Great. So.. it's 107 degrees outside. I have a hot puppy with me. I'm in a stupid dress. AND my feed pickup is about to run out of diesel.

Along with a handful of my family, for some number of years now, calling Lance my husband; there are a few other running jokes that my family likes to tease me about. My brother-in-law's favorite thing to say in front of the whole family (and company if we have it) is, "Lance... if you can ever get over the fact that she is an idiot she might make an alright wife." My stepdad, Steve, and I made a bet that I wouldn't be married in three years and if I am I owe him a set of new tires. He continually reminds Lance and I when we are together that he's "already got his favorites picked out." My sister's favorite thing to say (usually just under her breath enough that the whole room can hear) is, "Yep, my bet is...that her next vehicle will have a cake feeder on the back of it."

If you don't know what a cake feeder is...

Cows are animals. Cows eat grass when the weather is nice. When the weather is not nice, like in the winter.. they get fed. They sometimes get fed hay, and sometimes they get fed cake. Now I know what you are thinking.. NOT the kind that Miss Trunchbull makes Bruce, the chubby kid, eat in the movie Matilda. Cake is a pellet that is dispensed out of a metal box systematically by flicking an on/off switch inside of a pickup. Cows LOVE cake. Just like Bruce.... but it's a little different.

This is cake. 

This is a cake feeder on a pickup. 

You can imagine me... in my summer dress and cute shoes and dangly earrings... hopping out of a diesel farm truck with one of these on the back and getting a few curious looks from farmers. That is why she thinks that it's so funny. 

Not too long ago, all of this happened. You see, we took the feed pickup with us on harvest for several weeks to help us move stuff around. A week or so ago it was time to return it to Oklahoma and to Lance's dad so he could have it for the cattle that are left there. (Because we didn't take them with us in case you were wondering.) So, I made the trip home with the pickup. And my dog. And all my things. 

I take off pretty early on a Wednesday morning, I think. (I have no idea what day of the week it is nearly all the time.) And I head for Oklahoma. 

Never having driven the way myself and having a TERRIBLE habit of paying absolutely NO attention to where we are going when I am not driving, I had directions from Lance running in my head. I set off.

I drive. and drive. and grab some lunch. and let my dog pee. and keep driving. 

Eventually I come to the point where I have to turn off the interstate and take a smaller highway that leads me south. I check my fuel gage and I have half a tank, so I opt to take the bypass part of the road I needed and skip the town. I mean... I'm about to drive south through the ENTIRE state of Kansas. There will be PLENTY of places to get fuel...

Okay. Maybe not. 

I keep heading south. The needle on my fuel gage is steadily dropping as I drive through little town after little town. (Okay.. so maybe I use the word "town" a little loosely. These "towns" were a single grain elevator with a "town" name. That.Was.It.  Sometimes... there would be a single grain elevator and within my line of sight there was a small little farmhouse and THAT was it.) After a while more of driving, my fuel range read 91 more miles to go. Then I passed a sign that said KINSLEY 45 miles. In my head I went, "Shoof. I've got plenty of diesel to get there! No need to worry." 

So I drove. After a minute or two I checked my range again.... I may have been a little worried. (If you are privy to my slightly anal personality you will know that a little worried means that I had broken out in a cold sweat, both of my hands were white knuckling the steering wheel, and I was sitting up, back straight as a board, unable to relax.) The range? 83. 

WHAT?! It JUST read 91. 

So, I start watching the range more closely. (That means I'm hardly paying attention to the road in front of me and I can just see the numbers drop. Soon, I was down to 76. The way I figured it, it was dropping between two and three numbers for every mile that I actually drove. 

I wasn't going to make it it Kinsley. I KNEW it. 

As it so happened, the highway that I was on was comparable to a barren wasteland. Okay.. not really. But there was really almost no traffic on it. I think in the two hours that I had already been on it I had met only ONE car. 

Great. So.. it's 107 degrees outside. I have a hot puppy with me. I'm in a stupid dress. AND my feed pickup is about to run out of diesel. 

Luckily, the one other vehicle with in a 175 mile radius, I'm sure, happened to be right in front of me. It was a white dodge diesel pickup with a kid in the front seat eating sunflower seeds and wearing a ball cap. (I know all of this because I was tailing him so closely.) He was going a little faster than I wanted to go to conserve my fuel, but I dared not lose him and stand the chance of melting before the next car drove by. Also, in a place were I didn't know a single soul for Adam, I couldn't imagine finding a more trustworthy person than someone that wears a ball cap and drives a diesel pickup. So, I kept on his tail. 

