Yittle.

I am not, ummm, *generously* proportioned in the upper regions of my body.  This has certain advantages – like, I can buy the really cute and pretty bras, and I can run while wearing very light support.  It also has (obvious) disadvantages, but I try not to think about them.  I was, however, just reminded of a funny story concerning my breasts (or lack thereof) and I figured it would make for a good blog post, since I have nothing else to write about…

Back when my niece was 3, she and her family came out to the farm for a visit.  Being the active people we are, and them being outdoorsy, we thought it would be nice to take them on a hike.  It was late Spring, warm, and sunny.

I was wearing my favorite sports bra and a tank top with some shorts.  Now my niece was 3, and her little legs were tired.  She was also ridiculously cute, and since she was walking with me and holding my hand, I volunteered to carry her for a while.

As we’re walking along the trail, me carrying her on my hip, she gently pats me on the (upper) chest and says “I’m just a yittle (little) girl, so I just have yittle breasts”.  I brace myself.  I can already tell this is not going to go well for me.

She continues… “My mom, she’s a big girl, so she has big breasts.”  Yep, wait for it…

“But you…you’re a big girl, but you just have yittle breasts.  They only grew a yittle bit…”

uh huh.  Thank you, my 3yr-old niece, for pointing out the painfully obvious.  I just about cried laughing.  And then I just cried.  And bought a padded push-up bra.

The end.

Tanked

Goodbye, my good and faithful friend

You’ve surely served me well.

You’ve been a big *support* to me

So it’s hard to bid farewell

 

You’ve supported me through longish runs

and through half marathons

Though I must say, your job was easy

I lack the larger dimensions

 

But now you stink so very much

so bad during my runs

I guess 4 years of running sweat

gives more than tighter buns

 

So even though you look as good

As the day I bought you,

It’s time for us to part our ways

because I stink so bad when I wear you that I can hardly stand myself while I’m running and frankly the running is tough enough on its own thankyouverymuch.

(in honor of my favorite Lululemon running tank, we had a good 4year stretch…and I will now replace you with a newer, younger model…)

Thanks

So, I realized that after I emotionally threw up all over you guys, I never posted any follow-up or let you know how it was going now.

I started feeling much better (albeit still weepy) after laying it all out there in writing – it’s so cathartic.  And then I started praying a little harder, especially at night – that Berry Baby would sleep well, but if he didn’t that I would be patient and gentle and be able to help him without having my own meltdown.  I’m kind of a terrible pray-er.  I lack the discipline and much of the confidence.  But I’m thankful that God chose to hear me anyway.

I’m pretty sure that some (or most, or all) of you were praying too, because I really felt…better.  In fact, I think that since Easter I have been yelling much less and keeping my temper more.  And I’ve been enjoying the boys more too.  That feels good.

We put Berry Baby back on his reflux meds, and I’m pretty sure that has made a big difference for him too.  It didn’t right away, but lately he’s been sleeping through the night more often than not, and usually if he does wake and cry, it’s short-lived and I rarely have to go in to settle him.

So on all fronts, it’s looking much better, and I’m planning to talk with my doctor next week about trying to get off the antidepressant.

I’m just really thankful.  Thankful for all of you who were encouraging and supportive, and understanding.  And I’m thankful that our Heavenly Father hears and cares and answers.  I’m really not sure where I’d be otherwise.

Oops

It appears that I was a bit too hasty in my “SPRINGISHERESPRINGISHERE” enthusiasm.  Kind of a “Chicken Little”-type thing.

Here’s the forecast for today:

a balmy +3 degrees.

And, I kid you not, it was snowing.  I’m so disgusted.

Here’s Monday’s forecast:

a balmy +1 degree.

I could cry.

In fact, I am crying.

I’ve also eaten 5-too many bites of super delicious creamy mashed potatoes, and I’m feeling a little sick.  And remorseful.  You’d think I’d have stopped after 1-too many, but I’m a glutton.

I will now go bury my head in the pillows and will not emerge until the threat of snow is gone.  Or until I stop feeling sick from too many mashed potatoes.

Going Green (and I don’t mean environmentally…or maybe I do…)

I know, it’s feast or famine here at Berry Bloggerific…I’m either posting nothing for weeks, or I’m making multiple posts in a day.

However, I made an important discovery whilst outside today...and I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up here, but…

CHECK IT OUT!!!

(and please excuse the fact that the background is in perfect focus while the actual thing that I was focusing on is blurry…I apparently have no idea how to take pictures)

I think it’s officially Spring.

Green makes my soul say “ahhhhh”.

Unfortunately, this…

…does not make my soul say “ahhhh”.  This makes my soul say “I’m gonna open up a can of whoopass beat that blasted dog…”

That tomato cage?  It houses a plant.  Or at least it used to.  My favorite rose bush suffered a similar fate – I didn’t take pictures of the carnage because it was too depressing.  I replanted the poor thing, but I’m not so sure it’s gonna make it…

I think I will blame this one…

Mind you, it could very well be this one…

but I’m pretty sure I got it right the first time.

