The Lumberjack's Wife

Ha!

I beg to differ.

If my call was that important to you, large phone company of whom I will not name, then why did I have to endure a 2 1/2 hour call time that was littered with holding times, transfer times, getting accidentally disconnected, and computerized-automated customer service representatives?

*Excuse me, dear readers*

Lumberjill is frustrated.

As you may or may not remember, The Lumberjack and I are in the process of purchasing a home out in Ruralville.

Remember Ruralville?

Tractors?

Land?

Bears?

A well?

Well, we are in the midst of getting all of our paperwork to our lender.

Our lender-ish people pulled our credit reports.

And now, dear readers, I would like to present to you a horrifying conversation that ensued between my husband and I:

Interruption:  This is not word-for-word.  I repeat, this is not word-for-word.  This is paraphrased.  Lumberjill style.

LJ (short for Lumberjack!  keep up, people!):  Ha!  Dude, for the first time in our marriage, my credit score is higher than yours!

Me:  Whhhhhaaaaatttttt?????!!!!!?????!!!!!????

Interruption:  I do not take this news well.   It has been a constant in our marriage that LJ is better at building houses, falling trees, wakeboarding, and reaching things in the cabinet above the refrigerator.  My strengths have always been typing speed, grammar, cleaner teeth, more book smarts, and responsibility. 

The Lumberjack cannot have a better credit score than me.

Has the world gone mad?

LJ:  Yup.  They pulled our credit report and you went to collections!

Me:  I went to collections?! For what?

LJ:  Back in 2007.  It was with a very large, popular, national phone company that many people would know of so it would be best to not specifically name it in your blog.

Me:  Oh, dear.  Shouldn’t they tell me I missed a payment?

LJ:  Guess not.

Me:  Wait?  Why me?  I don’t make any money.

LJ:  I know.  You just cost me money.

Me:  Word.

LJ:  Well, the Lenderly Lady wants you to type out an explanation for why you went to collections for $68 in 2007.

Now, dear readers.

Lumberjill is in charge of the bill payments in our home.

And I pride myself on paying everyone when they ask for their money . . . not just when I deem fit.

So, I am slightly perplexed as to the events that are occurring.

A)  Shouldn’t I have been notified that my payment was late?

B)  Wouldn’t they have just turned off my phone at some point?

C)  Wouldn’t it be more than $68 since 2007?  You know . . . with the late fees and such?

D)  Shouldn’t they let someone know when they are being sent to . . .gulp . . . collections?

So, last night, I call this very large, popular, national phone company that many people would know of so it would be best to not specifically name it on this here blog.

And the first person to greet me is the automated-computerized lady.

I am sorry, folks.

But I really do not like talking to this lady.

Fake lady:  Are you calling about a home phone?  Please say “yes”  or “no.”

Me:  Yes

Fake lady:  I’m sorry!  I couldn’t quite understand you.  Let’s try that again.  Are you calling about a home phone?  Please say “yes”  or “no.”

Me:  Yes

At the very, exact moment that I say yes, Little Dude asks for milk.  And, in doing so, he has thwarted my plans of communicating with fake lady.

Fake Lady:  I’m sorry.  Let’s try something different.

Me:  REPRESENTATIVE!

When all else fails, just yell representative.

Fake Lady:  I’m sorry!  I didn’t quite understand you.

Me:  REPRESENTATIVE

Fake Lady:  Ok.  I will connect you to someone.  But first, let me get some information so I know where to send you.

I really have a hard time with the fake lady.  I hate to admit it, but she gets to me.  She really does.  Even when I am mad, she remains calm. 

And that is just annoying.

Fight back, Fake Lady!

Fight Back!

So, I get to talk to someone.

Who does not know how to help me . . . so he transfers me.

Holding, holding, holding . . . .

This person thinks he can help me.

Person:  You are in New Jersey, right?

Me:  No . . . I am in ______, not New Jersey.