Miles went by and my fuel range steadily dropped. I prayed. Oh man, did I pray! Soon enough, I made it to Kinsley. Sigh. FINALLY. 

To my relief, the gas station was within sight whenever I pulled into town. I pulled up. Looked for the diesel pumps... kept looking for the diesel pumps. There weren't any. 

WHAT?!  A gas station with no diesel pumps? That's like going to Braum's to find out they don't have any chocolate ice cream It. just. doesn't. happen. 

Okay....? I'll just find the next station. Kinsley has got to be a fairly big town, the signs told me about it 45 miles in advance. 

Wrong. 

It was tiny. No stoplights. ONE gas station. 

So I pulled out my fancy smartphone and asked Siri where I could find diesel. Her response? "Here are a list of gas stations not too far from you." ...22 miles... 34 miles... 103 miles. 

Okay back to... Great. So.. it's 107 degrees outside. I have a hot puppy with me. I'm in a stupid dress. AND my feed pickup is about to run out of diesel. 

As a last resort before my imminent doom, I decide to stop in to the nearest place with people to ask for diesel: the town grocery store. 

Me: Excuse me sir, could you tell me where in this town I could find some diesel? 

Middle aged man I found: Diesel? 

Me: Yes. Diesel. 

Man: You really want diesel?

Me: Yes. I want diesel. 

Man: Shoof.. I don't know?

Again... Great. So.. it's 107 degrees outside. I have a hot puppy with me. I'm in a stupid dress. AND my feed pickup is about to run out of diesel. 

So I walked inside of the grocery store and timidly, but loudly ask the row of seven checkout stations

"Does anyone know where I can get some diesel in this town?"

Mass response of the billions of people in the tiny store: Diesel??

Me: Yes. I want diesel. 

Mass response: Shoof... I don't know?

One man that if I knew his name I would write a "Thank you" note to: Diesel? You can get it over at.... I don't remember what the name was, all that matters was that ONE person knew where to go.

So I got directions. It was about two miles away. I prayed I would make it... thinking to myself all the while: Great. So.. it's 107 degrees outside. I have a hot puppy with me. I'm in a stupid dress. AND my feed pickup is about to run out of diesel and I might have to push it two miles to the nearest pump. 

But.. I made it. 

And I understood why no one knew about it. 

It was LITERALLY an awning with ONE pump that had road diesel and farm diesel. And a separate card reader tower. 

I filled up the truck. Got back in. And finished my drive home. With a little less sweat and a little less white knuckles. 

Moral of the story? Never go through Kansas in a diesel feed pickup. 

Since it was my day "off"....

I think by the time I was nine I knew how to jump start a vehicle. Although I had never actually done it myself, I think that I could have jumped a car with my eyes closed if someone told me which cable was red and which one was black.

You see, it was a once-a-week occurrence almost for my mom to flip her lights on and let her car battery die.

If she was in a hurry...or if I was bad that day (which happened WAYYY too often because I was a devil child... Really.) ..or if she had a lot on her mind.... Some. How. Between getting in the vehicle and driving one mile to school and getting out to go to work for the day she would reach for her lights, flip them on, then completely forget about it.

After my maiden journey with my dad to go "jump" my mom's car (where I got in the passenger side, buckled up, grabbed the door handle with my right hand and the center console with my left, cursed myself for forgetting my bicycle helmet, prepared myself for a ride, and eagerly asked how high it was going to "jump")...I switched from novice to expert pretty quick.

I have inherited many, many lovely things from that woman I call mom, but I don't think I've ever flipped my lights on and killed my battery. This is probably because I'm a little younger aaaaand now there is automatic lights. Thank the Lord. So, instead...I lock my keys in my car. I'm sure I'm the world's worst about it.

This time? It was a rain day so all the men that keep me in business were busy working on things, greasing machines, changing oil...you know, stuff that you only have time to do around here on rain days. Since they were all working on their tasks for the day in different places, I didn't have to make lunch. So I seized this opportunity to go grocery shopping, at a Walmart! (Which never happens because it's almost an hour away from my small town.) So I made my list and checked it twice, making sure I had enough meal-groceries to make meals two times a day for seven men for about three and a half weeks.

So, I drove to Walmart, spent the designated "too much time" there and headed back for home with right around $300 worth of groceries. ($150 of it being frozen or refrigerated meat.) Buuuuut, since it was my day "off" I decided to stop for a tiny little minute at my sisters house to see her and say hi to my ridiculously cute six month old nephew.

