B-words

Berry Boy and I were having a disagreement on whether or not he had to wear his snowpants outside to play this afternoon (I, obviously, was “for” snowpants while he was, obviously, not…)

He had a fit and stomped off to his room while I got his brother dressed.  When he came back he looked quite distressed.  Something was obviously bothering him, so I asked him what it was.

He said he didn’t want to say, because he’d get in trouble for it.

So I sent Berry Baby out the door and sat down with B.Boy on the steps and eventually coaxed out of him that he had said a swear word just now while he’d been stomping off to his bedroom.

“What swear word”, I asked, thinking how bad could it possibly be?  I mean, this is the kid who, when we were discussing what “swears” are, couldn’t think of anything more horrible than “idiot”.

“You know, the B-word” he said tearfully.

Suddenly fearing the worst, I cautiously asked “What B-word” (since I could think of a few just off the top of my head…)

And then it all came out in a fast and tearful confession – “WellonmywaytomyroomIsaidBooHooandthenIslammedmydoor”

At which point I bit down on my lip to keep from laughing out loud, and asked, “so you said Boo Hoo?”

“yes” was the tearful reply, and then his head snapped up and he looked at me and said, “Wait.  Is that a swear?”

No son, no it’s not.  But I still love that you think it is.

*Of course, we had a discussion about being mad and the things we can and cannot do when we are mad, and that saying it and thinking it’s a swear is pretty much the same thing as saying an actual swear…still, hilarious.

Memory Lane…

First of all, I need to clarify that I do NOT make a habit of watching Oprah.

HOWEVER.

I happened to tune in today about halfway through the show and I nearly had a heart attack (in a good, ohmygoodnessIcan’tbelieveit kind of way) when she brought out SHAUN CASSIDY.

SHAUN CASSIDY!!!

Mr. Hardy Boys!  Da Doo Ron Ron!!!

I have to tell you, I felt like I was 9 years old again having my first crush of all time.

I loved him.  LOVED him.  I had this record…

and I had a poster that looked something like this that I stared at A LOT:

and I swooned while watching him and Parker Stevenson play the Hardy Boys:

Seriously, it was the BEST trip down memory lane I’ve ever had.  I had completely forgotten about him, but when they played his greatest hits I knew EVERY song and I kept saying “oh YEAH!!  I remember that one!…”

It was SO. MUCH. FUN.

Gushingly yours and showing my age,

Berry Girl

You’ll Always Be My Baby…

I know, it’s cliché.  But I find that as much as I have always felt like I’ve been pushing Berry Boy to make the next stage, I just as much am trying to hold Berry Baby in his current stage.

With Berry Boy, I was always eager for the next thing – we *taught* him to crawl, we encouraged walking, I couldn’t wait for the talking, I was super excited to send him to preschool, Kindergarten, hockey…you get the drift.  Each new stage was (and still is) exciting to me.

With Berry Baby, I find myself just wanting him to stay.  Stay chubby.  Keep the toddler belly.  Always sound as cute as you do right now.  Always give me that impish little look.  Always raise the inflection in your voice by three to five octaves as what you’re saying becomes more and more important to say.  Always ask to hold my hand everywhere, and at all times, even when I’m driving the car and you’re in the backseat.  Always tell me you “wuv” me and say “I just wike you Mom” as you rest your head against my leg.  Always tell my you need “much and much” juice/icing/cookies/etc.  Always be infatuated with Buzz Lightyear.  Always say “chwockwat” instead of “chocolate”.

*sigh*

As I look back on his year, from 2 to turning 3, I’m still surprised at how much his face is changing and how he is growing…

He loves helmets and goggles…

he’s potty trained…

he still loves his teddy…

he had some awesome bedhead…

and then a haircut…

he learned some soccer skillz…

and rode dirt bike

And now, he’s a 3yr old.

A lightsaber wielding ice-cream cake eating 3yr old.

Excuse me while I cry.