No offense to the fine people of New Jersey.

Person:  Oh, I cannot help you.  Let me transfer you.

Holding, holding, holding .  . . your call is extremely important to us . . . holding, holding, holding . . . . cue “Lady in Red” (name that singer) . . . holding, holding, holding . . .

Alright, people.

I’m going to spare you all the details, but I was transferred about 5 times over 1 hour and it ended with them finally transferring me to the correct office, only for that office to be closed and could I please try my call tomorrow.

Which brings us to this morning.

It was a lot of the same rig-a-ma-roo, folks.

I got disconnected twice.

I had to talk loudly (not yelling, of course) to fake lady numerous times.

I met several helpful, yet clueless customer service associates.

All of whom agreed I owed nothing.

All of whom could not find anything that went to collections.

All of whom who searched my social security number for any clues.

Nothing.

Nada.

I am clean.

Ha!

Take that, Lumberjack!

And I would like to add that I have also never had a cavity, nor have I had a speeding ticket.

Go ahead.

Ask the Lumberjack how many speeding tickets and cavities he has accumulated over his 29 years.

Go ahead.

For kicks and grins.

Anyways, I am transferred to the last lady.

She was supposed to be my helper, the woman who make all the wrongs right.

And guess what.

She was rude.

So, I did what any rational, responsible, cavity-less, mother of four would do.

I cried.

You would, too, people, after a combined total of 2.5 hours of phone time only to learn that no one can help me.

So, I asked rude lady for a number where I could reach her customer service department.

Yes.

I am one of those people.

Oh, I didn’t call.

I was sick to death of being on the phone.

But I bet she’s shaking in her boots.

So, now I get to call 3 credit bureaus and dispute this mysterious collections charge of $68.

Stupid.

I will pay someone $68.

Anyone.

I don’t care.

Just leave me alone.

Anyways, I am in no humor to call now.

I must gird up my loins first.

Happy Tuesday!

(Name that author.  Kind of)

Oh!

What a different post title!

Have I piqued your interest?

I hope so.

This is my plan:

I am going to write a new post . . . and then stick on an old post . . . making one complete post . . . that will

 Rock

Your

World.

Actually . . .herein lies the truth:

1)  I don’t have much to say.

2)  I took some cute pictures of the boys tonight.

3)  I was reminded of a post I did back in December about my precious boys while viewing aforementioned photos.

So, I said to myself,

“Taylor (that’s my name-keep up, people!), why not merge the posts, creating an ultrasonic, subatomic, neonatal power post!”

And that  is exactly what is going on here today.

Hold on to your pants, people.

This is going to be the highlight of your day.

Little Dude.

Oh, how I heart him.

He loves his books.

Here he is “reading” his train book.

I must be honest with you.

My 1.75 year old does not read.

He actually just mumbles a lot and then will randomly shout, “All Aboard!”

Then he slams the book shut and calls it good.

Alright.

You are going to be quite disappointed in me and my photography skills for the next photo.

Well, not as disappointed as if i were to show you this photo:

But you will be shaking your heads at me nonetheless.

Darling Readers!

I finally had the opportunity to capture Handsome Dude nursing the dolls!

And that was the photo I got.

Let us have a moment while I hang my head in shame.

*Thank you*

All teasing aside, Handsome Dude is pretty darn cute with those dolls.

He is such a good little papa.

He talks sweetly to the babies as he loads them in the shopping cart and shops for organic, low fat, low cholesterol, weight watchers friendly foods.

Just like his mama.

See, people?

I set a good example!

Children always imitate their parents.

Although I do not specifically remember ever laying on top of my babies.

Nor do I recall nearly smothering them to death.

Then again, you don’t get much sleep in those early days.

Anything’s possible.

Oh, Handsome Dude.

Precious to my heart.

Glasses Update:

Pair #1:  Missing for at least 1-2 months.

I cannot be certain.