I pull up in her driveway. Get out. (Leaving my keys in there, of course, because when I park at Lance's and do not leave my keys in my car I get in trouble...in case someone needs to move it for some reason or another.) and as I'm walking away I hear my Delayed Locking click.

Dangiiiiiit.

Because delayed locking is great if you are in a hurry to get to class and you want to get out and hit the lock button and then grab your backpack from the back seat and shut the door and the walk away as your car locks without having to get back into the driver's door to lock your car.
...But not so great if you get in a habit of leaving your keys in your car and still haven't got out of the habit of flicking the lock button on your way out of your car like you were on a college campus and not in the middle of the Valley.

Then...I decide to not tell Lance. I was going to handle it myself. I was just going to get my spare key from.... Uhhh. Well. It WAS at Lance's house. But... I'll just think about it and I'm just sure it will come to me...

***my ringtone for Lance***

Sigh...

Hiiiii :)
What's wrong?
Nothing..... :)
Oh. Okay? Well then can you come and pick up...?
Ummm nooooo.
Why?
I. Umm... Well.. Ilockedmykeysinmycaragain. *nervous breath*
Sigh...

Then Lance came to pick me up from my sister's house. We drove to his house. Searched for my key and couldn't find it. So, we had two options: 1. Have a new key made. Or 2. Drive to Weatherford and get my other, other spare key.

He didn't want to drive to Weatherford, so we called the car dealer here and they didn't have my key. So, they asked a dealership east of us and luckily they had one of my keys! So we drove an hour picked up my freshly cut key and headed back to my sister's house. We pulled up, tried the key.

It. Didn't. Work.

Soooooo off to Weatherford we drove. Picked up my key and drove back to my sisters.

Ten. Hours. Later. I finally got all the groceries into a fridge.

The casualties? Only two cans of wampum cinnamon rolls...but don't worry, we had them for dessert. :)

Did I learn my lesson? Are my keys and my spare keys still in my car in Lance's driveway? The answer is not the same to both questions. You decide.

...We've all got them.

Everyone has their own little quirks, right?

Which is, I think, just a nice way of saying that everyone has a few anal retentive tendencies. So, whether you have to spread your butter on your bread a certain way, or you like the door all the way closed in whatever room you are in...we've all got them.

I.... may have more than most. I try really REALLY hard hide them, but that's almost a laughable idea despite my valiant effort.

Sure my closet is not only organized by sleeve length, but it's also color coordinated. And every. single. time. I make coffee, I put the amount I actually need in the filter and then add a little more "for good luck." Aaaand there is that thing that whenever I have to drink liquid medicine I don't think I've ever done it without first saying (usually in my head) "One for the money. Two for the show. Three to get ready. And four to go." Oh! And I may or may not cleanmyroom/dorm/houseeverynightbeforeigotobedbecauseIreallylikewakinguptoacleanplace. Please don't judge.

However....none of those are my worst.

My worst? My almost neeeeeed for everything I cook to be perfect. It's not just that I want it to taste good, or even that I want to impress anyone... I just almost have a mental meltdown whenever something doesn't go according to plan. Okay...maybe not a total mental meltdown but I am just tempted to try to throw an entire made-from-scratch apple pie in the trash if my crust isn't right or threaten to flush $15 of meat in the toilet because it's not as tender as I wanted it to be, or maybe I have told people to not eat any of my cookies because my last dozen didn't quite make it out exactly at the end of the dreaded "seventh minute." Nothing major.

Needless to say this whole cooking twice a day thing was a worry for me. And by a worry....I mean a constant one that lasted more than entire semester before I actually started this gig.

You see, I cook not only for my self and Lance, who would eat almost anything I cooked (maybe even vegetables), but six other guys that I hardly know. My level of anxiety starting this whole ordeal... was... ummm nightmare producing.

Men. They eat meat. Or meat and potatoes. Or sometimes potatoes and meat.

I. I make casseroles. Or pasta. Or dessert and pasta. Or sometimes casseroles and dessert. (Because Mom never really liked cooking...so we never had much "meat and potatoes" because you couldn't order that from Sonic or Taco Mayo.)

So the nightmares? Totally not joking. I dreamed of all these men coming over to my trailer and smiling as they scooped up a hearty helping of "Casserole of the Day" on to their plates as they joked and ate and later thanked me for the meal.

