When I was a little girl, our fair ("our" meaning the fair 30 miles from home...close enough) was on par with Christmas for me: it came around once a year, it was spectacularly exciting, and I got to eat a lot of junk. What's not to love? I remember feeling so small among the crowds of people, the noise of midway, and the smells of deep-fried deliciousness. My dad would play this old-school crane game and win us treasures, like tiny oil-lamps and other kitschy stuff, which I adored. We would go on rides and see people we knew and exhaust ourselves. It was awesome.
I was so excited to share this with V. We actually went last year, and it was fun, but she was overwhelmed (she cried through the whole carousel ride) and we didn't stay long. This year, though, she's so much more worldly and brave, and after three hours (and $60! how is that possible?) we had to drag her away. This time, there were no carousel tears, and Daddy was such a good sport that he rode the train, too. 
As comfortable as that looks, we decided to let V ride alone when the chance to sit next to her friend McKenna came up. Here they are piloting a "Marines" helicopter, with some show-off punk in the back. The girls are concentrating on keeping the bird in the air, yo.
We went to a free puppet/song/something or other show, with an overly outgoing host and a plea to buy stuff at the end to help save the rainforest. It was in a nice, cool, tent, though, and everyone and everything looked weirdly green. See? V thought it was worthwhile enough to sit pretty still for the whole 25 minutes.
We also went to the petting zoo (the only farm animals on site were bunnies, 2 ducks, and 2 ganders, which we also saw...cows and horses were coming later in the week) and V was really, really into picking up the pine shaving bedding and throwing it. I was not so much into this. Nor was this pot-bellied pig.
The camel didn't mind, though. (What is it about camel eyes that I like so much? Is it that they always look so laid-back and calm? Or that I suspect she's plotting when to spit at me?)
We had such a good time. This fair? Though it seems much much smaller to me, now, and though I didn't win any tiny oil lamps, this might've been the best fair yet.
I was so excited to share this with V. We actually went last year, and it was fun, but she was overwhelmed (she cried through the whole carousel ride) and we didn't stay long. This year, though, she's so much more worldly and brave, and after three hours (and $60! how is that possible?) we had to drag her away. This time, there were no carousel tears, and Daddy was such a good sport that he rode the train, too. 
As comfortable as that looks, we decided to let V ride alone when the chance to sit next to her friend McKenna came up. Here they are piloting a "Marines" helicopter, with some show-off punk in the back. The girls are concentrating on keeping the bird in the air, yo.
We went to a free puppet/song/something or other show, with an overly outgoing host and a plea to buy stuff at the end to help save the rainforest. It was in a nice, cool, tent, though, and everyone and everything looked weirdly green. See? V thought it was worthwhile enough to sit pretty still for the whole 25 minutes. We also went to the petting zoo (the only farm animals on site were bunnies, 2 ducks, and 2 ganders, which we also saw...cows and horses were coming later in the week) and V was really, really into picking up the pine shaving bedding and throwing it. I was not so much into this. Nor was this pot-bellied pig.
The camel didn't mind, though. (What is it about camel eyes that I like so much? Is it that they always look so laid-back and calm? Or that I suspect she's plotting when to spit at me?)We had such a good time. This fair? Though it seems much much smaller to me, now, and though I didn't win any tiny oil lamps, this might've been the best fair yet.
He helps me to be more patient every day, and can resist even the worst tantrums if it's for the greater good. When I'm exhausted by 2 year old demands, he points out the sweet-curious-hilarity of it all, and when I still don't see it, he plays a game with her while I have a drink. Or four.
He's goofy & dorky & creative and V is a lucky girl to have him for her daddy. I'm a lucky girl to have him for my husband.
Our usual self-portrait
Yesterday, V learned how to fish (sort of) and though I hate a lot of plastic things and a lot of product placements, we bought her a Dora the Explorer fishing rod. It's small and easy to handle and adorable, and if I had had one like it at her age I would've been a 
Grandpa spent a good deal of time teaching her to reel (she got much better!) and discussing casting techniques. Mostly I said things like "That hook is sharp. Don't touch it." She seemed scared by the first fish--a 3" bluegill--and soon wandered back to the beach to chuck rocks.
Vegas gave me a four day hangover. Is that normal?
Mary and Beth, my dear mother- and sister-in-law, are two of my most favorite women on earth. We laughed so continuously, it’s really a miracle I didn’t wet my pants on several occasions. 
Vegas was a lot like New Orleans, but with a wider range of age groups, worse traffic, and fewer dark alleys. And more nudity. A lot of young women were apparently awaiting my call, because there seemed to be dozens who could be at my hotel room in twenty minutes or less. In New Orleans, there were a lot more people handing out religious tracts, but in Vegas, it seems they have given up, because the only things anyone handed me on the Strip involved strategically placed starbursts. 
The buffets alone were worth the trip.
On Sunday, I took some photos of equipment that now belongs to my uncle. Until I was 12, though, it was also my father's, and I spent a lot of time on tractors, in combines, and sliding across the bench seat of a sugarbeet, grain or pick up truck. 
I have not been in or on these vehicles for over twenty years, but when I opened the truck door, I was right back at grain harvest alongside my dad, bouncing in the truck across the field all afternoon. That old-truck-cracked-leather-pipe-tobacco-farmer smell lingers, I tell you.
The truck bed on the GMC truck didn't look this bad back then, though it was already showing signs of decay. One of my favorite daydreams was the idea of taking a big long trip in the back of the GMC (because it had a wooden bed, as opposed to the Ford's hot, unforgiving [albeit less sliver-y] metal) with Jeanie and Dixie and Lauri and Shannon and me. I figured we could put the tail gate on, throw in a bunch of blankets and pillows, and let my dad take us all the way to Minneapolis while we ate sandwiches and sang songs and laughed and stuff. 
The dash of the Ford. Looking at it now, those two knobs on the bottom look a lot like doorknobs. Hm. I mean, I don't know much about driving a truck, but somehow I doubt those are factory issued parts.
Speaking of which, here's a lovely example of my dad's favorite tool. If our family had a crest, it would certainly involve at least two vice grips: he used them for everything. This is the inside driver's door of the GMC truck. As long as I can remember, it's been missing both the door handle and the window handle, and the practical solution was to just attach a vice grip and leave it there. Twice. He also used vice grips to control the garage door and do some basic dentistry*.
