8. At the reunion, I knew I had only one more week until the farmer and I would find out what we were having. Here’s another selfie of my progress the morning of our ultrasound. I was anxious and nervous. Giddy and excited. The farmer just knew it was a boy and he’s never been wrong about the gender of anyone’s baby including our first child, so I was prepared for a male outcome. BUT, on the off chance it COULD be a girl (and that the farmer totally missed his own child), I was prepared for a female outcome, as well.

I have trust issues.

Aaaaannnnddd….. (Drum roll, please)

The farmer’s streak officially came to an end.

That’s right! He totally missed our second child and we’re having a GIRL!

He was almost speechless for a good hour after we left the doctor’s office out of utter shock.

You have no idea how badly I wanted to put udder there. So. bad. I resisted.

But, I still had to tell you.

Looks like my dear, sweet husband will continue to be surrounded by girls. Once the shock wore off, he settled right in to the thought of another daughter. It’s easy to do when you already love the one you have so much.

I watched Taegan work calves today with the farmer. She’d get behind them and poke them with a stick to run them into the squeeze chute. Or she would stand her ground when one was trying to find a hole to run through. She’s a little bit of nothing compared to some of these calves, but they don’t sense any fear in her. (Sometimes, we wish she would have a little bit of fear). The farmer turned to me while manning the head lock thingy and said, “Taegan’s going to be quite the little farm hand.” I said, “Who needs boys?”

Depending on how difficult our youngest daughter’s babyhood is, I could be game for giving a boy another go, but if it never happens, I won’t be sorry.

“One good daughter is worth seven sons.” (Ruth 4:15)

In our case, two daughters. 🙂

9. The farmer made baleage out of the sudan-sorghum crop he planted.

It extends down the rolling slope that Missouri has no shortage of. I didn’t use to take the time to appreciate crop scenery. Booorriiinngg. However, that is not the case now. Pastures full of lush, green forage for our cattle is a beautiful thing. Knowledge of the hard work and money that goes into putting this in the ground only increases the appreciation. Now, we’re waiting for it to grow tall enough again for a second cutting.

10. I was down at the dairy barn one evening just sitting on the parlor steps talking to the farmer. Taegan was sitting there beside me and we were being absolutely harassed by flies. Flies on the farm have been extra bad this summer. She was “feeling her oats,” up to mischief, and making somewhat of a nuisance of herself, so I got this hare-brained idea to run into the house and grab my flyswatter.

Sometimes, I have moments of pure genius. And great curiosity. If I started killing all the flies and their friends, would the others get the hint and run for the hills?

Plus, it was good stress relief for me as I have absolutely no regrets about killing these little flying, black, buzzing things. When all the cows are around, you can’t fail.

Mother of the year award. Right here. I like to give my children opportunities to succeed. Every time she got one, it was, “Mommy! Mommy! I got one!”

Here and there and everywhere. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Basically, we created virtual chaos in the barn that evening for the farmer. I’m sure the girls milked really good that evening.

He just shakes his head and looks at me with wonder. Wonder at my BRILLIANCE.

What can I say?

Oh, and my research concluded that flies do not mourn the death of their friends nor do they seem to worry much about being slain themselves.

11. We bought new equipment for the dairy barn so that we could milk more cows at a time. We’re a small dairy and we have a small barn. It was built to only be able to milk 8 cows at a time. Let me clarify that. Eight Jerseys at a time. Fitting a behemoth of a Holstein in here gets really tight. It can be done, but it’s not comfortable. The farmer has been milking only 4 at a time because we didn’t have a large enough vacuum pump, enough lines, enough of this or that to be able to milk all 8 at a time. Well, we finally acquired everything we needed and got everything wired and set up. He’s now able to milk 8 instead of 4. Both sides are going at the same time.

He came out of the barn the evening it was finished and says, “Woo-hoo! I’m a double four!!” We both got a chuckle because we know of at least one dairyman close by that has a double 16 barn and there might be others with more. Milking 32 cows at a time takes a lot of help and my farmer is a one-man show, unless his mom drives down to spend some time.

And by spending time, I mean work. She helps him milk the cows and gets to visit with him some in the process. His sisters do the same thing when they’re at the farm. In fact, we all do this. Getting time with the farmer requires work.