THEN. When they walked back to their trailer making awful threats under their breath like,
"If she makes us one more casserole..."
"I'm...I'm gonna throw a 13"x 9" pan at her!"
Very well knowing that if they want to keep their jobs they had best say please and thank you and clean their plates.

Well friends....the cooking has started and I still have not had a casserole dish thrown at me yet...but we are only a fraction of a way into the season....

I'll keep you posted. :)
I might even include a picture of a broken nose if I need to.

The deal?

Soo.... Yesterday in my groveling for not blogging in so many days I mentioned that there was not one, but TWO good reasons for why I didn't blog. Then, I only gave you one. Whether you noticed or not, I planned it because today I have reason number two.

Her name is Ashlyn. You could call her my best friend if you wanted. I do. :)
We met years ago and after being trained for years of my life to never, ever like anyone from Alva (I still have to say it like I have a bad taste in my mouth) I met her on a two day bus trip that was the start of a two week long visit to Washington DC with our one thing in common...FFA. She knew who I was...not by anything great I'd done, or any great accomplishment I'd had, or any name I'd made for myself through that wonderful organization that we both love. She new me because...well, I sort of, maybe, on accident, happened to have stolen a boy from her. She hated me a little. Now, years have gone by and that boy doesn't matter anymore, for one main reason: SHE GOT HITCHED!

The wonderful friendship that grew out of a little high school hatred led me to be her Maid of Honor at her wedding this weekend. It. Was. Beautiful. (You can friend Micah Emily Photography on Facebook if you want to get a glimpse of it!)

So, between matching outfits, making new friends, hours in a salon, and all the other busy things that come with weddings I didn't have much spare time that I didn't end up sleeping. (PLEASE read the last post if you don't fully understand my NEED for sleep)

But, since I'm in the wedding mood, I guess, I thought I'd tell you a little story about Lance and I.

My first post was about how we got started "in glorious detail" but I may have saved a couple of things. I'll let you in on one if them now.

You see, I'm sort of a lot to handle. I'm a little stubborn, I may or may not be a bit of a perfectionist, a tad spiteful, and a touch of ridiculous. I've been worried for a looong time (as has my family) that I would never be able to find a man to tolerate me long enough to marry me. So, I had a back up plan: Lance.

I mean, I was always really fond of him, but I never thought he would want to tolerate me by choice. I just did his homework and cooked for him and yelled at him a lot. But somehow I suckered him into a deal. (I guess he thought the same thing about marriage that I did...and he might have been a little fond of me too.)

The deal?

We were going to get married when we were 35 if neither of us was married yet. I couldn't stand the thought of not being married eventually and well...I think he would have enjoyed a life of solitude, but he needed someone to inherit his life of work. So it was set.

For years now, we've jokingly planned our "wedding" from the big things like the location right down to the little things like the song of the first dance. We continued on to plan our life together from where he will build my Bed and Breakfast that I've always wanted to how many of the ten kids I want that I actually get to have. Shoot! We even talked about rings! So when we finally started dating, it felt a little backwards.

Now that we have successfully taken a few steps backwards I guess we'll just have to see if we actually make it to our "backup plan."

That's when it happened. I. Lost. It.

Okay okay...
I know I haven't posted in a while, but it's been with good reason. Well, with two good reasons actually.


The first?

Well, I was sleepy. In case you didn't know, harvesters don't sleep much. Aaand by much I mean not neeeeeaaaarlyyyy enough. The reason being wheat...is kind of like cookies.
You spend a lot of minutes mixing the wet ingredients, then mixing in the dry, then an eternity balling up almost one million stupid balls thinking to yourself with every single one, "I HATE making cookies..sigh.", then you put them in the oven and wait. Time ticks by so stinking slowly for the first 6 minutes, but the seventh...well I don't know where the seventh goes but if it's just 10 seconds too late you've got, not one, but 12 burnt cookies.

Now, if you haven't already forgotten where this was going...wheat is like cookies because farmers started this whole ordeal months and months ago. They plowed. They planted. They fertilized and sprayed for weeds. Then they waited for the six long minutes (relatively speaking, of course) and now it's time for the seventh minute. Which in real time is more like one to two weeks. So, all the farmers are in a big hurry to get their wheat cut and get the big payday for all of their months of hard labor. We have to do our best to get as much done as possible and we literally stay up and cut as long as the wheat will let us, take showers, and nap through the night just to wake up with the sun and do it all over again the next day. Because farmers don't want to "burn their cookies."

