tried to approach him last week at the game.  "Nah-nah!!"  

(Friends from afar right now, those two.)

He loves K-State.  He thinks every football game on the TV is K-State.  He recognizes purple and says, "K-Staayyyy?"  As soon as we pull up in the parking lot to tailgate at the Bill, he continues to point at the stadium and ask "K-Stayyy?  K-Staayyy?  K-Staaayyyy?"  

If he was at the point of being able to respond to the question, "what do you want to be when you grow up?", I'm pretty sure he'd say trash man.  Thursdays are his favorite as they are trash day in our neighborhood, and our walking route depends on which way the trash truck is going.  

And then we hear "trah-truh" for the rest of the walk.

He's really growing up.  Quickly.

He makes me so proud.

For going on what I think is three years now, Andrew and I have hosted a little Halloween get together.  It doesn't even qualify as a party; it's too casual, every contributes food and merriment, and costumes aren't required.  It's funny how it's evolved...from young married couples just using the holiday as an excuse to get together and drink wine, to babies that weren't even old enough to sit on their own last year, 

and now a full-blown trick-or-treat wagon parade with toddlers.

I'm not sure who had more fun this year - the parents or the kids - although looking back through pictures, you'd for sure think the parents 

as it appeared we had the most serious trick-or-treaters of the night.  Serious about getting candy or serious about getting 

home where they had their real party, toddling in and out of rooms, finding Ham's toys 

(after he crashed first...I know, a house full of girls, and he went to bed.  I expect this to continue in college.), 

scaling furniture, and trying a bit of their loot.  

 Fresh produce.  Baby carrot, Jake.

Meanwhile, after the adults enjoyed roadies meant to make them still feel young and not totally departed from their own days of Halloween bashes, Andrew and the boys enjoyed one of their favorite nights of the year - wearing scary costumes, hiding in our bushes and scaring our neighbor kids.  I heard legitimate screams from what seemed like the majority of those that dared to take candy from either a gorilla or a zombie, and thankfully we ran out of candy so I wouldn't be tempted to eat anymore than I already had that day.  

 Frank was trying to decide if he should take a bite of the HAM sandwich to see if it was real or not.

There were many times I let myself think about what this night would look like a year from now...two babies to dress in costume and tote around in the wagon together.  But mostly, I was able to stay in the present and take in the scene - the just chilly enough fall weather at dusk, damp roads scattered with orange, red and yellow fallen leaves, and a 20-person group of littles and parents taking it all in.

Not too shabby for a Halloween non-party.