Farm Girl

Figuring out life, one blog post at a time.

Thursday, 8 December 2016

Baby, it's cold outside

The inevitable has happened: The cold has arrived. For the last three nights, the temperature hovered around -20͒ C (-4͒ F), and it didn't get much past -7͒ C during the day. But on the (literal) bright side, it's gorgeously sunny and bright every day, and that makes the cold worth it!

I contemplated going outside and taking some outfit pictures with the brilliantly blue sky as backdrop, but I simply couldn't bring myself to do it. One day I may share what I dress like going outside right now, but today is not that day.
Here is a description (from the top down):
1. Toque.
2. Ugly old winter coat, left in the closet from the kids.
3. Richard's sweat pants (think: baggy-ness taken to the next level).
4. Gum boots (because I don't have proper shoes yet, and they are big enough to fit the necessary three pairs of socks that I need to stay warm).
5. Underneath: 1 sweater, one T-shirt, one undershirt; long johns; normal underwear (did I need to clarify that? I felt like I should); the aforementioned three pairs of socks. 
Oh, don't forget the gloves!  

So yeah, there was no way in hell I was going to walk outside in just a dress and one pair of socks, even if they are my favourite pair of over-the-knee-socks. Hopefully I'll get used to the weather and get tougher with time!

Instead, I stayed inside and enjoyed some hot peppermint tea and Christmas cookies.
Also, just in case you were wondering: I was honestly dressed like this all day! After the old sweatpants and oversized sweater routine, I was craving some girly clothes. 

Speaking of routine: Mine is a lot different these days from what it used to be. 
After a cup of coffee, I head outside to water the animals. With it being that cold, the water freezes within half an hour or so, and I feel the urge to give them some much-needed hydration in the morning. We usually do the last feed/watering at around 8 at night, so by the time I go out in the morning, it's been 12 hours. 
After that, I'm still sorting/organizing the house, and after that, I try to get some writing done (I'm working on a big project, one I'm not quite ready to share with you - yet).
Usually it's after 1pm at that point, which means there are only three precious hours of daylight left. I fill those with either more animal maintenance (we are trying to find a new way of caring for them in the cold, which involves a lot of trial and error), yoga, shopping, or normal housekeeping like laundry, cleaning, or ironing. 

In the evenings, I'm cooking dinner (every night! who am I?), and then we watch old English comedies (our latest obsession: Black Books with Dylan Moran). 

(Seriously, give it a try: It's hilarious! And it will make you feel so much better about your own life...)

After that, we fall into bed, exhausted. The sleep in our new house is exquisite! 
Or maybe that's just because we are so bloody tired ;-)

Over-the-knee-socks: H&M (basic socks; stag socks; argyle socks)


Tuesday, 6 December 2016

The great (yearly) debate

It's my birthday today, and I'm feeling the love: Lots of messages, emails, texts, and phone calls from friends, loved ones, and in some cases, complete strangers. (Thanks, Internet.)
Thank you all, you are so awesome!!!

But it wouldn't be a normal birthday if we wouldn't have our yearly fight. You see, one of us believes in presents, and the other one doesn't.  
Despite my best attempts, I have yet to convince this darling, exasperating, stubborn husband of mine that expecting a birthday present is not "spoiled diva-behaviour", or an expression of my "princess tendencies".

I've tried countless times to explain to him that this is how people behave, and that one acknowledges a loved one's birthday with a bit of special attention: A card, cake, flowers, or a gift, maybe even a special surprise. I hinted that some people may even do all of the above, but that information was too much to process for him, so I hastily changed the subject.

Last night at dinner, (after yet admittedly another long, exhausting day), I briefly raised the subject of my birthday:
"Just to make it clear, you have nothing for me tomorrow, right? No gift, no flowers?"
"Right," he confirmed.
"Hrumph," I answered, and went to bed shortly after.

You see, you would think that after 14 birthdays together, I have gotten used to his annoying quirk of not wanting to celebrate a birthday, but as it turns out, I haven't.

