I am the daughter, granddaughter and great-granddaughter of Wyoming cattle ranchers who somehow ended up in a Twin Cities suburb. I have a husband, two kids, a welsh corgi, a mini-van and I can drive across South Dakota with my eyes closed….I could but I promise I don’t, eyes wide open and both hands firmly on the wheel at all times.
My address may be in Minnesota but my heart will always be in Wyoming. This is where my two worlds collide. Where I post my thoughts on ranching, life in the country, life in the city, parenting, laundry and other random musings.
As a kid there were two words I loved to hear, Pretty Work. My Dad has never been the type to lavish praise on a kid. He expected that you should do what you were supposed to do and that should be that. There should be no need for participation trophies or atta boys for just doing the job you were instructed to do.
But, if you did something well, if you went above and beyond, if you made the right choice in a tight spot, if you clearly did your best and put forth your best effort, well then he would say “Pretty Work!”
And because you didn’t hear it all the time, it meant that much more. When you did hear it you knew you’d earned it and you knew he meant it. You knew you had accomplished something. It wasn’t just lip service to try to boost your ego. It was true and honest. You did good. You did pretty work.
And now I spend my time trying my best to piece together a life of Pretty Work.