What's a man to do?

The job of a horse trainer doesn't just include ground work, riding and finishing horses. I decided to make myself Warren's shadow and bring my camera along to try to capture a picture journal of his day-to-day life at work. I found out that my husband's job is so versatile it will take a full blog page just to describe it! His days are filled with...

...transporting horses...

...buying hay at the local hay auction...

...fertilizing the pastures...

...buying feed...

...grooming horses...

...helping his wife make ice cream (what a guy!)...

...riding 6-8 hours a day...

...fixing fence...

...being the day's hero when the cows got out...

...and visiting the emergency room after taking a nasty kick to the elbow from a horse!

In Warren's words all he does at his job is: "spend all day with his wife and play with horses." I've debated whether I should try to convince him that all these hours he's putting in are actually hard work. 

Naw, I'm pretty sure I'd be wasting my breath...

Stop & smell the alfalfa

We really are living the dream. Since Warren quit his job in Grand Island and we moved south of Lincoln to a horse facility, much of life--almost all of life--has changed. We have a different schedule, a different apartment, a different income, different neighbors, and a different lifestyle. Warren now works on the same property we live on and I'm often in the barn or arena with him so there's no more wishing I could just talk to him while he's at work. We get to do life--all of it--together now. It's true: we're living the dream.


It's interesting to me that in the midst of living the exact life we've talked about and hoped for since we started dating, it's easy for me to lose sight of the big picture and concentrate on the "if only" parts of our story. If only we owned our own house, this would be our dream...if only we never had to worry about whether we were going to have enough horses in to meet our budget...if only feed cost were lower...


The other day I was walking through the horse barn, where the thick, sweet smell of horse feed permeates the air. I literally stopped and smelled the alfalfa. And then it occurred to me: no matter what we do for a job or where we go, there are always going to be little things that could be less worrisome or a little better or newer or easier. If I concentrate on those things I'll miss the amazing reality that right now, today, this very instant, I am living an abundantly overflowing life that revolves around Warren's and my biggest and most impossible dream of being self-employed in the horse industry.


I'm not waiting for the ideal anymore. The truth is that we're already living it. Is this life perfect? No. Maybe perfect is what heaven's for. We're awful close, though.


In fact, now that I think of it, we're so close to perfect you can breathe in its thick, sweet scent if you'll just stop and smell the alfalfa.

Ranch Hands

We got to babysit our nephew and niece, Everett (2) and Josalea (9 months), and it was an adventure having them along to help us do chores!

Josalea liked sitting on the back of the pickup watching all the action.

Everett learned how to feed the horses their treats without getting his fingers bit!

Everett wanted to help Uncle Warren do absolutely everything, from pushing the wheelbarrow full of hay...

...to hauling buckets of grain to the cows and buffalo.

We really enjoyed our weekend getting to care for Everett and Josalea and having them out with the horses and doing chores with us made us even more eager to share our lives with our new baby soon!

Abundance

There has never been a time when it even crosses our

mind to wonder if we'll be going hungry.

Thanks, God.

O, Baby!

(Baby is laying on its back with its chin, lips and nose
at the top of the picture and its tiny left hand fisted over its eyes.)

Happy birthday...

...to my handsome groom,

the love of my life,

my dream come true,

my lover and delight,

my best friend,

Onie.

Turns out...

...I'm a forgetful person.


I didn't know this before getting married, and although some of my forgetfulness can be blamed on being "twitterpated" (as my siblings would say), I've had to come to grips with the fact that, all excuses aside, I actually am forgetful. The only reason I've made it 26 years without knowing this about myself is because I have a mother who remembers everything, has everything and brings everything. When we used to go on singing tours Mom would pack a mammoth shower/cosmetic bag that I could've sworn held half of Walmart in it. She thought to bring the most rarely-used items, and she brought all of them every trip. I've always been an advocate of packing just enough to survive, so my makeup bag could fit in my palm and I was thankful not to have to tote a giant black bag along.


When Warren and I first got married I would tuck my cute little makeup bag in my compact suitcase and call it good. This was adequate...until I forgot our toothbrushes (which don't fit in my handheld cosmetic case). Luckily we were headed to Mom's and of course she has extras. On another weekend trip I discovered that if I don't bring chapstick I don't have chapstick. That used to be in Mom's black bag. That time we were headed to Warren's parents' and Mom J had chapstick (of course). These are only the beginning to a long list of things I've forgotten because Mom always had them...phone chargers, tweezers, deodorant, earrings, socks, gloves, lotion, razors, fingernail clippers, shoes, pillows, coats, pens, keys, kleenex and even the convenient makeup case. Two weekends ago I forgot every form of soap or shampoo.


Apparently Warren's mom went to the same school as my mom in order to attain her motherhood rights. Last weekend we went skiing with the Jennings family in Colorado and Mom J packed like my mom does. Me? I had my handful of cosmetics and a suitcase shared with Warren. We showed up in Colorado with no conditioner, no toothbrushes, no toothpaste, no hair brush and not a single barret, hair band or bobby pin. When it came time to go skiing (yes, skiing was the purpose of the trip--it was not a surprise), I had no gloves, warm socks or scarf. An enormous black bag seemed mighty appealing all of the sudden.


In less than 6 months I'll join the honorable ranks of motherhood. Our first child will probably be scarred from when I forget the diapers, binky and every scrap of clothing on the same trip. Maybe we should limit ourselves to traveling only to our parents' houses for awhile, where our mothers will have everything I forget! Or perhaps an even better option would be to give in and get myself an infamous, colossal black bag.


Now there's a revolutionary idea...