Welcome to my recap of yesterday.
Hold on to your pants folks!
It’s going to be a wild ride.
***
My darling sister, Meagan, graduated from the University yesterday. It turned into sort of a mini-family reunion, as several various relatives travelled from many different states to see this epic event.
And by various relatives, I mean 2 parents, 2 siblings, 2 in-laws, 3 nieces, 3 nephews, 4 aunties, 2 uncles, 4 cousins, 1 “plus one” of a cousin, and 4 second cousins.
Go, Team Meagan!
The Lumberjack and I loaded up the Lumberjacklings early in the morn and began the trek over. The car ride went swimmingly, complete with no whining, bathroom breaks, nor even vomiting.
Go, Team Lumberjack!
We arrived and had to take the University’s bus to get to the graduation, where the pomp and circumstance would be occurring.
This was, in fact, thrilling for all the children.
I think next time we are trying to plan a family vacation, I am going to cross Disneyland off of my list and just select a free city bus.
Handsome Dude was full of awe and wonder.
My mom tried to get a picture of him and I on the bus . . .
but he was too enthralled. He could not even tear his eyes away from the moving roadways.
Look at me!
My eyes are open!
Win!
Alright. So, our entire group gets seated and we wait for the ceremony to start.
Hi, Little Dude!
Brothers!
(My dad is on the left, his brother is on the right. Hence, the caption “brothers.” Focus, people!)
Handsome Dude and all his Tom Foolery.
Little Dude and all his flirtations.
So, while we are waiting, my aunt informs her son . . . my cousin . . . that I write a blog.
Aunt: Shane. Have I told you that Taylor writes a blog?
Shane: Yes. You have mentioned that before.
Aunt: Well, it is very good.
Shane: I must read it some time.
(Cousin Shane is in the yellow shirt, sitting next to my brother, who is wearing a blue shirt)
So, unbeknownst to me, Cousin Shane has one of those fancy schmancy phone contraptions that can get on the Internets wherever you are. And someone helps him find my blog.
Shane: Taylor. I have just read your blog!
Me: Oh!
Shane: Very lovely. I read the post on Mother’s Day.
Me: Oh!
Folks. I find this to be quite embarrassing.
Quite.
My cousin, Shane, lives a very different life than yours truly. He is in his late 30s, no wife or kids, works for the government, and has lived in places such as Mexico, New York, England, and he is soon to be moving to Paris.
I am sure he enjoyed my Mother’s Day post.
Oh, well. I don’t think he could ever really fully appreciate any of my posts seeing as how he probably does not have to worry about a 3-year-old boy peeing on his washing machine.
Later I found out he pulled my mom aside and the following conversation ensued:
Shane: Connie! Is Taylor’s husband really a Lumberjack?
Mom: No. He is an electrician.
Shane: Interesting. But the blog says he is a Lumberjack.
Mom: I know. He’s not. He just likes to go wood cutting.
Shane: Interesting. So she just calls him that?
Mom: Yes.
Shane: Interesting.
Darn this blog! Tis so embarrassing at times!
Moving on.
Meagan graduated and we all clapped and cheered and cheered and clapped.
Next, we headed outside for some photographs.
And now, dear readers, I would like to present to you:
The Photographical Journey of Proof that Taylor is a Dork
Someone suggests my sister and I get together for a picture.
Lovely.
Then someone suggests my mother join in the picture.
Clearly this excites me.
Here I am saying, “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Perfect!”
So, mother joins in, and just as she steps into the photo I get an idea.
And I am amazed and thrilled at my brilliance, as is evidenced by my gaping mouth.
“Let’s get a picture with Dad and brother Danny, too!”
Bazinga!
That right there is my family.
Brother Danny, Mother Connie, Goober Taylor, Sister Meagan, and Father Grant.
And some random children are scattered about.
And that concludes this edition of:
The Photographical Journey of Proof that Taylor is a Dork.
*Thank you*
But, wait!
There’s more.
But only a few, I promise.
Real men wear Carhartts.
With sippy cups in the back pockets.
Let’s have a moment to appreciate just how truly handsome my Lumberjack is.
Thank you.
***
So, after all the pomp, we went to a restaurant with our very large group.
For those of you who are not accustomed to waiting for anything with children, I would like to present to you the following photos to help give you an idea of just how truly joyous it can be.
It’s loads of fun.
***
After lunch, we decided to head to the park. There is a lovely river by the park, so we went and a few of the adults went down to the river bank with the children to toss rocks into the river.
I was up at the top when I heard Daisy Mae start crying.
This is not rare.
I see the Lumberjack running up the hill with her and I figured he was just giving her to me. His hand was holding her head. When he took it off, blood was everywhere.
I mean everywhere.
He looked at me and yelled,
“We are going to the hospital! Now!”
Now, there is something you must understand about my husband.
He never says we need to go to the doctor. He has cut himself plenty of times and refused to get stitches. He is certain the whole medical system is a conspiracy to get him to pay for doctors’ lake houses.
So, he usually just super glues his wounds back together. And he never suggests taking children or myself into the doctor.
Ever.
So, when my husband is holding my child and both are covered in blood, I find it quite unnerving to hear him shout that we have to get to a hospital.
I threw him something to hold on her head to stop the blood and we started running for the car.
But then I remembered I have other children.
So, I yelled down to the people still by the river,
“Bring my kids! We have to go to the hospital.”
And then . . . the chaos began.
Aunts are crying and telling us to call 9-1-1.
Kids are being hauled up the river bank.
Adults are scattering trying to find everyone from our group.
Everyone got loaded into all the different vehicles and my sister, who is the only local, directs us to the nearest hospital.
