Wait. I'm sorry. How rude of me.
How are you?
Cold? Gettin there?
Oh, I'm fine...
Yeah, let's not talk about it.
Back to the matter at hand...things that make me go, "ugh".
1. Men being men when they're around men but being men around women who can do stuff.
2. The silent treatment.
3. Being told, "you'll understand when YOU have kids".
There are more I'm sure, but those are probably my top picks.
We will not be addressing numeros uno or dos today because;
-I'm sure I will address number one later (because it's sooo true) and to be honest,I gave Caden the run-down last Friday when I had a fresh wound and it still stings.There.
Number three it is!!!
Let me preface this by acknowledging the fact that yes, I'm
Thanks for the bm updates, guys.
Anyway, it may sound silly, and actually probably does to 90% of the people who might stumble upon this, but I consider my calves(not the ones on my legs, come on) to be my babies.
No, I don't coddle them, or play with them, but I watch over them and take care of them when they are sick. They are mine.
Yes, I realize they don't need me to feed them(beef biz now peeps), burp them, or empty their potty, but they need me.
Last week I happened upon a calf who was in the beginning stages of pneumonia. 4 months old, just laying in the field all alone. Was mama around? Nope. So I got the calf, with a temp of 107, up and treated her. She's fine now, thank goodness.
She's my baby. They all are.
This past Sunday I got called-out in Church by Pastor Brad.
Like, during Church. Like, remember when the teacher was totally not looking at you, then calls YOUR name to answer a question? And you're all like, "uh, I carried a watermelon". Likethat.
Thankfully the Good Lord was paying attention at this very moment and I didn't have to say anything. whew!
Anyway, Pastor Brad used our little family as an example in his sermon, and do you know what tiny, fragment of those mere seconds I remember like my birthday??? The words, "you're son".
He called Caden, my stepson, my "son".
And he is.
No, I did not birth him.
There are zero of my genes in his entire body.
I never saw his first steps, teeth or skinned knee.
BUT, I am here every night when he is.
I make him snacks for school.
I pick him up, talk to him, help him, and I dare say how I would react if anything ever happened to him.
I love him.
He's mine and the fact that he claims any part of me means more than any blessing I could receive.
Not because I have been there necessarily, but because I am a caring, compassionate person.
I don't know how you felt going through labor, but I can show you compassion.
I don't know what you have to juggle to get to where you're going, but I can listen, and I do respect you.
So, maybe the next time you assume someone has to have a child in order to obtain a certain level of understanding, think about how they feel.
I dare say any of my friends know exactly how it feels to be feeding round bales in an open bobcat on the coldest day of the year, but I think they could probably understand that it's a bit chilly.
I so dearly love Caden and could bot be prouder of my son.
Love, respect and compassion,
P.s. We'll get to the "Wal-Mart" ordeal in good time.