I did something I haven't done since ever today over nap time.  And coincendentally, so did Henry.  Except mine was planned, and his wasn't.

#2 has made a habit the last week-ish of wedging his feet against my ribs, particularly at night which has in turn left me with what feels like bruised ribs and a sore back from trying to sleep in crazy weird positions trying to stretch my short torso out as much as possible.  That paired with my loosening ligaments leaving my hips sore after my run on Monday put me over the edge, and I gave in and called in extra support.  A prenatal massage for me over Henry's naptime today, and a willing neighbor (bless her!) to sit at our house should Henry happen to wake up early.

Henry was spunky (polite way for saying he kept knocking over the cardboard photo opp cutout while kids were trying to take their pictures and hit Layla) today at storytime so I should have known something was up today.  He didn't fall asleep right away for naptime.  

I left knowing he would in the next couple of minutes.

Nope, for the first time since transitioning to his big boy bed a couple of weeks ago (with absolutely no change in sleep habits), HE CRAWLED OUT.

And made a liar out of his mother.

He'll fall asleep any minute and sleep for at least two hours!

Kids.

--

After a last-minute decision to stay home for Thanksgiving on Wednesday evening last week at 5pm (doctor preferred I not travel), 

we made the most of our last holiday as a family of three.  

Homemade pie making in progress.  My crust wasn't pretty, but I didn't have to use the backup Andrew bought at the store.  Insulting.

I volleyed back and forth thinking it was the most amazing blessing - more time with just the boys, more hours to edit my few remaining shoots, work on the baby's room, etc., and feeling guilty that we were missing out on much-needed quality time with siblings, cousins and parents.

It did give us a chance to throw together a scaled back Thanksgiving dinner and start a few traditions, complete with backyard football and festive Indian headdress crafting, plus continuing on a few others like parade watching and naps.  Must-haves.

Make-shift centerpiece when you can't use anything but things already at your house.

 Thanksgiving-Skype party!

 I thought he would ignore the parade, but he loved it.  We watched the Rockettes perform, and he high-kicked the rest of the day. 

Airplane sighting.  And my fave boy sighting. 

And after Thanksgiving had it's moment, we launched full blown into Christmas trying to enjoy as much of the season early on this month not knowing when our holiday cheer may be hijacked by new baby cheer.

Horse-drawn carriage rides, donut-breakfasts, wrapping, decorating, napping, movie-watching, and Clark Griswolding.

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.