So, we’re happy with our double four. One person couldn’t milk more than that at a time and see a decrease of time spent in the barn. When your husband works 14+ hours a day, every little bit of extra time shaved off matters.

12. Lastly, we went to visit my cousin and her family in Kansas City. She has chickens. And chickens are animals that Taegan has never been around. No matter…she took right to them. I, on the other hand, keep my distance. You can’t trust feathered beasts. I don’t like geese. I don’t like chickens. And I really don’t like Martins…stupid dive-bombing brats.

My child, unlike her mother, seems to have a calming effect on chickens.

We now call her the chicken whisperer. This little chick was so soothed that he fell asleep.

Or he’s just narcoleptic.

We also went to Sealife and the kids were totally fascinated.

So was I.

That pretty much catches up everything we’ve been up to this summer, not including just the tasks of everyday farm life. Now, we’re in a mad dash to clean out our guest room for the nursery, prepare fields for fall crops, start back to preschool, learn how to sew, do more demolition/cleaning up of the farm…

Oh, and have a baby somewhere in there.

And by learning how to sew I mean attempting to make all the baby bedding for the nursery–pillows, curtains, the whole shebang. My mom is going to help me because I have never sewed once in my life. Take that back, middle school…where I couldn’t have sewed a straight line if someone had had a gun to my head. I love design and decorating. I have the whole nursery designed in my head, but no way to implement it. If I can learn how to sew, I just might be on my way to being unstoppable. Look out world! Breauna knows how to use a sewing machine!

Needless to say, chaos is going to ensue in the house, on the farm, and in our minds.

Until next time,

Breauna

Come November, we will (Lord willing) be adding another Krider to the world!

Are you worried?

I recently announced on my personal Facebook page our news with the following pictures:

And the following disclaimer was made by husband: “This is the first time and the last time I will ever wear this shirt.”

He humored me because he loves me. I think he’s just swell.

I’m 9 1/2 weeks along at this point and with each passing week, I feel slightly better. I have maybe a couple days a week where I feel really rotten and, unfortunately, they are never consistently the same days each week, which really messes with any plans I try to make or tasks I want to accomplish. I will tell you that bending over to pick something up off the floor is the quickest way to make myself turn green, so I try my best not to do that. Therefore, my house sustains the messes that a pint-sized, 4-year-old tornado mixed with a manure-caked, muddy-boot-wearing, smelly dairy farmer make.

I can do laundry. Thank heavens I can do laundry.

Peanut understands that there’s a baby growing in Mommy’s tummy and, honestly, has grown up a little more since finding out that fact. She’s pretty understanding when I’m not feeling well. She doesn’t bounce around on the bed anymore. She snuggles on the couch. She’ll carry my dishes to the sink. And she (begrudgingly, sometimes) will pick things up off the floor and place them where I won’t have to bend over to pick them up. She’s been a great helper. She says, “I’m gonna’ be a big sister and I’m gonna’ teach him everything I know.”

She’s 100% certain she’s getting a brother. We’ll see. Maybe she has the farmer’s gift. I’ve been married to him for almost 10 years now and have not once seen him be wrong about what gender of baby someone is having. He’s feeling like it’s a boy, too.

What better time to be wrong when it’s your own, right? He was right with Peanut, though. I was certain she was a boy and he would look at me with a sheepish grin and, “I think it’s a girl.”

I’m not kidding when I say I had to totally re-bond after the ultrasound. I was in shock for days.

We are extremely excited about the new addition to our family, but also scared to death. So many things are going to change. I worry about Peanut feeling loved. I worry about how the dynamic of our family is going to change. I worry about the stress two adds to the mix. I worry about having both my children up during the middle of the night and not being able to get either one of them back to sleep. Grocery shopping. Spending time with my husband. Will my house be even more trashed than it already is? So many things. The list goes on and on. My imagination is really good at cooking up things for me to feel anxiety about.

I do know this, though. Before Peanut, flexible is never a word I would have used to describe myself. Situationally adaptable? Yes. But, consciously just going with the flow? No.  Adaptability, for me, is about having to deal with things that are out of your control. My plans were always in my control (I thought…remember, this was me before Peanut and before dairy farming) and anytime my plans did not go my way…anger. Lots of anger.

That’s not me so much anymore. I’ve learned a lot about flexibility…almost to the point of being noncommittal. You just can’t know when you have cattle and kids what will happen from one day to the next. Being flexible has brought me a good measure of serenity, along with living in a place where you just can’t help but feel it.