Berry Boy at 7

He’s goofy

He’s goofy, and he still loves kittens…

He’s goofy, and he loves combine rides…

He’s serious about riding his dirtbike,

and not goofy at all…

Not too old to get super goofy excited about Lego…

and always the one to steal my heart.

It’s ok, I had some salad…

It’s Berry Boy’s birthday today – he turns 7.  Yep, seven years ago today at this time I had been in labour for 7 and a half hours, and I still had another ten hours to go, three of which involved me pushing.  That’s right.  Three hours.  Of pushing.  It still haunts me.

Anyway, I told him that we would take him and two friends mini golfing in the city, and then I didn’t plan much after that thought.

So when I realized that there would have to be cake in some form for it to be a legitimate birthday party, I figured hey! I’ll just make cupcakes because they’re easy!

I forgot that I don’t make good cupcakes.

I mean, they taste good, they just aren’t pretty.

Observe:

this is what about 60% of my mini cupcakes looked like after I pried them out of my non-stick pan…

and about 20% of the regular sized ones came out topless like this…

But I soldiered on, thinking a little icing would cure all most ills, and I iced the cupcakes with green and blue-green icing like this…

How’s that for a striking color variation.  What?  You can’t tell the difference?  Yeah, me neither.

I wanted to pipe the icing on so that it looked all nice and pretty.

Well, I piped it.

I think the sprinkles help, don’t you?

When I was done and frustrated and depressed, I ate a couple mini cupcakes with some leftover butter cream icing.

Ok, I ate a few.

Ok, I lost track, and they were slathered in icing.

Yes, I did hit the point where I started to feel sick.  Yes, I was filled with regret.  Yes, I did have one more cupcake top after I reached that sick point.

But I think it’s going to be ok, because I ate a salad after my stomach settled down.  It even had some cucumber on it.  That’s got to cancel out a few of those broken cupcakes…

Sorry, I lied.

This morning, immediately after breakfast as I was frantically racing around the kitchen trying to get my stuffing started for the turkey we will be eating later, Berry Baby announced to me that he “*needed* some cookie”.

It was 7:30am.

I immediately replied with a firm “no” adding that we “do not have cookies in the morning”.

I said this, with great sincerity, not ten minutes after I had stood at the counter with my back to the kids who were eating breakfast at the table and furtively “slammed” a Tim Tam* with my coffee.

*cough cough*

For those who might be unfamiliar, a Tim Tam is a cookie.  A super amazing wafer cookie covered in chocolate.  The ones that I have also have a ribbon of caramel in the middle.

Basically, you bite off small pieces of the opposite corners of the cookie, dunk one end in your coffee and suck the coffee up through the cookie.  As soon as the coffee hits your mouth (through the cookie) you slam the entire thing into your mouth.  The inside of the cookie has melted but not the chocolate (yet) and the caramel is soft and chewy.

Basically, heaven.

So apparently, we *do* have cookies in the morning.  At least, some of us do.

Don’t tell my kids.

*when I visited that link (and btw – was surprised that there was an actual Wiki article about this) I found it funny that the company used “Tim Tam Suck” in an advertising campaign.  Don’t know about you, but that doesn’t sound HALF as appealing as a slam…

Harvest

Berry Guy has been busy busy busy helping our friend/neighbour/cousin with his harvest.  It’s been great, except that we don’t see Berry Guy unless it’s between the hours of 7am and 8am.  Otherwise, he’s gone, driving grain truck or swather.

So, today after work, I high-tailed it out to the yard site where they were unloading the grain so that we could ride along for a little while.  You know, before the boys forget that they have a dad…

Anyway, it was a beautiful day.  We sat in the sun and watched the combines working

Then both the boys got to ride along in one of the combines while I rode with Berry Guy to unload the grain

They had a lot of fun

After one of the combines had dumped a load of grain into the truck box, the boys jumped in to play in the wheat

By the time we were done having fun, it was close to 4pm and we were all hungry and getting crabby.  Well, I for sure was getting crabby.  And we were all itchy from the grain dust, which added to my crabbiness.  And the boys were both tired.  And I was hungry.  And crabby.

