The Lumberjack's Wife

As you might recall, we have been remodeling this house of ours for 7 years.

It has been a L-O-N-G journey my friends.  A journey filled with sheet rock dust, nails, air compressors, paint splatters, dust, MONEY, trim, windows, and mice.

Mice?

Yes.  Mice.

About 50 mice, I would presume.

But that is a story for another day.

The planned closing date for our new home is coming soon, so we ( and when I say we, of course I mean, The Lumberjack) have been working hard to finish up this house.

Before:

After:

Could my life get any more exciting than it is at this very moment?

I submit that it cannot.

People!  Do you know how many Y-E-A-R-S I have waited for that tile and lighting?

Can I just say I am miffed?

Yes.

Miffed.

You see, dear readers, about 5 years ago when we were only a little ways into the fun-filled-good-time-remodeling-journey-of-bliss, a little “convo” (can I say “convo?”) occurred between my husband and I.

Me:  Dude!  We need to get this house finished!

LJ (short for Lumberjack . . . keep up, people!):  I am trying.

Me:  By the time you finish it, we will have out grown it.

LJ:  No, we won’t.  We only have two kids.

Me:  But we might have more.

LJ:  No.  I’m done.

Me:  Nevertheless!  I am tired of looking at this sub-floor and yellow insulation foam.

LJ:  I’m working on it.

Me:  I saw 4 more mice today.

LJ:  I’m working on it.

And, dear readers, what I predicted is coming true.

The beautiful home my LJ is building for me is so close to being completed . . . and we are packing up to move.

Oh, the humanity!

I asked him if the new house in Ruralville had a tiled back splash.

Nope.

I asked him if the new house in Ruralville had under cabinet lighting.

Nope.

I asked him the laundry room in Ruralville had bead board.

Nope.

Oh, the humanity!

The laundry room is almost finished . . . here are some recent pictures of that nonsense:

Oh.Be.Still.My.Heart.

I want it for to be mine.

And, Look!

He even bead-i-ly board-ed the coat closet!

Holla!

He’s got mad skills. 

Or is it skillz?

I went with skills.

You go with your gut.

Guess what else we have to leave behind?

The playhouse he built for the Lumbergirls.

So, even though I am excited for the new house and such, can I just be frank with you all?

Good.

Here are my true feelings on this rainy, dreary Wednesday morn:

Boo.

*Random-Topic-Quick-Change!*

I made a fresh strawberry pie.

Look at me with my big-girl baking pants on!

Perhaps if you are good little readers, I will share the recipe with you.

Lest any of you are confused, I did not come up with this recipe on my own.  I leached it off of a friend.

*Random-Topic-Quick-Change*

Want to check out some new blogs?

I knew you did

Michelle at Scribbled with Light

Jake at Father Best

Christine at Christine’s Digital Scrapbooking Corner.

Go give them a holla!

*Random-Topic-Quick-Change!*

Little Dude’s hair is crunchy this morning and smells like pot roast and strawberry pie.

Perhaps a bath was in order last night?

*Random-Topic-Quick-Change!*

Daisy Mae asked me if I had a baby in my tummy.

Boo.

Alright!  I am off to pack, clean, laundry-it-up, and contemplate either:

A)  Actually doing some sit ups

B)  Calling about financing options for a tummy tuck.

Toodles!

It rained and poured here all weekend long.

I promise.

It was dreary and dreadful. 

But on Sunday, the sun came out for a few hours.  So, we loaded up the Lumberjacklings and went to visit my parents at their campsite for a bit.

Now.

You all know that I cannot take pictures worth a darn.

But, I would like to warn you all, that today, on this first day of June in the year Two-Thousand-and-Ten of our Lord, I am going to toot my own horn.

And you will like it.

You will be amazed, nay, enthralled, at my mad photographical skills.

Let’s look at the classic “Lumberjacklings Group Shot,” shall we?

Interruption:  I am going to super-size the pictures so you can truly appreciate my awesomeness.

What?!

Lumberjill knows how to “supersize” pictures?

That’s crazy talk.

Before we begin this epic journey, I feel I must give you all a quick head’s up into who is who in this crazy world of Lumberjacklings.