Therefore, even though I’m scared of the change that will happen, I still look forward to meeting this new little tyke. I’m just going to have to learn to be even more flexible.

Right?

I need input! Either ease my mind or tell it to me straight!

I just wanna know what’s ahead!!!

So I can control it!!!

I need to make contingency plans and run what-if analyses!!!!

I have a sickness! It’s called “I-can’t-NOT-plan!!”

I think I just flat-out lied when I said I had a good measure of serenity.

I was walking around my yard yesterday, just admiring the last show of beauty my flowers could give me before they went into hibernation for the winter. I took some pictures for you.

My Clematis. Still going in October. Everytime I see a new bud on it, I get all kinds of excited. I’ve got two growing together and I never know which design I’m going to see. It’s like Christmas for this girl.

Irises…

I think they’re a little confused because it’s October!! I know I am…

I don’t know what this is, but I love it. Someone please enlighten me.

Violas…

And then this isn’t really in my yard, but it’s on my porch. And the cement of my porch is in my yard. So…it totally counts.

And the cream can was in my yard before I got crafty and decided to do something cute and creative with it. Never mind that it took me a solid hour, if not more, to make that bow. And then once I finally did, I ran screaming and jumping across the yard to tell my husband. He didn’t even have to ask. He knew I had conquered. Because I get super excited and act like a little kid anytime I do something I’ve never done before. I like to revel in how proud of myself I am for a little bit.

Humility goes out the window for a few short moments.

Then, I’ll trip over something and everything will be back to normal.

Along with the pretty things I get to look at, there can also be found several things that diminish the aesthetic appeal of my little country paradise.

Exhibit A:

Yeah… this twisted ball of fur is a deer pelt. Brought to our yard by none other than…

I also witnessed Banjo chewing on what looked to be a large, strangely colored stick only to come a little closer and see fur and a black hoof. Speechless. That’s what I was. Only in the country. My brother-in-law shot a deer a couple of weeks ago, cleaned it out in a pasture, and Banjo is having fun with the dismembered leftovers. He’s kinda demented like that… He should probably be institutionalized, but what can ya do?

I know I’d miss him. And although his mental health is in question, he’s got to be one of the most photogenic dogs I’ve ever met.

And anytime you come to our dairy, there’s a chance you might round a corner of our house and meet a creature like this.

This is Thing 1. Yep, that’s her registered name. She’s a twin. And I bet you’ll never guess her sister’s name…

We’ve been using her as a lawn mower.

She’s really efficient because not only does she mow, but she fertilizes at the same time. AND she puts milk in the tank. To sum all that up for you, she’s a lawn mower/fertilizer that pays us for her services. I mean, what more could you ask for??

And here, she’s just made herself right at home in my backyard. Chewing her cud in the shade. Livin’ the good life.

Walk a little further and a random shoe is nothing out of the ordinary.

Another perk of having Banjo around. We can’t leave any of Peanut’s shoes where he can get them because he only chooses her shoes as his victims.

And if deer pelts and unattached limbs aren’t enough for you, this is the point where we cross over from a country yard into just a flat-out redneck yard.

Isn’t that just a gem? A decapitated, fake deer. A decapitated, mutilated, annihilated fake deer. Can anyone say overkill? The farmer is asking for a new core for this for Christmas. I wonder why…

And I signed up for this… All I can do is shake my head and chuckle.

Because reflecting back on all my past plans really does shed a humorous light on my present.

And that’s where I find my happy place.

Have a fabulous afternoon,

Breauna

Yesterday, my day started when Peanut showed up at the side of my bed, screeching, “I’m hungry! I’m hungry, Mommy! I want a waffle!” at 5:40a.m. I told her I’d be there in just a minute hoping she’d go in the kitchen and wait for me. My logic was that this would maybe give me approximately 1.2854 minutes more of sleep before she ran back down the hall and continued her morning assault. I didn’t get so lucky. So, I hauled myself out of bed and slipped on one of the farmer’s zip up hoodies because I was cold.

I was cold because I was wearing a very light-weight jersey knit nightgown.

I was wearing a very light-weight jersey knit nightgown because sleeping next to my husband is like sleeping next to an electric blanket turned all the way up. He’s quite toasty and I tend to be a hot-natured gal, anyway.