So I raced home and threw a frozen Costco lasagne into the oven for a quick supper, but then realized that due to the obscene amount of time it would need to cook that we would not be eating for over an hour.  Fail.

Which meant that I had to give the boys a snack before we hit all out Armageddon.  Which meant that by the time our Looks-Better-In-The-Picture Lasagne was ready they were less than hungry.  Another Fail.

Which meant that I did a significant amount of *loud talking* during supper in order to get the boys to consume at least something that resembled supper.  Fail.

More *loud talking* when Berry Baby spilled (a) his water, (b) his medicine, (c) the water from the bathtub all over the floor.  Failfailfail.

It always amazes me how fast a great day can turn upside down and end poorly.

Needless to say, the boys were in jammies and into bed very quickly, where I drew several deep breaths, read them a story, apologized for my own crabbiness, and put them to bed.

phew.

Now, if I can inject some enthusiasm into my body, I will try to run out some of this crabbiness on the treadmill.

What I did today…

I sent Berry Boy off to school on this…

and then I came here…

and drank this…

(grande, 3 shots, extra hot, and half sweet)

while I ate this…

and visited with some great friends.

I shopped, came home, played, cooked, and once I get the boys into bed I’ll get on this…

and run a few miles.  I’d really like to do that out here…

because right now the wind is calm(er), the sun is shining and the trees are beautiful, but Berry Guy is busy busy busy harvesting for our neighbour.  So I’ll be a good girl and use my awesome treadmill.

It’s been a very, VERY good day.

Don’t Know What You Got ‘Till It’s Gone…

I love how we don’t realize how much we rely on something until we don’t have it anymore.  Things like water, or electricity, or, today, sewer.  Or more appropriately, working sewer.  Like, sewer that doesn’t back up into your furnace room because your sewer tank is too full.  Which you only find out because you have 320 bazillion loads of laundry to do today, and the house started to smell funny after the first load.

I had a long list of chores to do today – things like the 320 bazillion loads of laundry (needs the sewer to be working), doing the dishes (that water drains into the sewer), showering after my run (sewer), flushing the toilet (sewer).  I suddenly feel like my hands are tied.

So I’ve called the sewage and septic sucking services guy (can you name that tv show??), who never answers his phone but requires everyone to leave messages, which means that I have no idea when he might actually make it out to our farm to suck all the crap (literally – haha!) out of our septic tank.

Until then, I guess I’ll be stinky and sweaty, in dirty clothes, and with a messy house.

At least I can still vacuum the floors.  Yay.

Things I LOVE about Fall

Returning to routine – school days, work days, consistent wake-up times, lovelovelove.

The way the air smells like harvest.

The cooler but still comfortable temperatures.

Wearing great sweaters but still with flip flops.

Cold snaps at night = dead mosquitoes.

Fewer moths.

Routine.

Hot coffee tastes better (as if this were possible) when it’s cooler out.

Hot Chai.

Moths.  Less of them.

Routine.

Running outside  - it’s less humid and cooler, which is perfection.  I can wear my favourite Lululemon long sleeved running shirt but still with my favourite shorts.

Watching the train of massive combines and tractors and grain trucks drive past our house.

Smelling the wheat chaff in the air from said combines.

The dying moths.

Riding in the swather and grain truck with Berry Guy (he’s helping with harvest this year).

Moths.  Dead.

Ah Fall, where have you been all my summer….

I’m a Cheater

but please don’t tell my coffee press.

It’s been going on for a couple of weeks now.  Mid-afternoon will hit, and I’ll need a little pick-me-up, but instead of heading for my beloved coffee press, I grab this:

and I heat it up, pour in some hot frothy milk, and sit down to sip and sigh contentedly.

It’s spicy, creamy, and sweet.  And I love it.

And I don’t even feel bad.