Girl with white shirt and piggy tails:  Daisy Mae

Girl with Red shirt and glasses: Sweet Pea

Boy with Gray hoodie:  Little Dude

Boy with red shirt, glasses “optional”:  Handsome Dude.

The above picture is lovely.

But Little Dude is not cooperating.

Daisy Mae is gently breaking his neck in order to get her Mama a decent picture.

Bravo, Daisy Mae!

Bravo!

She was successful!

Holla, Daisy Mae!

Holla!

But, no.

Handsome Dude has looked astray.

Try again.

It is at this point in our session that I wonder why I am even trying.

Who am I kidding?

Look at them.

They don’t care.

I am jumping up and down shouting promises of cookies and candy and all sorts of glorious treats of bribery goodness.

But my pleas have fallen on deaf ears.

Classy, Handsome Dude.

Classy.

That’ll do, pig Lumberjacklings.

(Name that movie)

That’ll do.

Alright.  Enough of that foolishness.

We must now discuss Mabel.

Remember Mabel?

The dog who looks like me, as you all so kindly remarked?

Whatever, people.

Well, Mabel . . . who was apparently on her death bed only hours before this high-class photo shoot, made a miraculous recovery and has become one of the gang again.

This is good news.

We took a vote and we decided that we do, in fact, enjoy the presence of Mabel’s company.

Even with all her shedding, her bad breath, and her tricky skills as an . . .

Escape Artist.

Mabel.

She is such a naughty-pants.

Look!

Handsome Dude is bringing yours truly some “boot-ee-full flowlers.”

He, too, can be a naughty-pants.

Aaaaaannnnnndddddd . . . I love him.

So, we had a lovely time, but I decided to torture my children once again and try to make them all look like decent human beings who like each other and occasionally enjoy life in a single photograph one last time.

Was that sentence a poorly constructed run-on?  Thoughts?

I was determined to be successful and was willing to do whatever necessary to capture this perfect moment in time.

Yes.

Whatever necessary.

Even to the point of death.

I kid! I jest!

They did that out of their own silliness and Tom Foolery.

I was merely snapping  pictures of the catastrophe.

Please, kids?

Hello?

Kids?

If you smile nice and big this can be our Christmas card so you won’t have to do this ever again!

Please?

Cookies?

Anyone?

Spoiler Alert:  I did not get one, I repeat, not one, decent picture.

This is Lumberjill, signing off, defeated and discouraged.

Over and out, folks.

Over.

And.

Out.

Happy Tuesday!

Well, I was, most certainly, a bummer of a blogger in my last post.

Sorry about that.

We are going to do a complete 180 degree turn from that and switch into a “happy-happy-joy-joy” (name that tv show) post.

I am going to share with you all some of my favorite things.

Because I am certain you care about such matters.

Right?

Right?

Hello?

My First (grown up) Bible

My parents gave me this Bible for Christmas when I was 13 years old.  I loved this Bible and used it often, so much so that it had started to fall apart.  I wrote on the inside,

“A Bible that is falling apart is usually owned by someone who is not.”

I don’t remember where I originally heard that quote, but I always liked it.

I had asked my parents for the King James Version.  I always loved the sound of the old words.

 Hebrews 1:1 is where I first heard the words, “sundry” and “divers.”

I love this Bible. 

I can see verses in my head exactly the way they look on the pages in this Bible still.  It is the Bible I used when I first truly began my relationship with God.

My Children

 I love them.

Even though they will be the death of me.

My Husband.

The Lumberjack.

Who is not a Lumberjack at all.

He is, in fact, an electrician.

Big Train Vanilla Chai Tea

Have you tasted this?

It is like heaven in a cup.

If you have not ever intrigued your taste buds in this manner, I implore you to try it immediately.

Dry Shampoo

Ok, Sparkies . . . here’s the deal . . .

(name that movie)

When I go camping, I look a fright.

But last camping trip, I ran some of this spray through my hair and it absorbed all the oil so my hair did not look filthy-dirty.

Because what is camping if your hair looks dirty?

Honestly.

And, Finally . . .

