One of my brother’s best friends is getting married.

He’s been there for my dad to keep him company when it would have been my brother there instead.

He’s been there for my mom – telling her stories about Michael and helping keep a piece of Michael always close.

And he’s been there in his own teasing, funny, pain-in-the-butt way… just like a brother would be.

The least I can do is a photo shoot for the guy.

What could be a more blissful assignment than engagement photos?

It’s a fresh start. A new beginning.

It’s a “prop stylist” lounging on a swing (one of Michael’s other best friends!)

It’s the prop stylist losing a pair of Oakley sunglasses in the swamp.

It’s spending a Sunday afternoon with old friends and celebrating the beginning of their life together.

I played sports in high school – line drills, laps, relentless drills… all of it.

I’ve done aerobics, taken kickboxing lessons

Step class, pilates

Yoga, … a little weightlifting

But Lordamercy,  none of it – NONE of it – compares to pushing a chubby 9 month old in a stroller while 6 months pregnant. I must have burned a million calories because in addition to being tired and sweaty, I ate like a horse when I got home. At least I didn’t try it on the farm’s dirt path – I stuck to the nice, smooth road. Maybe after the baby is born I can wear him in a sling and push the stroller too – and try – TRY- not to eat the contents of the Frigidaire when I get back home.

I don’t know about other states, but in Virginia there is a day just for children to turkey hunt.

It’s the first Saturday before turkey season officially begins and my girls are counting down the days.

The Cotton Husband has promised to take them and though he cannot carry a gun that day he’s looking forward to spending time with Pumpkin and Sweetpea.

My Pumpkin is rarin’ to go. Everywhere we go these days she’s staring out of the window trying to spot gobblers and hens and thinking about her “strategy” for that day.

Ahhhh… country girls. They really are a different breed.