Pair #2:  Permanently broken-temporarily fixed-currently bent so wide they fall off his face.

And lost.

Pair #3:  On order.

Keep them in your prayers.

All Aboard!

***

And now,  for the old post.

Please.

Try to contain your sheer and utter joy.

 

Boy with the blue earrings

(from Dec 5, 2009)

Points to notice: 

1)Little Dude has hair!

2)  Our elliptical machine is still in the same position, leading me to suspect no one has used it during all these months.

3)  Handsome Dude is not wearing glasses.  Hmmm . . . that’s odd.

Item #1

Alright.

So clearly I do not get The Twitter.

Clue #1: No one can find my Tweetering Profile.

Clue #2: I can’t remember how to find me.

Clue  #3: I would not know what to Tweet.

And, after some consideration and input from you, dear readers, I do not feel I should add this to my Internet activities, seeing as how blogging takes up most of my Internet time as it is.

Actually all of it.

I do actually have these creatures living in my midst.

So, I cannot be on the computer all day.

So . . .

ix-nay on the witter-tay.

Rodger Dodger?

Raise your hand if you think it is sad that my father can Twitter . . .

Yet, I cannot.

Item #2

Attention all peoples who read my blog posts from Facebook.

I don’t want to publish my posts on my Facebook profile anymore through Networked Blogs.

I feel like I am force-feeding this rubbish to all of my poor Facebook friends.

They need a break.

So, I created a Facebook page for this blog that I will use to publish my posts from now on.

But if you want to see them, you need to “like” the page.

(I have just thoroughly confused everyone who is not familiar with The Facebook)

If you would like to read them through Facebook, click here.

Item #3

Anyone can become a “liker” on Facebook if you so desire.

It would make me smile, if you did.

In fact, I am fairly certain it would make my heart sing.

Last time I checked, zero people liked it.

Not even me.

Such sadness.

So, if you like The Facebook and would like to get updates from me on your newsfeed, click here.

Or don’t.

The choice is yours.

Item #4

I don’t know what we are doing for school next year, but homeschool is an option.

If you know of a good homeschooling blog or website, would you mind sharing the link?

I will be forever grateful.

Item #5

I promised you that I would not rest until I got a picture of Handsome Dude “feeding” the baby dolls.

I couldn’t, however, get the right shot.

Turns out his feeding session was not going so well this morning.

I, for one, can certainly identify with his feelings.

And two babies at once?

That must be torturous.

Turns out Handsome Dude likes nursing just as much his mama does.

Alright.

Happy Sunday!

PS-Heather, I was waving to you at church.

PPS-Jan, next time say Hi to me at church.

PPPS-I still feel like I am addicted to popcorn.

PPPPS-Someone asked me today why people read this blog.

PPPPPS-I have no idea . . . but I am glad you do.

PPPPPPS-Make my heart sing.  Become my Facebook Liker.

The End.

It has been brought to my attention that I should join the coolness that is Twitter.

Let me make one thing clear:

I DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT TWITTER IS ALL ABOUT.

I assume it is glorified Facebook status updates.

No?

But, irregardless, I have created a Twitter account and I have two, yes, that’s right, two followers.

One is my dear, beloved friend.

And the other is a lovely young woman named BeckyPrincess, of whom I have never met.

Quite frankly, I am a little suspicious of her motives.

But I can’t delete her because that would cut my membership numbers in half.

Such a travesty that would be.

Oh, and I also can’t delete her because I don’t know how.

I already tried.

Fact:  I have had a Twitter account for some time now.

Fact:  To the best of my knowledge, I have yet to make a Tweet.

Fact:  It took me quite awhile to find my account today, due to the fact that I had no idea what my username/password were

Fact:  My dad has a Twitter account.

Question of the Day:

Will my dad find me cool enough to follow on Twitter?

One can only hope.

Fact:  I might be addicted to popcorn

Alright.