Yes.

It is true.

I have been sneaking my beloved chocolate raspberry creamer into my steamy mug of joe daily.

Rest assured, I am hiding my head in shame.

But, truly folks.

It is delightful.

That is all, friends.

That.

Is.

All.

Hang on to your pants, folks.

This is going to be a bummer of a post.

***

Yesterday.

Yesterday, I read this post from the blog “Let’s Talk About Boys.”

It is about a mom forgetting to seal the lid to a paint can, resulting in her boys spilling aforementioned paint and splashing it all around her floors.

I chuckled to myself as I read it, sure nothing like that would happen to me.

Or.

So.

I.

Thought.

About 6 hours , yes just 6 HOURS, after I read that post, Handsome Dude and Little Dude were playing grocery shopping.

This is, in fact, precious.

They push around the toy cart and shop all day long.

Handsome Dude: Cokey! (Cokey is what HD calls Little Dude.)  Want some chocolate milk?

Little Dude: Uh-huh!

Handsome Dude:  Cokey!  Want some pop?

Little Dude: Uh-huh!

As you can see, we never allow our children to drink their calories.

Interruption:  I would like to inform the Tribal Council that Lumberjill does not agree with giving the Lumberjacklings soda pop.  But the Lumberjack, in all his handsomeness, insists on driving me insane and gives them soda pop whenever he deems fit.

Boo, Lumberjack.

Boo.

Aaaaannnnnddddd . . . . I love him.

Any-whosie-whatsie . . . they decide to play,

“Shop at Home Depot.”

Handsome Dude found the unopened, sealed paint cans in the laundry room.

Alert!  The Laundry room is STILL not finished!  Alert!  It is STILL not finished!

I told him he could not play with those, and he, being the good boy that he is, walked them back into the laundry room and dropped them.

Resulting in the paint can breaking open and beautiful, white paint flowing all over the new laundry room floor.

Tragic.

I am, however, amazingly awesome, and got it all cleaned up with nary (did I use that word right, Erin?) a droplet of paint remaining, so as to fool my Lumberjack into thinking no such incident ever occurred.

We must have him believing that I am an excellent help meet who always has a watchful eye over the youngins’.

I am going to need a 10-4 good buddy from anyone else who has ever heard the phrase, “Help Meet.”

Over and out.

***

American Idol.

Oh, how it toys with my heart.

I loved both Lee and Crystal.

And while I am so super excited for Lee . . . I still feel a smidgen sad for Crystal.

Was anyone else conflicted?

They were both the cats meow.

Does anyone else watch American Idol?

Is it okay for 28 and 3/4 year olds to watch American Idol?

Attention Lee: 

I will always heart the bagpiper night.

***

Ruralville.

To move or not to move . . . that is the question.

I am packing.

Are we moving?

Attention bank:  Let’s wrap this up.  Thank you.

***

**Updated Portion**

I published this post and completely bypassed this dreadful part of the day.

It happens.

I have been going through the closets and weeding out needless materials that can be donated to the local thrift stores.

I determined that the upstairs, hardly-ever-used bathtub would be a swell and dandy place to store these goods.

No.

No, dear readers.

No it was not.

One of my precious dudes . . .

who shall remain nameless, turned on the water, creating a bathtub full of water-soaked, unused goods.

So.

I am trying to get that mess cleaned up.

And I am cranky with set socks.

***

It is a rainy, gloomy morning.

I was just girding up my loins for a morning of fun-filled packing and blinds cleaning.

100 (meaningless) points to anyone who can tell me the best, quickest way to clean faux wood blinds. 

I usually use Swiffers.

But I am open to other options.

My dear-heart friend, Amanda, called and asked if she could bring me a Starbucks.

Holla, Amanda!

Holla!

And while she was getting the quick laundry room tour, our dog Mabel

threw up.

Like everywhere.

It was nasty-wrong.

100 (meaningless) point to anyone who can guess which stay-at-home-mom who occasionally writes in a pointless blog is out of paper towels.

Tragic.

So, I dealt with the mess.

And decided to sip my latte and complain to all of you.

You’re welcome.

Happy Thursday!