Hey, it’s SPRING baby!  It’s officially the season of dirty feet and daily baths (for the kids, of course…obviously I bathe daily all the time…ahem)

Prune-ish

I accidentally lay down with Berry Boy in an effort to get him to take a nap.

Thankfully, he’s a snorer.

Now, I am trying to recover myself with a latte so that I can *quickly* run 6 miles.  The 6 miles I was supposed to have run yesterday, except my legs didn’t seem to work.  Or I was just too lazy.  Whatever.

Berry Boy doesn’t often nap anymore (although he should, the grumpypants), but he has motivation these days.

Berry Season is upon us…sort of.  It’s pruning time, which means that Berry Guy gets home from work, shovels in some supper, and is out the door by 6pm to prune the orchard.  It increases our yield, or something.

Anyway, we hire a few teenage boys to help out each year, and there’s NOTHING that Berry Boy likes better than working with his Dad and the Big Boys.  I can hardly get him to eat supper – as soon as the first person drives on the yard he goes into a complete panic.

We bribe him with the lure of pruning to get him to take a nap.  As in “if you take a nap, then you can work until 8:30 with the guys”. 

I know – it’s weird.  But it works.  At least until he’s old enough to realize that “work” isn’t always fun…

It’s sweet.  And cute.  He’s learning how to work, which is fantastic.  And he’s spending time with his Dad, which he loves.  And in general, the boys that come out here are really great with him, and he totally idolizes most of them.  He may well be one of the most popular Kindergarteners around, simply because he gets to know so many older kids through our farm.  I walk down the hall with him at school and kids in grade 11 are high-fiving him and calling out his name.  It’s awesome.

Well, mistake number 2 – sitting down to type.  I have now wasted 10 minutes blogging instead of running…and now Berry Baby is waking.  It’s irritating difficult to run on the treadmill with Berry Baby around…no matter how I block him in, he still manages to escape.  Drat.

In The Long Run…

I hit the 9mile mark in my training for the half-marathon yesterday.  Which means that I had to run 9 miles.  Nine *glorious* miles of never-ending prairie roads, where you can see exactly how far away the half-way point is.  Sometimes, I wish I lived back in the city.  Where there was a river.  With nice, winding paths.  And prettier scenery than last year’s stubble field.  And those, by the way, are not my legs.  My calves aren’t quite that beautiful.  or tan. although the shoes could be mine…

anyway…I love running.  And I don’t mind the long runs really.  They can be relaxing and peaceful, just (apparently) not yesterday’s.  I think I may very well have hit all 5 stages of grief in that run:

Denial:  This would have been in miles 1-2, where I was telling myself “this isn’t so bad” and “that wind isn’t too strong” and “my legs feel really fresh”…

Anger:  This hit me in mile 5 when I turned on to the freshly graded grid road.  Running on a freshly graded grid road is akin to running on marbles.  Consider how fun that could be.

Bargaining:  Probably also somewhere along mile 5 – when I was telling myself that if I could just make it to that next field approach or telephone pole, then I could keep on running to the next field approach or telephone pole (not really a bargaining chip), or that if I ever made it to the corner and on to mile 6, then I could eat all the gummy bears in my little bag that I was toting along (a better bargaining chip).  Or that Liz had probably run an effortless 9 miles already probably didn’t have achy legs after either…

Depression:  Definitely on mile 8, when I turned back onto the paved highway, and thought that I was running really fast, and really making time, until I hit the mile mark and looked at my watch to see what my split time was…yeah, not so fast.  In fact, not any faster than my last mile.  Which had been painstakingly slow.  Apparently, when your legs are a bit numb from 8 miles of running, it can feel like you’re going fast.  But that’s just because you can’t feel your legs.

Acceptance:  Mile 9, where I finally admitted that this was as bad as it felt, and that wind really was that strong, and my legs really did feel that numb, and that spot on my big toe probably was a blister…

The best part of my run came at the end (of course) as I topped the *hill* that marked the last half a mile of my run and started on the way down.  “Boom Boom Pow” started playing on my ipod (thank you Suzy) and I sped down that hill and up the short incline to my driveway, and STOPPED.  And immediately felt better.  Until I got inside and had to walk down the stairs.

Greening up

Yesterday, I ate a salad for lunch.

This is momentous to no one except me, considering how (not) often anything of the vegetable variety passes over my lips.  However, because I asked Berry Guy to pick up “some” spinach so that I could make a strawberry spinach salad for Easter supper with the family, I am staring at a Costco-sized bag of fresh spinach every time I open the fridge.

Note to self – do all the grocery shopping.

Anyway, I actually like spinach, so this is not a travesty.  And I’m really not sure why I don’t eat vegetable-type things more often.  I’m going to blame it on my University days and finding one too many liquefied cucumbers in the bottom of the fridge that I shared with four other girls.