Here is your mission, if you choose to accept it:

1)  Follow me on Twitter . . . or give me your super, cool, top-secret  Twittering name so I can follow you.

You know.

Tit for tat.

2)  Explain to me what Twitter is and how I can have a glorious time visiting this site.

3)  Inform me IMMEDIATELY if Twittering is not for me so I can end my Tweeting career.

I have a dream that one day I will understand this Twittering business.

Join me.

Do not tear my hopes asunder.

Thank you.

Oh-my Twitter-lee-dee name is:

taylor_TLJW

PS-this may seem tricky, but truly it is not.

Let’s break it down:

*taylor-that is, in fact, my first name

*_ is just an underscore that does not serve much of a purpose

*TLJW stands for something . . .

What could it be?

100 (meaningless) points to anyone who can guess what it stands for.

But it is really not hard.

No.

Not at all.

Ok.

I am done.

The Lumberjack and I met in high school.  He was one year ahead of me.  We went to school together for almost 2 years without even talking to each other.

Actually, he said he would get nervous trying to talk to me because he thought I looked too much like my younger sister, and could never remember which one of us was which.

I don’t know on what planet my sister and I would be indistinguishable.

I am clearly the larger model rocking the spiral perm.

I will bet you one whole dollar that my sis and I were performing the beloved duet, “Heart and Soul.”

Did anyone else ever play that duet continuously?

But, I digress.

About two weeks after he graduated, the Lumberjack called me and asked me out on a date.

Now at this point in time, I would have never called him the Lumberjack.

Instead, I would have referred to him as Mr. Sensitive-Guy-who-really-liked-me-and-shopping-at-the-Gap-and-who-once-visited-a-tanning-booth-and-even-highlighted-his-hair-upon-occasion.

My, how times have changed.

He still likes me, I guess, but we can just throw the sensitive guy, the shopping guy,the tanning parts, the hair parts, and most certainly, the Gap guy parts out the window.

We are certain to never see that man again.

Farewell, Mr. Sensitive-Guy-who-really-liked-me-and-shopping-at-the-Gap-and-who-once-visited-a-tanning-booth-and-even-highlighted-his-hair-upon-occasion.

Fare.

Thee.

Well.

However, for the purposes of this story, we will simply call him Mr. Gap.

Now, I must give you a little history:

On the day of Mr. Gap’s graduation, I was visiting my friend who lives up in the mountains.  As I was leaving, my car’s brakes stopped working.

This was unfortunate because

A)  Brakes are usually considered an asset

B)  She lives on a MOUNTAIN

C) I was going downhill

D)  Her driveway gets somewhat curvy.

I was 17 and sure I was about to die.

Nothing was working.

I put the car in park.

Nothing.

I slammed on the brakes 2.4 million times.

Nothing.

I screamed.

Nothing.

I honked.

Nothing.

I considered pulling the emergency brake.  But I had an unhealthy fear of emergency brakes.  You see, when I was a child, I asked my dad what an emergency brake was for. 

“Well, it is the most powerful and strongest brake ever.  We hardly EVER use it.”

So, as I am charging down the mountain driveway at 35 mph, I consider pulling the emergency brake.

But my dad’s words came back to haunt me.

I did not pull that emergency brake.

For if I did, I was certain to be ejected from the car, merely from the sheer force and strength of that powerful emergency brake.

Instead, I found it more suitable to flip my car.

Interruption:  Is that not the most terrible picture quality ever? I seriously need help.

I have a Nikon D40 and sometimes when it is on automatic mode, it just will not take a picture.

It is a stubborn beast.

If I put it on manual mode, it takes a picture, but I don’t know how to focus it.

Please.

Help me.

So, there I was:  hanging from my seatbelt.

Glass was shattered all underneath me.

I did, however, save the card.

I began screaming and honking my horn.

My friend’s neighbor came to my rescue.

He walked up to my door.