So, I slipped his hoodie on as a makeshift robe.

Picture this: the Hunchback of Notre Dame with his hair piled on top of his head, dragging his knuckles as he walks and you’ve got a visual of Breauna making her way to the kitchen for that sweet nectar known as coffee. You’re welcome for that.

I stuck Peanut’s waffle in the toaster, started sipping away at my coffee, perked right up, and my normal day started off as usual, other than keeping Peanut home because of a low-grade fever. I’m such a creature of habit that I’ll go ahead and blame what I later did on the fact that my routine got a little out of whack.

And that I’m trying to plan for a family trip to KC this weekend.

And that I’m having family come visit the next weekend.

And that we’re having family pictures done and I can’t decide what to wear.

And that I have a new-found obsession with Zulily.

And that I’m trying to find new coffee mugs that I like because all of mine have disappeared into this strange abyss called the “dairy barn” where all coffee mugs go to die. And then, when I’m hobbling into the kitchen every morning, I don’t even have anything to DRINK OUT OF!!!!

But, I’m not bitter.

Anyway, I’m bee-boppin’ around the house, washing dishes, folding laundry, bribing Peanut just so she’ll take some Motrin, checking our bank accounts and balancing checkbooks…you know, the usual things when my husband enters the house like a storm and says, “I’ve got to go into town. I’ve got  to get plastic to wrap bales and some other things I need before I start baling this hay I cut. This isn’t gonna be a joy ride, so if you guys are going, you better get around! I’m in a big hurry.” Usually, Peanut is game for these trips. She just likes to ride around, but yesterday morning, she decided she’d rather just stay home. I was fine with that, so I just continued to do all the busy work that comes along with being a wife and mom.

As the farmer is heading out the door, she decides she DOES want to go. So, I’m rushing around trying to get her ready, doing my hair, cleaning up the dishes on the table, putting jeans on, putting shoes on, turning the TV and the lights off. I hear my husband’s truck start up, notice that Peanut has left out the back door, and see my husband inching his way down the driveway in front of our house. Yeah, he does that sometimes. I think he thinks it’ll make me hurry up. He’s right.

So, I run out the door, trying to high-step it through wet grass, hop in the truck, and we’re off. About midway down our looooong driveway, the farmer turns to me with this sly grin on his face and says, “Soooo, we’re wearing our nightgown to town today, huh?”

I look down and, yep, there it is. A midnight blue piece of material hanging about 6 inches under the hoodie I never took off. He noticed it as I was making my way across the yard, said it was puzzling, and yet only mentions it when we’re halfway down the driveway…

The farmer always says I’m good for a laugh and, obviously, he doesn’t ever have to go very long without one. We got to the feedstore and all I could do was tuck it in my jeans, laugh, and make sure the farmer’s hoodie stayed adequately zipped.

The moral to this story? When I’m 1) out of my routine and 2) being rushed, bad things will happen. It’s guaranteed. However, the upside is that it does it make for a funny story once in a while…

Breauna

The farmer has been looking for a four wheel drive vehicle to replace our beloved Badger. Here she was in all her glory.

It was actually an old Montero.

But, that’s beside the point. We all called it The Badger.

This made it official.

My father-in-law paid $300 for it and everytime I rode in it, I couldn’t help but feel like a National Geographic photographer somewhere in Africa. Ponytail. Camera in tow. Roughing it. Bugs in my face due to the lack of a windshield. Soggy bottom due to the ever-present moisture in the seats. Holding on for dear life because the driver was crazy and the vehicle had no shocks.You know…the whole works.

It was really nice to have, though, because you just can’t haul everything with a four-wheeler.

Anyway, Badger went kaput and we’ve gone a long while without something like it.

Enter this to save the day. The farmer picked it up Sunday.

I saw it and I didn’t even know what to say.

Actually, all I could say was, “You gotta be kidding me.”

And the farmer with this big, goofy grin on his face says, “FREE!”

You know that fake, dramatic cry that Lucille Ball does? Well….that’s me right now. Dust in my mouth due to the lack of a back glass. Lots of spitting, by the way. Random red pieces of headliner falling from above as we drive over bumps. Another stickshift that I can’t drive. You know…the whole works.

No delusions of grandeur for this girl.

Nope.

Just over here chowin’ down on humble pie.

Breauna

P.S. My husband is giddy.