Flying Y Promotions: Seriously?

Well, that great night sleep I was counting on didn’t happen. Seems like I traded Katie’s kiddos for a 26-year-old one of my own. I am still kind of new to this marriage thing, but I have realized that sometimes having a husband is about like tending to a big kid. Luckily, I have one that’s a great mechanic, electrician, plumber, lawn keeper, all around handy-man. However, there are a few instances when I have to look at him and say “Seriously?”

This morning was one of those instances. I got in from Lubbock a little after seven last night and asked Brandon if he was packed and ready for his meetings in Memphis this week. He said, “Yah, pretty much. Just need to finish up.” I suppose I took for granted this meant he had his clothes in his bag and only needed to throw in his shaving kit. Well, at 3:00am this morning, when every light in the house was on, I realized this meant, “I have my bag out but there isn’t jack in it ready to go.”

I know I should have been a good little wife and gotten up to help him…..but I didn’t. I did, however, roll over and cover my head up and answer questions like, “Where’s my black shirt, have you seen my other pants, etc.” He did get it all together and on his way to catch his 5:00am flight. Way to go, babe.

Of course I rolled around in bed, not able to go back to sleep, and finally got up and started my day. And what a beautiful one it was! After a morning on the computer and watering our freshly fertilized yard, I came over to help Mom and Dad with the babies and live with them until Friday, because that is just what I do when Brandon is out of town.

I know that the people that don’t know when Brandon is out of town think we must have major problems. We don’t, I just don’t like being alone. It’s genetic. So, anyway, I got to do two of my favorite things today. Hang out with Herefords and take pictures. And chill with my mom, who is pretty much a rock star. She really is. She wears Chooka boots with skulls, crossbones, and love birds on them. Jams out to Pink and Maroon Five. Does P90X when she can, and celebrated her 49^th birthday by running a half marathon. Like I said, rock star.

Today she washed and dried babies and cleaned pens, so excited because everything she tossed out of the pens would be used on her garden and make great fertilizer. She always has a huge garden with tons of veggies and rows and rows of zinnias. So pretty! I love them.

While we were cleaning pens, Gramma and Pop came up to look at the babies, visit, and most importantly get his check from one of the oil companies that the mail lady accidently put in my box rather than his. I still get some mail labeled Yates, so I can understand her slip up. After all, Sammy Yates, Samantha Yates, easy mistake. It took some strong will to do the right thing, but I called Pop and told him I had his check, to which he replied, “Good, I need that. It’s my Hobbs money.”

I hope I get to that point in my life when I don’t receive income solely for groceries and bills, but rather to go blow at a casino in the Land on Enchantment. The thing is, in Pop’s case, he will go up there and double his money. He is the luckiest stinker I have ever met. No lie. He has to file tax forms regularly for winning too much on slot machines. That unfortunately, unlike the inability to be alone, is not genetic.