The Lumberjack's Wife

The ill-fated glamor portraits of 1994, meant as a Valentine’s Day gift for my dad.

Creepy, is it not?

Poor me.

Poor, chubby, emotional, junior-high-ish, pimpled, cranky, moody me.

(From left to right:  My sister Meagan, Mother, and Me)

That is all.

1.  On Tuesday, I hauled all the children around in my ginormous rig and did every errand known to man.  I must now do my errands this way, seeing as how we live so far.

2.  Upon three, yes, three separate occasions, I had this same conversation with friendly passersby:

Passerby:  Wow!  You’ve sure got your hands full!

Me:  Yup!  I sure do! 

Passerby:  Hello, kids!

Me:  Say Hello, Kids!  Hello, Hello!  Ok!

Friendly passerby is not quite aware of the frantic, desperate need for a mother of four to KEEP MOVING!

Attention peoples I do not know who stop me in the store:

Do you not understandeth?

To stop and give my children the opportunity to roam, investigate, touch, smell, see, get bored, look, steal, touch, hit, pull hair, yell, touch,cry, giggle, tickle, bite, touch, stand up, sit down, run around, touch, whine, complain, holler (not holla), touch, and touch, touch, touch is foolish, asinine surrender on my part.

I will not let the grocery store experience with four children defeat me.

As God as my witness, I will not be brought down.

Passerby:  Wow.  I don’t know how you do it.  My one just exhausts me!

Me:  Oh!  Thanks!  Well, I guess you just get used to it!

Passerby:  Well, aren’t they all just so precious?

She must not notice that the boy has his hands down his pants.

Per.

Usual.

Passerby:  Wait a minute!  These three look alike, but the youngest one . . . boy!  He sure doesn’t look like the others!

Me:  Nope!  Nope, nope, nope!  Weird, huh?  Ok!

Passerby:  How funny!  I mean the older three all have the same facial shape and characteristics, but the littlelest one . . . hmmmm . . .

Me:  I know!  He looks more like my father’s side of the family!

At this point, I have most assuredly lost control and the kids have released themselves to pillage and plunder.

Passerby:  So . . . do they all come from the same . . . dad?

Me:  Yes.

*sigh*

3.  Dear Readers.  May I give you a few pointers?

Good.

If ever you meet up with a young mother in a store, please take heed of my advice and do not ever ask any of the following questions:

“Are you preganant?”

“Are ALL those kids yours?”

“Do ALL your kids have the same dad?”

“When are you due?”

And, lastly but not leastly, do not ever touch a stranger’s stomach and say,

“How precious!  When are you due?”

Because.

SHE MIGHT JUST HAVE A PLUMP TUMMY.

NOT A BABY.

THANK YOU.

AND YES.  ALL MY KIDS HAVE THE SAME FATHER.

THANKYOUVERYMUCH.

4.  I am sorry for the last segment.  I just took years of shopping frustration out on all of you.

And you did not deserve it.

5.  I met my good friend, Ashlee, for a little playdate on Tuesday.  Ashlee and I have been friends since we were 5!  Amazing!  We went to the same school together all of our lives.

Anyways, I was reminded of a humorous conversation Ashlee and I had many years ago.

Ashlee:  Anyways, I think she is going to have the baby tonight.

Me:  Wow!  How far is she dilated?

Ashlee:  I think like 5 inches.

Me:  You mean centimeters.

Ashlee:  No.  Inches.

Me:  No.  Centimeters.

Ashlee:  Taylor!  People don’t dilate 10 centimeters to have a baby!  Do you know how small that is?  How could a baby ever fit through that?

Me:  That’s why it hurts.

Ashlee:  I am pretty sure it is inches.

Me:  Ashlee!  10 inches is like a pie plate!  You wouldn’t even have to push.  You would just stand up and the baby would fall out!

Ashlee:  I don’t know . . .

Raise your hand if you think our education failed us.

Fun Fact:  We graduated at the top of our class.

6.  Pop Quiz!

From which TV show does this quote come from:

“These pretzels are making me thirsty.”

