Farmer Boy

One of my favorite books from childhood was a Laura Ingalls Wilder book called "Farmer Boy". It was about her husband, Almanzo, growing up on a farm. For some reason it appealed to me. I'm reading it to Becca now. She doesn't seem to appreciate it as much as I do.

So, this week, I have a real life Farmer Boy staying at my house. We drove to Cedar Springs on Sunday (which is where Dave used to live before we got married) to pick up Sam's friend who shall remain nameless who lives behind Dave's old house. His parents are farmers. They have four kids and he who shall remain nameless is the only boy. He used to ask Dave if he could call him "Dad" - if that tells you anything.

So he who shall remain nameless walks into my house Sunday with the nastiest dirtiest tennis shoes I have ever seen. Dave tells him to take his shoes off and when he does, his socks are worse then the bottom of his shoes. So they had to go too. I had to vacumn everywhere he had walked. Then I had to go buy him some tennis shoes. Then Dave made him go take a shower, which he fought tooth and nail. He only wanted to wash his feet.

To give you a little more insight, nameless's little sister got lice a few years back from their goat that was sleeping in the house with them. They don't have air in their house and they also have no screens on their windows. There is a refrigerator on their back deck which I'm pretty sure isn't plugged into anything and the craters in their driveway are deeper than the entire height of my car.

If you know anything about me, it is that I am a certified germ-o-phob and having child in my house is only enhancing my neurosies. AHHHH!!