I finally had a chance to ask LJ what happened. Apparently one of the rocks that the kids were tossing into the river went astray and got Daisy Mae right in the head.
So, we get to the Emergency Room and we get all checked in.
By now, the bleeding has stopped and Daisy Mae is pretty coherent, so I am calmer.
She did get upset at us though when she asked us where we were.
DM: Where am I?
LJ: The hospital.
DM: (starts wailing again) I don’t want to go the hospital! I don’t want to go to the hospital!
Me: Honey, you have to-
DM: No! I don’t want surgery!
LJ: You are not having surgery. They just need to fix your head.
DM: I don’t want a new head! I don’t want a new head!
Me: Honey, you are not getting a new head. They need to fix your owie.
DM: What owie?
Me: Your head has an owie and it is bleeding too much and-
Daisy sits straight up and yells frantically:
I’M BLEEDING! WHAT DO YOU MEAN I’M BLEEDING?
Even though the situation was not funny, The Lumberjack and I couldn’t help but laugh a little at this point.
Daisy Mae’s dress, hair, neck, face, and head are all soaked in blood.
The Lumberjack has blood all over him.
I have blood on me.
How did she not know she was bleeding?
Anyways, we were there for about 2 hours and she only needed 3 stitches.
Thank God.
It was pretty scary. I have never seen so much blood.
So, we hit the road back home and got home much later than anticipated.
But all is well and everyone is healthy and fine.
And that concludes all the pomp and circumstances that occurred yesterday.
Happy Sunday!
Bless her heart.
It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood!
And here are tonight’s top stories:
Top Story #1: We must first discuss the COW.
First of all, I thoroughly enjoy everyone’s comments.
Just a FYI for you there.
You could comment anything, and I would be tickled.
Yes.
Tickled.
You could say, “Barbara was here.”
or
“Purple.”
even “12” would suffice.
For you see folks, I am a stay-at-home mom. And I heart it when adults talk to me.
This is my blogging process:
1) Quickly type out a bunch of foolishness.
2) Ascertain whether or not I need to add this picture:
this picture:
or, perhaps even this picture:
If so, I copy and paste.
In haste.
(oh! that was clever!)
3) Center entire post. Because I can.
4) Consider for 1.2 seconds about selecting a category to file this post under.
5) Decide my post has no purpose, and therefore will remain uncategorized.
6) Hit publish and hope for comments.
So, there you have it!
All comments are special.
Not just the COW.
Alright.
Enough of that nonsense.
This week’s COW (comment of the week) goes to Andi!
On my post, Price Checker, she commented:
“What do you mean nag? I consider it to be helpful coaching…Nagging is such a, well, HARSH word.”
Ha! “Helpful coaching!”
Loved it.
Go visit Andi, if you are so inclined, and leave her a comment.
She is a kindred spirit and a bosom friend.
(Name that book)
Top Story #2: Sister Meagan’s graduation
Sister Meagan is back from Europe and now preparing to graduate from the University tomorrow.
It is sure to be swell, joyous, and full of pomp and circumstance.
100 (meaningless) points to anyone who can tell me what “pomp and circumstance is.”
Top Story #3: Shopping with Daisy Mae
Last night, Daisy Mae and I went clothes shopping.
Clothes shopping for me.
While in the first store, she ran around trying to pick out clothes for me.
Bless her heart.
But when she would proudly bring an XS halter top, I would have to decline.
This would disappoint her, but never deter her from her mission.
So, she would be across the store and shout,
“Mom! Here’s a cute shirt! It says “S”!”
Me: Put it back.
DM (Daisy Mae . . . keep up, people!): Why?
Me: Too small. I am a “M.”
DM: Oh. Because you are so chubs?
Yes.
Bless her heart.
But wait!
There’s more!
I learned something about my daughter last night.
She is getting too old to be in a dressing room with me.
***Attention male readers . . . if any such creatures exist . . . please skip down until you see the asterisks again***
*Thank you*
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She pokes and prods at my chubs. Even though I pretend it does not exist.
When I bent down to pick up something, she yanked up my unmentionables.
Boundaries, Daisy Mae.
Boundaries.
So, then I try on clothes, and as usual some things fit and some things don’t.
DM: Why doesn’t it fit, Mom?
Me: It just doesn’t.
DM: Is it too big or too small?
Me: Too small.
DM: Just get a L.
Well, that would be all fine and dandy, seeing as how an L would be more forgiving in my tummy regions, but ridiculous looking up top.
You see, dear readers, I fear Victoria never let me in on her secret.
Oh, dressing rooms. Could they make a person feel any fatter?
Technically, I am not overweight.
I know.
Weird.
But, for not being overweight, I am super wobbly.
And fluffy.
I guess it comes with age.
I am twenty-eight-and three-quarters now.
(Name that Movie-it’s a tricky one!)
And Daisy Mae is quick to zone in on my trouble spots.
Bless her heart.
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Welcome back, male readers, if any of you exist!
So, we hit a few stores when, finally, we are finished and we head back to our car.
DM: Oh. My. Gosh. I want that truck.
Me: You want a Hummer?
DM: What’s a Hummer?
Me: That truck.
DM: I just love that color. It is like mustard.
Me: Oh.
DM: If that was my truck, I would jump in the back right this very second.
Me: Good to know.
DM: Do you think Dad would ever buy a Hummer?
Me: No. Probably not.
DM: Darn.
Me: Yup.
DM: You know why I talk so much?
Me: Why?
DM: I was born at the wrong time.
And with that, she rolled down her window and was silent.
Bless her heart.
Happy Weekend!