"You're never exactly going to be Twiggy Mag", words spoken by one of my most cherished, and missed, friends, a vivacious lady with a quick and hilariously sarcastic, often cynical, sense of humour, my Grammy.  While the statement may have been irritatingly accurate, I have been at war with the proverbial bulge for as long as I can remember.  As is often the way in our human species, my earliest complaints were unnecessary and I now find myself praying to be the target of a random act of liposuction, to reset me to the size I was, when I thought I was fat.    Weight loss, for me, is a mindset, a sort of Calorie Busting Mojo that proved itself elusive in my earlier attempts, it was far easier to assume a "trying is the first step to failing" attitude and leave well enough alone.  When Grace was about a year old I found myself at my heaviest weight, perturbed every morning with choosing which tent (in my mind) I'd wear for the day, I was embarrassed by what I'd allowed myself to become and felt as though I'd lost my "it" factor.  So, after a couple of "Poor Me" days I got up and began a wheezy, creaky and winded journey to shed 100 pounds. About 1.5yrs ago  I had 70 pounds of the journey completed, when we received the wonderful news that Bethany was on her way.  Now, we'd been planning another baby and were thrilled overall by the news, but babies are hard on the figure, and I still had a ways to go before I could rival with Twiggy. Of course we couldn't be more pleased to have Bethany in our family, she is the biggest little person I know and seemingly overflows with the love she has to share.  However, all these months later, my weight gain fears affirmed, I find myself once again searching for my Mojo.  I've had a few false starts already and I realise it was a lack of the right attitude holding me back,  I'm finally finding my motivation once again and creaking back into motion.  We all have our ideals and while Twiggy status doesn't actually interest me, I feel that it is a courtesy of sorts to take care of the body God has blessed me with.  So with recycled courage, and my "ideal" stamped somewhere in the miles I have to pass over, I'm hitting the pavement once again.

TRYING OUT MAX'S NEW DIGS

The farm is rolling along as usual, we've had no more coyote scares, although I am sure they are ever present.  At any random time the cattle will all lift their heads in unison and stare wide eyed at the woods below there field, as though they can see something that we can't.  We are planning on running the rest of the herd through this weekend for worming and what not, this requires some strategic planning and usually creates an impromptu adventure for Jamie and I (and likely the cows too).  Jamie has been trying to work in the woods and cut enough lumber for our house, but the snow has officially become deep enough that the tractors are getting stuck. After a  very time consuming tow out, complete with broken tow chains and what seemed like hours spent digging and towing, he came home and cried Uncle, and our house building project is beginning to appear farther away then we'd hoped, but we are warm, dry and cosy in our little home.  

PLAYING IN THE SUN

The horses are wintering well, all fat and snug in their winter Jammies, Jamie and Hiccup, Grace's pony, however have developed a sort of Cat and Mouse relationship.  Ponies seem to be in a constant internal battle of good and evil, and Hiccup's struggle as of late is typically won by the least desirable side.  Each morning as Jamie is putting them out, he follows the mares like the true gentleman his "good side" truly is, then, at precisely the right time, his "evil side" steamrolls the good and carries Hiccup away on a merry adventure to everywhere but in the field.  This is often just in exuberant circles of bucking and kicking up his heels (and according to Jamie, sticking out his tongue and giggling), just out of Jamie's reach.  This causes the mares to run frantically in the pasture which in turn only encourages the egotistical Devil Pony to continue on his rampage.  It usually ends by Hiccup being left to his antics while Jamie allows the smoke to clear, and at some point in the morning, he is able to cajole the pony into the field, from which he will excitedly return to the barn for his oats and a rest so he can repeat the process the next morning.




MAX TRYING HIS HAND AT HERDING



ABORT MISSION!

The kids, like Hiccup are in a constant internal struggle of good and, well, not so good.  Grace swings like a pendulum from being the, self proclaimed, "best big sister in the world", to every little sister's arch enemy.  One minute she is offering to teach Bethany, or Bef, as she calls her, how to play her piano, the next she is yellingg at her for taking over when she doesn't even know how to play (as though Bethany's 4yr old teacher that is madly mashing the keys is a higher achieved pianist).  Often Grace will, in a spontaneous outburst of will to be a "great big sister" share her stuffed animals with her little sister, and moments later snatch it back, which inevitably causes screeching from her little sister, which of course, causes a reaction from me.  Then, in an attempts to amend the situation Grace will dive headlong in the other direction and the next time I look Bethany is all but drowning in a colourful sea of miscellaneous wildlife.  Beth has learned how to unplug the computer mouse and I am convinced, she lurks in the shadows for some unsuspecting computer user to happen by so she can stealthily trip over their feet and roll in under the desk to unplug it.  If the said Computer User happens to be Grace playing her games, this invariably renders a screech for someone to remove "Bef, cause she's 'noyin' me", which invariably renders a screech from Bef cause I'm 'noyin' her by removing her.  I am then left to wonder what raising teens will be like.