7.  The Lumberjack caught killed an elk last week.

8.  I will now be cooking elk . . . everything.  Elk spaghetti.  Elk meat loaf.  Elk stew.  Elk soup.  Elk casserole.  Elk pot pie.  Elk lasagna.  Elk chowder.  Elk jambalaya.  Elk fried steak.  Elk stir fry.  Elk burgers.  Elk brownies.  Elk picatta.  Elk fettucine. 

Elk.

Elk.

Elk.

Congratulations, Universe.

You win.

Happy Thursday!

The following happenstance between me and my 3-year-old occured just this very morn.

Brace yourselves.

It’s exciting.

Ok.  That was a lie.

Irregardless.  Feel free to brace yourselves.

***

Me:  Good Morning, Dude!

HD (short for Handsome Dude . . . keep up, people!):  arrggghhhh-hrmmmmph

Me:  Alrighty then.

HD throws himself prostrate on the ground.

Prostrate.  Not prostate.

Get your minds out of the gutter.  Or the medical dictionary.

Moving on.

HD: (wailing) Mom!  Why you not give me chocolate milk?!

Me:  Would you like some chocolate milk?

HD:  NO!  I want cereal.

Me:  I can make you cereal.  Can you say please?

HD:  I did!

Me:  No.  You didn’t.

The previous sentence has thrust Handsome Dude into a fit of sorrow and despair.

I ignore him and continue to desperately sip the life-giving goodness of my morning cup of coffee . . . all while pretending there isn’t a handsome, albeit naughty, child throwing a fit at my feet.

HD:  (who is surprisingly much happier now)  Yay!  It’s Barney time!

Me:  Did you want to watch a morning show?

HD:  Yes!  Barney!  Let’s go!

Me:  Well, did you want breakfast first?

HD:  Yes!

Me:  Ok, well you cannot eat upstairs. 

HD:  I just watch Barney.

I decide I am too lazy to climb the 10-12 dreaded stairs up to the television area.

Me:  I know!  Let’s snuggle on the couch and look for deer!

HD:  Yes!  Deer?  Deer?  Where are you?

Our family received some sad news this week, and it has been on my mind a lot.

I am not sure how much they would want me to share on here, so I won’t say much.

But I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind lifting up a hurting family and a baby girl in your prayers this week?

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.  Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give away and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea . . .

Be still, and know that I am God.”

(Psalms 46:1, 2, and 10)

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. 

He determines the number of the stars and calls them by name.

Great is our Lord and mighty in power; his understanding has no limit.”

Psalms 147: 3-5

“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,

for his compassions never fail.

They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”

Lamentations 3:22-23

Is “Fantasticness” a word?

I vote yes!

Alright, folks.  We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.

Let’s get ready to rumble.

1.  I may or may not have permitted my children to watch a Taylor Swift music video.  When Taylor Swift was on the screen, Little Dude kept yelling,

“Look!  It’s mama!”

Isn’t he a good boy?

2.  Whilst watching Ms Swift, Daisy Mae noticed that she had some lovely jewels adorning her eyes.

Daisy Mae informed me that I should do that everyday so I could look pretty.

3.  I tried to explain the ridiculousness of the fact that Ms Swift is supposed to be a mere highschool lass in this musical video.

And it is kind of crazy that she is wearing an evening gown (that keeps falling off the shoulder, mind you), laying in bed all glammed out with bling on her face, singing a love song, all while clutching her guitar.

Daisy Mae did not see my point.

4.  The Lumberjack, more accurately known as David, called me yesterday.  It was the first time I had spoken to him since Saturday.

I did my best to sound weary, exhausted, lonely, and forlorn.

My motive was to persuade him to come home a tiddly-bit early.

I was not successful.

5.  Come on, Lumberjack!

It’s time you make a choice.

Me  or this:

6.  He will most certainly choose the latter.  Perhaps things wouldn’t be this way if I glued jewels to my face each night.

7.  After our phoneversation (ha!  I just made that up!), I suspiciously started singing,

“I ain’t missing you at all!”

Name that music artist.