I know that I don't need a present. We just bought a house for god's sake, and I bought a ton of new stuff for it, and then there is this beaut:

According to the locals, it's a necessity and not an indulgence, so who are we to argue? We got it from a neighbour for a good price (at least that's what people tell me, I have no idea), and it's a blast to ride around on that thing.

But anyway, as I've tried to explain to Richard, that's besides the point.
The point of having a birthday is being spoiled by your loved ones, particularly your husband who claims to love you oh-so-much, and that's just a fact, so stop arguing. (He never stops.)

He would like to skip the day altogether, because he hates a fuss.
I would like to wake up to a champagne breakfast, with everyone I love gathered miraculously around my bed, lit-up birthday cake in their collective hands, singing "Happy Birthday", and feeding me bits of birthday cake and chocolate.

Our "compromise" looks like this:

Me, upon waking up: "It's my birthday!"
Him, still asleep, mumbling: "Happy birthday babe."
Me, slightly put out: "Get up, we want to go out for breakfast in two hours, you still have to feed the animals and get ready!"
Him: "I'm tired, go away."

I'm stomping off (probably with some door slamming to emphasize my annoyance), and dedicate myself to coffee and social media.

Me: "Everybody is wishing me a happy birthday online, I feel so loved!"
Him: [unintelligible murmur]

The phone rings: My mom. She never calls unless it's mine or Richard's birthday. All the other times, we call them, because "You know we don't like talking on the phone," she tells me, the daughter who lives 10,000 km away.


"Happy Birthday! What are you doing today?"
Immediately, I go into "act like everything is perfect"-mode: "Oh, we are fine! We are not really celebrating this year, with the move and all, but Rich is taking me to brunch to this cute little cowboy-restaurant, and then we get our Christmas tree in the woods and decorate it together!"

When in reality, our day unfolds like this:

We have a fight because he won't get out of the damn bed (plus the whole non-present thing is sitting in the room like a huge, present-shaped elephant), during breakfast he unsuccessfully tries to organise a courier for a work-related project (his work, not mine), blames me for not having done so online, which results in me calling them and doing it for him, successfully, because women rule. (Btw, no thanks yet.)

We are late to meet our friend who is going to take us to a good Christmas tree spot (because someone wouldn't get up this morning). Once at home, Richard plants himself in front of the TV because "his back hurts", and I will decorate the tree by myself later, once it's defrosted (it was -16°C up there).

But here is the thing: This yearly fight is a tradition. The great debate never yields any winners, which you could interpret as there being only losers, but I prefer to see it as a tie, every year.

And it's a day that may never turn out the way I hoped it would, but it's always interesting.
This time, it looked exceedingly pretty:

Tree cutting crew
Getting the chainsaw ready
Sexy lumber jack

I could be mad that the champagne I'm drinking as I'm writing this post was bought by me, and not by my husband. But instead (mellowed by said champagne), I'm choosing to see this fact as proof of my own power and independence, and I'm grateful for a fun and unusual day. 

And another great debate. 



Friday, 2 December 2016


Yesterday I woke up to a world shrouded in white. Snow on the ground, fog in the air, it looked like the world was a canvas, waiting for someone to draw on it. The perfect backdrop for one of my favourite ModCloth-dresses! This dress needs snow, ice crystals in the air, the smell of cinnamon spice and hot mulled wine, to be drunk on moon-lit nights. Sadly, it's not available any more, but I found a real treasure chest of Yumi dresses on Asos, with hundreds of designs to choose from. 

The dogs love it here. We don't have a dog-proof fence yet (they can just go under the current one), but they are learning where the property line is, and have been behaving excellent. Tom Snow sleeps on the mat in front of our house, guarding the birds and us from the bobcat that's rumoured to stalk the neighbourhood. 

What's that noise? Is that the bobcat?

Nina, our Blue Heeler, is sleeping next to him in her little dog house, lending him moral support. Phoebe stays inside at night, due to her high-pitched bark, and the Corgi obviously sleeps next to me. 
Bear will arrive today with the last load, together with the sheep and llamas. And then they are all here!

Lily misses her big friend Bear, when I told her that he's coming today she did a little happy dance:

Dress: ModCloth (not available any more, lots of great options here)
Boots: Old Navy (these are the newer version)


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