Make-Believe is Hard Work

I’m listening to Berry Boy and Berry Baby playing with their two friends, and they’re going to *play* Star Wars, but first they have to determine who is going to be which character, what colour their light sabres are going to be, etc etc etc…

Friend 1 - “I’m going to be Luke, but not with his hand cut off…”

Berry Boy - “Right, and except with the green light sabre.  And I’m going to be Anakin, ‘cept not with my arm cut off.”

Friend 2 (obviously concerned about the apparent losing of body parts) - “I’m going to be Yoda.  He doesn’t have anything cut off.”

Berry Boy – “ And let’s be bad guys, except we’re good.  And then we can have red light sabres.”

Berry Baby - “I’m ‘Soka.” (leave it to the little guy to chose a girl character…")

This goes on and on, for about 15 minutes, all this decision making.  By the time they’ve finished hashing out the details, I’m exhausted from just listening to it.  They go outside, play, and come in 3 minutes later because they’re done and now they’re going to play Lego.

Apparently, all the fun is had in the details.

Race Report – Fin Island Trail Race

I have to confess, I was a little dubious about this race.  It was, after all, free.  And with some of the responses I’d had to some emails I’d sent to the race coordinators, I was beginning to wonder just how organized the race was going to be.  Turns out it was a fabulous race and very well organized.

So Genine and I hemmed and hawed a lot about whether or not we really wanted to wake up at 5am to make it on time to the 8am race start.  Since the race was just over an hour’s drive away, she came to stay at our place for night so that we could get away nice and early.

Based on the research I had done, we would not be able to park at the river flats (where the race was held) unless we went to package pickup on Friday night and picked up a parking voucher for $5.  Since we were not going to package pickup, our other option was to catch one of many shuttles going from different places in the city out to the island on the river.

And, in order to get to the race early enough to get our race packages, we would have to catch the 7am shuttle.  *groan*

We managed to get there just in time for that first shuttle, and we happily hopped into the waiting van which was being driven by a nice an older gentleman.  Genine says to him “it sure is nice of you to volunteer to drive the shuttle” to which he said something involving a curse word and indicated that he was (a) up way too early, and (b) had been volunteered by someone else, so was (c) doing this against his will.

Awesome.

So now we’re being driven by the Super Crabby Old Guy Who Swears And Smells Like Cigarettes.  And who is listening to “Kokomo” on his CD player.  At 7am.

Again, awesome.

We got to the island ok, used the outhouse, and went to the race start where we picked up our race numbers and found some sun to stand in because it was 7 degrees Celcius out and we could see our breath.  And I was wearing shorts.

Genine and I had both been toying with the idea of running the 21k route, but I hadn’t run anything longer than 4miles in the last 3 months or so, so I talked myself down to the 10k.

Turns out 10k is plenty far enough in a trail race.  Running trails is a little more challenging than running on the road, which I *knew*, but hadn’t yet experienced.  By 2k I had learned that it’s best to not look at my Garmin while running trails, as inattention = tripping.  By 3k I had learned that no way would I have ever been able to run 21k, and what had I been thinking??  By 4k I had finally settled down, slowed my pace a little, and relaxed into the experience.

And it was truly a great experience.  The day was cool but sunny, the trees were pretty thick and blocked any wind that we might have felt, and the trail was great – lots of variation from double track to single track, grass to sand to roots to dirt, and every once in a while a breathtaking view of the river glistening in the sunlight.  Short but steep hills, nice flats, all in all a great course.

And the coordinators did a really great job on the race – it was really well organized.  The race is the kickoff to Bridgefest, the community’s annual fair, and if they keep offering it then Genine and I will keep running it.

We followed up the race with breakfast at a restaurant, and topped that off with Blizzards for the drive home.  Pretty much perfect.

Dynamite

Is it bad, do you think, that the most often requested song in my house right now by my 6yr old and 2yr old is “Dynamite” by Taio Cruz?  I’d post a link to the video, but it’s all full of girls using metal grinders wearing tiny belly shirts.  Or are they bras…whatever.  My question is, is this bad?  Is it a bad song?  I’m not sure…but it cracks me up to hear Berry Boy singing (albeit somewhat tunelessly) “I throw my hands up in the air…gonna rock this club…like it’s DYNOMITE”.