“Hello!” I said. “Can you help me?  I seem to have flipped my car.”

And he laughed at me.

And then he got me out.

But the car was totalled.

But I still made it to Mr. Gap’s graduation, so I could give him a card and hope he would think I looked cute, despite the large bruises on my knee and forehead.

I was that dedicated.

And thus concludes my little story of what happened on Mr. Gap’s graduation day.

Fast forward two weeks:  Mr. Gap asks me out.

He asks me to go to lunch on a Saturday at noon.

A few minutes before he came, my dad told me he was taking me car shopping.

I responded very snootily, and informed him that I would be busy all afternoon, for I had a date.

In retrospect, this was dumb because

A)  MY DAD WANTED TO BUY ME A NEW CAR

B)  I am sure Mr. Gap could have taken me to dinner instead

C) MY DAD WANTED TO BUY ME A NEW CAR

So, Mr. Gap picks me up.

As we drive away, he says:

“I was hoping to go to this sandwich shop downtown.  My parents gave me a coupon!”

This was my first glimpse into the frugal lives of my crazykin in-laws.

We arrive at the restaurant.

I am extremely nervous.

You see, once my friend had found out that I had a lunch date, she made me go through rigorous date-eating etiquette lessons.

Apparently, I always grossed all my friends out because whenever I would eat, I would talk too much.

Also, things like pizza sauce and cream cheese would squirt through my teeth.

Yes, ladies and gents.

That’s right.

I was quite the find for Mr. Gap.

As we were eating, I dared him to eat a pepperoncine.

I should have known this would not go well, since he had already removed every vegetable and suspicious-looking sauce from his sandwich.

Picky pants.

He tried the hot pepper.

Then he began to spit out the pepper all over our table.

And guzzle water.

And spit.

And cough.

And spit.

And I never again worried about my eating etiquette.

For he, my dear friends, was a super gross eater.

So, we finished up and got in the car.

I thought it was going well.

We were chatting happily.

And then he pulled up to my house.

“Well, bye!”

I was disappointed.

He did not like me.

Maybe mustard squirted through my teeth.

I got into the house at 12:56.

My sister: “Why are you here?  Didn’t you have a date?”

Me:  “Yes.  All done now!”

My sister: “Ha!  Obviously that did not go well!”

Me:  “Okay, Dad!  I am ready to go car shopping now!”

My dad (in a very snooty voice): “Sorry.  I made plans.”

Well, I don’t want to leave you all hanging, but Mr. Gap called me up and asked me out again.

I asked him later why he took me home so early.

His response?

“I only asked you out for lunch!  I don’t know what else I am supposed to do with you!?”

We might need to change his name to Mr. Romantic.

***

He proposed on our 1 year dating anniversary.

We were married 1 year after that.

We keep popping out kids, and for the life of us, we cannot figure out why.

We have bought and fixed up two homes.

We are about to buy our first home on land.

And, this year, we are celebrating our 10 year anniversary.

The End.

Item #1

First of all, I would like to apologize for the craziness that was Tuesday.

Yes.

I admit it.

I posted 3 times in one day.

I was completely and utterly out of control.

I will try to not let it happen again.

Thank you.

***

Item #2

I think I confused the majority of my 12.3 readers when I posted my parkour jokes.

Remember?

Parkour!

Parkour!

Anyone?  Anyone?

Adrienne and Mindy got my back!

Holla, Adrienne!

Holla, Mindy!

Raise your hand if you still don’t understand what Holla means.

Well, I give up.

I have attempted to explain it too many times.

Parkour was from The Office and I found it to be quite hilarious.

Quite.

So hilarious, in fact, that I shamelessly stole it for my blog.

And it backfired on me because no one got it.

Just like no one gets “holla.”

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i_mpNUl3swk]

100 (meaningless) points to anyone who can tell me what on earth a “half-gainer” is.

Oh, what’s that?

You didn’t click on the link that I painstakingly provided for you?

