There is a large green and yellow tractor sitting in my backyard.
Yes mam. It is that time of year again. Lord, help us.
I don’t think I wrote about it last year. I must have been a tad too traumatized by the whole thing. I was also very pregnant and corn just wasn’t something I cared to write about…or talk about….or think about. Especially OUR corn. You see, my dear sweet part-time farmer of a husband – thought it would be a great idea to plant sweet corn and have it be ripe for the pickin’ right when I was set to give birth to our daughter. I didn’t think much of it at first. He planted the corn. It grew, and grew, and grew. And as I watched the corn cobs develop on each stalk – I had the following conversation with my husband:
Me: “Where is the corn picker machine?”
Hubby: “Right here, baby. Your lookin’ at it.”
Me: “Um. What?”
Hubby: “You have to pick it by hand.”
Excuse me. Yes. He did just say “pick the corn by hand” didn’t he? We aren’t talking like 2 rows of corn in a garden – we are talking about acres of corn here people. All of which HAS TO BE PICKED BY HAND. I probably don’t even need to say what I did next – Y’all know what I was like when I was pregnant: hunting down Kroger cashiers and distorting lawn chairs.
What makes this all even crazier – is that my farmer man planted the corn in 2 batches. One of them needed to be picked the weekend before I gave birth – the other one a few weeks after. Ahem. I don’t know which one was worse. I remember looking out my back window – holding a newborn – watching teams of people pick corn with my delighted and in-heaven husband. I was blurry eyed. Irritable. A milk machine. A mess if you ever saw one.
But I’m not bitter about it. Not at all. (grin)
Anyhow, here we are again. This time around I not only have a very active 4 year old – but I also have a very active 9 month old who thinks she is nineteen. Seriously. And while we are talking about her…She also thinks she is an escape artist. Probably because she is. Oh yes – we have already lowered her crib as far as it can go. She figured out how to get out of her play saucer. And she has also figured out how she can stand up while in her bumbo chair with a tray on it to reach things she shouldn’t. She crawls like lightening. And climbs like a beast. It’s wild and crazy…but wonderful 🙂 I love her for it.
As I sit here and type – I hear that green and yellow tractor plowing up our field. There is a part of me that wants to throw my new leopard print sandals at it – but there is a part of me that doesn’t. Why? Because I love the man on it. Corn and all. The real reason I’m not barefoot though…… is the little guy walking around my yard – toy tractors in hand – sporting a red cowboy hat and snow boots. He thinks his Daddy hung the moon. He thinks this whole corn business is the coolest thing ever. And because of that….corn is cool with me.
But listen. I’m not sayin’ I won’t be crazed when I’m up to my ears in corn (no pun intended). I’m not sayin’ that I won’t whine about it a little. I will. And I’m definitely not sayin’ that I will trade in my leopard print sandals for some mud boots. I won’t. But this year – I will look out my back window – as I rescue my nine month old from trying to climb on the ceiling – and watch a little boy mimic every move his Daddy makes. I’ll watch him plow up dirt with his little tractor. I’ll watch him plant pretend seeds. I’ll watch him fetch water bottles for all our pickers. And I’ll watch him sit on the tailgate of a parked truck – delighted and totally in-heaven. Just like Dad. It may even inspire me to strap the baby onto my back in her baby tote (tightly, I might add – she’s an escape artist, remember) and pick some corn myself.