So, on a side note, I like sleep. And, if you are curious, I'm very good at it. I can sleep any where, any time, any condition. One of my very best friends, Lindsay, once told me, "Allyson, if you were a superhero, your super power would be sleeping." I mean...I can go without it...sort of. It happens in phases..I'm good. I'm sleepy. Second wind. So sleepy I could die. Thennn the worst: emotional sleepy. This means that something really, really insignificant sets me off and well...I cry. And cry. And cry. It tends to level off with eating and sleeping, but I can usually make due with one..if I have to.

Okay...back to the story. I had had my first week and a half of real harvest. Completely intact with lack of sleep and iced with one night of sleeping in the truck, we were on our last trip to Texas and back before we needed to start harvest at home.

Needless to say, I was on edge. And a number of things hadn't exactly gone my way...so I ended up having to go sit in the truck for a little while to compose myself. I even called my mom.

When it was time to go, Lance hopped into his truck and could tell something was wrong. When he asked, I told him that it was really nothing and I just needed some lunch. So, he takes me to the Braum's drive through and I order my regular: a number 10. The important part here is that a number 10 comes with fries. And Braum's fries NEEEED ketchup. So, to avoid any problems, I asked for ketchup when I ordered. And again when I arrived at the window. And AGAIN when they asked me if I wanted any sauces.

So I get the bag. We drive off. Aaaaand... THERE IS NO STINKING KETCHUP.

That's when it happened. I. Lost. It.


I throw the sack of food in the floor of the truck and cry. I cry big shoulder shaking sobs. Uncontrollably. I keep saying, "I. Just. Wanted. Some. Ketchup." between my body-controlling crying. Lance held my hand and offered to go inside and get me some, but it was too late. So after sucking it up and eating my little-too-dry burger and not even touching my fries (I miiiight be a little stubborn...) I take a short nap in the truck and the world was a little better again.

Later, Lance lovingly told me that that was absolutely the most ridiculous thing he had ever seen. I told him thank you for being so supportive. And I decided that maybe for a few days I should skip the blog in favor of napping.

There are some things that you just need to know...

Okay... just a warning: this post isn't going to be for the faint of heart. You see, I've told you about Lance, and about combines, and about the problems and joys that come with it all. However, now I'm going to tell you about how it really is.

If this is going to be too much for you... you have to stop reading this.

Now.













Okay... if you stayed this long you are in for it.




Lessons Learned of being a Harvester:


Number One: How to Pee in a Field.

Very few people know that I have never actually peed outside. I just hold it. I tell people this is because..well, I'm a little bit pee-shy and my dad believed in "Keeping the Door Shut." This despite everything else that it could mean, actually means that no matter how loooong the drive may be or how bumpy the road is or how many gallons of Gatorade that a six year old can drink...we NEVER stop until the truck needs fuel. When we traveled as a family it was the unspoken rule. We just all knew. In fact, once I had a friend with me and she wasn't exactly keen on the whole "if you can't hold it don't drink it" method my family ran on, so after an hour or so she needed to pee. As generally little girls are, she was too embarrassed to tell my dad that she needed to go. So, she asked me to.
Here's how it went:

Me: Hey Dad. I've really really got to go to the bathroom. Could we stop soon?
Dad: Sure. Where would you like to go Chelsey?


So, this is my excuse for why I have never "gone" outside.

The real reason? Because I can't. I don't want to admit it, but the few times I have tried I totally just peed all over my shorts...and in some cases my shoes. Granted, I have only tried mayyyybeee four times and it was all before fourth grade. Still. It doesn't at all lessen my embarrassment of the lack of this skill.

So yesterday, I was stuck in the one truck without a two-way (two-way: n. another name for walkie-talkies only they go way WAY farther and you can hook them up in lots of vehicles and have group messaging with your voice. Men like them for business-like things... I like them so I can know what's going on even when no one actually tells me) and my phone is nearly dead. It's dark outside and I have to go. So with the 6% battery I have left, I, of course, call one of my best friends. After a minute of me trying to coax her into gentle, friendly conversation she says: "ALLYSON. YOU HAVE TO LEARN TO PEE OUTSIDE. THIS PROBLEM ISN'T GOING TO GO AWAY!!" So, after much moaning and groaning, I decide that she is right. Since last night was my first successful outside pee, I just thought I would be generous and pass the knowledge on to you.