I have a thing about fresh produce.  If it is even remotely blemished or soft or on the barest verge of maybe beginning to be not quite as fresh as when I bought it yesterday, I’m done with it.  I’m paranoid that it will taste “off”.  Incidentally, I do the same with dairy.  If that expiry date hits, it gets tossed.  No matter what.  Drives Berry Guy crazy.  As, I’m sure, many (many) other things do.  ok, now I’m looking at the word “many” and I’m suddenly wondering if it’s spelled that way because it looks really strange.  Like “man-y”…man-like…never mind.

SO I’m fairly bursting with iron and calcuim-rich greenness.  And I thought that my Calorie Counter would really like that.  I’ve  been tracking my daily calories online for the last two weeks or so, mostly out of curiosity, but also because I would love to ditch just 5lbs.  Would you believe that every day I am “over” my daily “recommended” caloric intake by at minimum 200 calories??  Every. Single. Day.  And this doesn’t even take into account the random Cadbury mini eggs and the chunks of Easter bunny dipped in peanut butter.  Seriously, only a Grandma would buy a 1lb chocolate Easter bunny for a 1yr old.  Who, exactly, do they think is going to end up eating that thing…

*sigh*

Moving on…I was all excited to add this spinachy healthy veggie-laden salad to my calorie log.  It didn’t help.  I think, maybe, I was expecting the spinach to have a calorie-negating kind of effect.  Because that only seems right, don’t you think?  I mean, if I usually eat Kraft Dinner for lunch, or chili-cheese nachos with full fat sour cream, then the times that I go out of my way to eat spinach should create a calorie deficit.  Stuff like that should have negative calories.  ahem.

Tonight, I’m gonna show that calorie counter a thing or two.  I’m gonna cook up the fish that Berry Guy brought home from his ice fishing weekend.  And I’m gonna FRY it.  In BUTTER.  Lots and lots of BUTTER.  And I’m gonna make mashed potatoes with lots of BUTTER, and SOUR CREAM, and CREAM CHEESE.

I think I should just stop tracking calories.  It depresses and frustrates me.  And then I want to eat chocolate.  Or chips.  Or chili-cheese nachos.  I just can’t imagine where the problem is…

Runoff

Welcome to the 2nd Annual Spring Runoff Partay…

where you just can’t believe the amount of water in the ditches.

Cuteness is a requirement…

as is the ability to run fast in rain pants and rubber boots.

Come prepared to get wet…

and to defend yourself from wasps and bees (this may include, but is not limited to, pulling your hoody tightly over your head and/or shrieking like a little girl).

There will be balloons…

and food.

Of course, it’s not really a party until you start seeing sheep.

(please note this is a BYOS event – a sheep will not be provided for you in the event that you leave yours at home)

You will need floaty things…

and decent rain-wear (which, incidentally, does not help anything when you are (a) sitting in the water, or (b) standing in water up to your waist).

The Rubber Ducky races will be fierce…

with lots of competition…

so try not to go home mad.

*no sheep were injured during the 2nd Annual Spring Runoff Partay.

True Confessions

Prairie Chick doesn’t know it yet, but her post today gave me a proverbial kick-in-the-pants: “Let's all open our eyes and realize the gifts that He has so graciously granted us in this day, in this moment.”

I have to confess, I’m struggling to see them lately.

Berry Baby has us up at minimum two times per night lately, even since completely ditching the bottle, which I was sincerely hoping would *solve* our night-waking problem.

Night-wakings are certainly NOT a new thing around here, but they have developed a new degree of difficulty.  Not unlike Berry Boy’s “Tonka” computer game…if I EVER get him past this next level it will not be soon enough…ahem.

moving on.

Before, Berry Baby was waking a lot, but he was easily settled.  Now, not so much.  His waking is now accompanied by shrieking, and when we get him up to calm him he puts up a huge fight.  He doesn’t want holding, he doesn’t want to be left, he doesn’t want a drink…nothing.  It’s taking us at minimum 15min to get him to stop screaming AT us and to get him laying back down in his crib.

I’m stressed.

And I’m very tired.

And weepy.

And I’m yelling a lot.

And I’m trying hard not to slap him while he’s screaming at me.

Which makes me more weepy.

And I can’t remember when I last had a *good* day that didn’t involve some sort of meltdown on my part.

Also, consider that it had been my goal to ditch the antidepressant right around now.  I don’t see it happening.

So today, and yesterday, and the day before that, I am praying.  For gentleness.  For patience.  For God to hold on to my temper for me, since I am unable to do it myself.  And I will now add to that prayer that I will be able to open my eyes and realize the gifts that He has so graciously granted me in this day, in this moment.

thanks PC.

Mushy Mondays

Because I need a reminder, after the middle-of-the-night antics we had last night, as to why I love this child…

I bring to you, New Lego Magazine, in 10 photos.