Mud Boots

For both of you who seem to enjoy visiting my corner of the blogosphere, I owe you an apology.  I realize I haven't been posting very often, and I appreciate you've still been stopping by to check on Cabbage Ranch. 

In my defense (if the glove does not fit, you must acquit): I have been trying to get my life back on track since returning from the land of nonstop work. 

Our house was filthy.  Not in a neglectful, I'm-not-trying-because-I'm-the-husband way, but in a I'm doing-two-people's-work-while-Katie-is-gone way.  And the pantry was empty of the kinds of groceries I buy (but full of those Cabbage buys, like bacon and Spree candies).  We were also lacking necessities like homemade wipes and Annie's favorite chewy bones, and furthermore Fletcher was reigning over one of our living room chairs and making it uninhabitable with his black fur.  Which, I suspect, is just what he intended. 

Plus I've been busy taking naps.  I'm pretty much a self-professed non-napper, so allow me to explain via mud boots.   

We are a very happy threesome.  

We like to spend time, just the three of us, puttering around Cabbage Ranch in our mud boots and adorning each other with stray pieces of alfalfa, eating pizza on Sundays, feeding the deer and loving on our horses.

But sometimes it is possible to know that someone else isn't here yet.  So...

Soon we will be four.