Yes, that’s right, people.

I know only 8% of you click on the links that I so lovingly supply.

I am on to your shenanigans.

Parkour!

***

Item #3

I fear we have been seeing Lisa and Sweet Baby a little too much this week.

Handsome Dude has not stopped nursing his sister’s doll all week.

We are so very proud.

*gasp!*

I do not have a picture.

But I will not rest until I get one, I can promise you that.

***

Item #4

I am ready to speak a little on the issues that brought me much worry and antsiness earlier this week.

Back in February, right before we left for Cancun, we decided that we would start looking for a new house.

Our house is getting just a little too small and my husband would really like acreage.

So, we looked and found nothing.

Then we looked again, and again, we found nothing.

Then I told my husband that i just wanted to stay in the cute house that he has been building to my specific tastes for the past 7 years.

But then, he found . . . The House.

I told him I would not even look at The House, seeing as how it was at least 30 minutes away from everything civilized and proper for a lady, such as myself.

LJ (short for Lumberjack . . . keep up, people!):  Let’s just look at it.

Me:  Why?  Waste of time.

LJ:  Humor me.

Interruption:  I hate when he says “humor me.”  It always means he will win.

Me:  Okay, but for the record, I will not live in ________. (Ha!  I will not tell you where it is.  We will call it “Ruralville.”)

LJ:  Fine, Taylor

Me:  I mean it.  I won’t live there.

LJ:  Okay, Taylor

So, we filled the rig with gas, packed snacks and water, loaded the car with entertainment for the children, checked the oil, charged the battery, washed the rig, packed extra clothes, gathered the emergency flares, and prepared ourselves for the mini-car trip to:

Ruralville.

And wouldn’t you know it, we absolutely LOVED the house.

It has 5 bedrooms people!

And central vac.

Fact:  I am uncertain as to how this “central vac” business works, but I am excited for it nevertheless.

It also has a huge shop and is on 20 acres.

With lots and lots and lots of trees to be felled.

I told LJ I would not live in Ruralville.

But gosh darn it, somehow he talked me into making an offer.

Darn him and his swooning.

So we made an offer 2 days before Cancun.

And since it was a “short sale” (don’t ask, I am an idiot on these matters.  If you must know, I suggest you contact your favorite realtor), we did not find out until mid-March that the bank accepted a different offer.

LJ was devastated.

A couple of weeks later, our realtor called and said the first offer people were having trouble getting their paperwork in.

LJ was thrilled!

He started tractor shopping on craigslist and made big plans for our lives out in Ruralville.

Then on April 2nd, we found out that the bank was definitely still going with the other folk.

Poor LJ.

Goodbye, tractor.

Goodbye, trees-that-need-to-be-felled.

Goodbye, Ruralville.

So, our realtor talked us into looking for more houses.

After every house we saw, LJ would sigh and say,

“It is nothing compared to the place in Ruralville.”

Then, it happened.

8 days ago, our Realtor called and said the deal fell through and we could make another offer.

And we have been waiting and waiting and waiting.

But we found out yesterday that our offer was accepted.

Attention Mr. Lumberjack:

You may resume your tractor shopping.

So, we are probably Ruralville-bound unless something goes wrong with our inspection or well report.

Yes, that’s right.

We are going to have a well.

How has this happened to me?

I’ve been a good girl.

I’ll tell you this right now . . . the day I see a bear is the day we are moving back to civilization.

I find bears attacking my children to be completely unacceptable.

No matter how many acres we can get.

So, we won’t move until July-ish.

But, we are most likely moving to Ruralville.

That is, of course, if our WELL is ok.

A well.

Honestly.

***

Item #5

I have been contemplating the notion of creating another “Fun with Adjectives” post.

Are you excited?

But, I need some fun adjectives.

This is where you come in.

Tell me an adjective I should use .

I will totes gives you a shout out if you do.

Come on.

Humor me.