I love the fact that Berry Baby cannot get into bed without performing one (or many) summersaults in order to get to his pillow.

I hate the fact that both the boys are running fevers today.

I’m running a trail race on Saturday with my friend Genine.  I signed up for the 21k, but I’m thinking it would be wise to drop down to the 10k, seeing as how my longest run lately has been 4miles.  The race is free, so I don’t think it will be a problem.  The problem will be waking up at 5am to run at 8am.  Big problem.  We both almost bailed on this race, but in the end I knew I had to do it – I’ve been psyched about it, and if I bail on this it will be one more thing in the long list of Things I’ve Had To Bail On running-wise this summer.  So I’m doing it.

Berry Boy asked me today “Mom, do you think that every time we go to the city you could go to Starbucks?” to which I said “uh, yeah” while thinking to myself, dude, we already do that.

Random Roundup

I know, posting around  here has become as rare as the last steak I tried to cook on our bbq.  Sorry.  Here’s what’s been floating around in my brain the last while…

Is it just me, or does everyone have houseflies that look like they’ve been on steroids?  Seriously, these suckers are huge.  And slow.  Which thankfully makes them easy to swat in mid-flight.

On a related note, the moths seem a bit, umm, messier? this year too.  Like last year, when I would go on my nightly Moth Slaying Rampage, they would leave a little dusting on the wall where they were hit, but this year they leave dust and slime.  Much grosser.  Like they needed to be grosser.

I’m totally looking forward to Fall – the cooler weather, less humidity, school, routine…everything.  I’ve already done most of Berry Boy’s school shopping and I was like the parent in the Staples commercial dancing up and down the store aisles singing “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year”.  Thankfully, Berry Boy is looking forward to it too, and his teacher this year is super awesome.

I’m (still) having serious motivation issues.  In everything.  Housework, cooking, reading, devotional time, gardening, running…I’m not sure what to do.  It’s like I’m maintaining the bare minimum in everything, but no more.  And it’s not because I’m just so busy, although we have been fairly busy, but not overwhelmingly so.  I kind of feel stuck.

I’ve been listening to the song “Lover Lover” by the Jerrod Niemann Band – it’s super catchy and has such a great blues-ey feel to it.  Berry Boy has apparently been listening too, and I overheard him singing it the other day, but he was (I thought) singing “Robber, robber robber, you don’t treat me good no more…”.  When I told him that the words weren’t actually “robber robber” he looked at me funny and said, “I was singing Robert Robert”.  I didn’t tell him what the actual words are.  “Robert Robert” is just way funnier.

Berry season has come and gone.  Definitely not our best year ever, in fact it was our worst.  Too much rain and humidity and we couldn’t spray enough to defeat the fungus and disease.  So we took in about a third of what we did last year.  Surprisingly, I had a ton of fun in the shop with the kids who work for us.  Some of those girls made me laugh so hard – I truly enjoyed getting to work with them this year, even if I disliked the actual work.  It was a pleasure to be in charge of the sorting this year with a group like that.

Our old, deaf Golden Retriever is no longer with us (don’t ask) and I think that our younger black mutt is missing her.  I’m contemplating taking her to run with me – we got her as a puppy and she was kind of obnoxious in the beginning, but now she’s about 2yrs old and she’s settled down quite nicely.  I kind of really like her, and I’m not the type to get attached to animals on this farm (they don’t always have a long life expectancy).  I need to get a leash (our old one is missing) and try her out.  I think she might do really well, and it might help get me out there.

Berry Baby has started to preface everything he says with “Should I…?” – as in “should I have a cookie?”  or “should I come sit on your lap?”  or “should I drink your coffee?”.  He just gets cuter and cuter, that kid.  They both do.  Except when they’re fighting with each other, which is all the time.  Definitely time for school to start.