Step 1: Get out of the truck.
Step 2: Wait. Get back in the truck and find some napkins. (They will come in handy later. Trust me.)
Step 3: Get back out of the truck
Step 4: Take careful time to look through the black abyss and make sure no one is looking.
Step 5: Slowly slide off your shorts.
Step 6: Keep sliding them until they are roughly 7 inches above your knees. (Although, this is probably variable due to general thigh length and height)
Step 7: Lean up against the truck and or running board of the truck.
Step 8: Carefully think about the slope of the ground and the placement of your rope sandals as to not pee on your shoes.
Step 9: Balance for approximately 90 seconds while trying to force yourself to actually do it.
Step 10: You know what Step 10 is.
Step 11: This is where the napkins come in handy.
Step 12: Pull up you pants. Jump back in the truck and act like it never happened.
*This may or may not apply to boys. I'm not really sure.
**You also may or may not feel the need to call a friend immediately to report your success. Feel free to do so.

Number Two: Men Usually Know What They are Doing.

So, last night I'm sitting in the same truck..still and due to our conundrum from yesterday we decide that it is best to send a combine back home to start the work there. So, am just sitting in the truck watching them unhook the header and put it on a trailor, hook up the trailer to the another on of the pickups, and get the combine ready to drive up north.


So, last night I'm sitting in the same truck..still. And due to our conundrum from yesterday, we decide that it is best to send a combine back home to start the work there. So, am just sitting in the truck watching them unhook the header and put it on a trailer, hook up the trailer to the another one of the pickups, and get the combine ready to drive up north. I'm sitting. And watching.

If you don't know much about big machinery, I'll tell you a few things: First, they are very loud. Second, when they back up they have this awful beeping noise that is partly so awful because it has to be heard over the roar of a giant diesel engine. So, as I watch all this progress be made I see that the header is off and the trailer is hooked up and all that is left is to leave. The pick turns around and heads toward the gate. Then the combine starts backing up, I assume to pivot and then head toward the gate.

Except for, the combine doesn't pivot. It just keeps backing. And backing. I start to panic. Because what I haven't told you is that perpendicular to my truck is a huge fuel trailer. It's big and green and holds about 1000 gallons of fuel. So, this combine is backing up into this big fuel tank and that is not only big but it is completely full! (One of my jobs this afternoon was to go fill it up so we wouldn't have to do it later that night.)

The combine pauses. I heave a sigh of relieve, because even though combine's have side mirrors I don't think you could see something that was directly behind you that was the same color as the scenery in a black abyss. Then the worst thing happens. The combine starts backing up more! It's now only like 10 inches from the fuel tank and still backing. (In my head, which fast forwards scary events by two-fold, the fuel tank gets thrown on its side, spills all the fuel everywhere, and in the process tears up the whole back of the combine.)

It is now that I start rappidly honking my horn, but it can't be heard over the loud engine and the beeping I told you about earlier. I just honk, and Honk, and HONKKK! My blood is pumping and I'm shaking over the idea of what might happen. So, I keep going and realize that the honking isn't working.

I JUMP out of my truck and start yelling people's names, but still... no one can hear me. I didn't even have a two-way to holler at them on to tell them what is going on! I wave my arms, but no one can see me! I don't know what to do..

I almost become reserved to the fact that all kinds of bad things are eminent and I can't do anything about them fast enough. When suddenly...  the combine stops again. A mere 4 inches from the fuel tank. The driver hops out and unhooks the nozzle and begins to fuel up the giant machine for the long drive home.


It is at this point that I realize that I am somewhat of an idiot.
The men were all on the two-way guiding the combine back to the fuel tank.
I was in a completely unnecessary state of panic because I couldn't hear them to know this.

So, for your piece of mind, nothing bad happened. That is the reason for rule number two.

Both of these rules are laid out for you by me, because there are just some things that you need to know..

We are ALL too stubborn...

So today we have a conundrum. The problem? We have nearly, yes nearly, been blessed with more work than we can handle. It's a good problem. It means we are doing things right and people like us because we are reminding people every minute of the reason that they wanted us in the first place: we are the first ones up in the morning and the last ones to bed at night and we work every single second in between.

Right now, it's just taking all of our sleepy minds all the thought we've got to figure out the right solution to how we are going to get everything done in the next week. I think we've all been praying nearly continuously for the last few days for a fool proof method on getting everything done in the very best way....the only problem is: we are ALL too stubborn to listen after we ask for help.

So we pray. We think. We admit that we are stubborn. And most importantly we keep faith in the fact that God has a plan and (hopefully sooner rather than later) He will let us in on it.