And the Bad Mom Award Goes To...

Me.
See I knew having a second child would put an end to hopping in and riding back and forth across fields in tractors. 
Talking for hours and feeling productive at the same time.  That's our kind of practical date. Eating stale chips and drinking flat pop.  And deciding that John Deere needs to invent some sort of gel cushioned pop holder so the fizz wouldn't instantly go out.
I will ride with you when you do our field.  I told him.  You better not do it without calling me. I reminded.  What day this week are you combining? I asked.
Then he was here.  I'm ready, I have everything set to go.  Get the kids.  Y'know that hand on the forehead thing?  The instant reading which tells you what a thermometer tells your brain.  She's hot.  Day 2 of waking up from naptime with a fever. 
I sat in the chair and did what any woman would. >blubber<
I can't go with you.
All the planning, for a simple, ever practical date.  And we couldn't even do that.
Well, he said, aren't you just going to sit at home and hold her? Why don't you just do that in the combine? (The man shines at practical solutions.)
So we did.
And she kept getting warmer, and more listless, then telling me her back hurt. Here I am stuck in the truck hauling a load of corn in to town before the elevator closed, feeling awful. Bad Mom. >slap, slap< How do you explain that to Ask-A-Nurse?
And could somebody please explain how you can be a wife and a mom at the same time?











Note: Every time I've tried to put this up, my photo loading has failed, so two weeks later...