8.  But I do miss him.

9.  I just wish I was as enticing as an elk.

10.  He said he hasn’t seen any bull elk.  Just some cows and spikes.

100 (meaningless) points to anyone who knows what a spike is.

I know what it is!

Look at me with my big-girl-hunter’s-wife pants on!

11.  Last night’s conversation:

Sweet Pea:  Mom.  What is a blog?

Me:  I don’t know.  It’s just a silly thing.

Sweet Pea:  Mom.  Can I read your blog?

Me:  No.

Sweet Pea:  Why?

Me:  It’s almost bedtime.

Sweet Pea:  What is your blog called?

Me:  The Lumberjack’s Wife.

Sweet Pea:  Why?

Me:  I don’t know.  It’s dumb.

Sweet Pea:  You should call it “The Mom Who Is Always Tired Blog.”

12.  I read “Horton Hatches the Egg” by Dr. Seuss at least twice a day to the boys.

I am getting tired of it, one hundred per cent.

I’m gonna need a 10-4 Good Buddy from anyone who has any idea what I am talking about.

Over and out.

13.    I probably need to drive to town soon. 

I am starting to get weird and creepy.

14.  I am going to get a little funky today and not center my post.

15.  And now I would like to introduce you to a new segment called,

“The Same Thing Happens every Week”

Other person:  Hey, Taylor!  I heard you write a blog!

Me:  Yes, I do.

Other person:  So . . . you’re The Lumberjack’s Wife?

Me:  Yup.

Other person:  I thought David was an electrician?

Me:  He sure is.

Other person:  Did he used to be a lumberjack?

Me:  Nope.  Not at all.

Other person:  Oh.  Hmmm.

Me:  Yup.

*awkward silence*

16.  Darn this blog.

17.  It is frigid outside today.

18.  I should have plugged in my rig.

19.  Alright.  I have droned on long enough.

20.  Happy Friday!

During school this morning, my head started to hurt really badly and I just started to feel generally sick.

Not super sick.  Just a little yucky.

I think I am getting a sinus infection. 

 I find this quite vexing.

So, I told the kids they had to “put mommy to bed.”

Responsible, aren’t I?

But I just had to lay down for a few moments.

They had a grand and glorious time tucking me in and giving me 64 snotty kisses.

Me:  Daisy Mae.  You come in here right now if anyone tries to open any doors.

Daisy Mae:  Yes, Mom.

Me:  And don’t let the puppy in the living room.

Daisy Mae:  Yes, Mom.

Me:  And don’t get into any food.  I will make lunch soon.

Now, I had to throw that in, dear readers, because at precisely 6:02am this very morn, I awoke to my boys trying to turn on the TV while surrounded by yogurt, a 13×9 pan of brownies, an apple, and two spoons in our upstairs loft where absolutely no food is ever allowed.

Can I just say that I am so very proud that they included an apple?

Daisy Mae:  And Mom?  Should I wake you if someone dies?

Me:  Yes.  That would be important.

Daisy Mae:  Especially if Cokey-da-Bear (Little Dude . . .keep up, people!) dies, right?  Cause he is really cute.

Me:  Yes.  Wake me up then.

Daisy Mae:  Ok, Mom!  Bye!

And off they all went downstairs where they are currently pounding on the piano and singing songs of great joy in celebration of their freedom.

And the only reason why I am typing this instead of resting is because I forgot about the monitor.

And there is nothing less pleasant than 4 children having a sing-a-long at the top of their lungs blasting through a monitor when you are trying to sleep.

At least they are singing worship music.

And no!  I did not turn the monitor off!

What kind of a parent do you think I am?

Goodbye.

PS-I am really a good, responsible parent in real life.  I think.

PPS-I could always use The Lumberjack’s famous excuse . . . “Taylor.  Have I let any of them die, yet?”

PPPS-Does anyone else find this excuse of his less than comforting?

PPPPS-Don’t worry about me.  I haven’t spoken to an adult in real life since Monday night.  But I am okay.

PPPPPS-  There are plenty of mice and deer to visit with.