The Lumberjack's Wife

We have company this weekend.  We don’t usually ever have anyone stay at our house because:

A)  We live far away from town.

B)  Most of our family lives nearby and nobody needs to stay here.

C)  We don’t have a guest room.

David told me we would be having someone come and stay two nights a day before they were set to arrive.

Which is all fine and dandy, and I truly don’t mind.  However.  I need a lot of time to pull off getting my house ready for “guests.” Not 24 hours. Especially when I don’t have a guest room.  Did I mention the person coming is a bit of a clean freak?  Yes.  Wonderful.

So I go downstairs to look at my options:  the kids’ rooms.  The girls share a room.  The boys share a room.

I look at the boys room.  I have looked in this room before.  I have looked at it with tired, “I give up and don’t care anymore and this is just fine for now” eyes.  I have never look at it with “Oh!  Guests are coming!” eyes.

The horror.

The boys’ room will never, EVER, be suitable guests.  Ever.  For all eternity.

The girls, thankfully, have emerged from their “let’s save every single thing” phase and, in their room, I found hope.  And their room is now the guest room.

So, here I sit.  My house has never been so clean as it is today.  And it will probably stay clean for maybe 42 minutes.

Maybe.

But it is glorious and I feel on top of all the things.  We even cleaned out the boys’ toothpaste/toothbrush drawer! (shudder)

***

We have had a bit of bad luck with our vehicles as of late.  Over Labor Day Weekend, my Sequoia had a flat tire.  Which is no big deal.  Except to access the spare, you need to open the back of the Sequoia.  And fun fact:  the back of the Sequoia does not open.  Oh, there is a gaggle of things wrong with my Sequoia.  I suppose it is to be expected when you have 4 kids and drive at least 80 miles each day.  But, I digress.

David, along with his brother, Alex . . . .

Remember Alex?

They took apart the entire back of the car and fixed it!  And they also took care of the flat.  But the back of the car opens!  I was told it won’t last long, for reasons explained to me, yet not understood by me-but for now it is opening!  I feel like a pampered princess, driving around town, able to put groceries in the back and not under the kids’ feet.

The very next day, David’s truck broke down.  It cost $350 to tow it to the nearest town. We were anticipating the repair to be costly and decided we would have the mechanic take care of it if it was less than $5,000 (gasp!).  The mechanic called David and told him it would be only $1600 to fix.

Glory!

In the meantime, our washing machine broke down, and the fuel pump went out in our fancy, “back-opening” Sequoia.  Also:  the Sequoia needed 4 new tires for winter driving.  Because, why not?

I have been trying to talk David into getting me a newer car.  There are so many things wrong with mine, and it has over 200k miles on it.

Even though it is all fancy and opens in the back now, last week when I went through the car wash, one of my windshield wipers flew off during the “high powered drying” portion of the wash, and I have no idea where it went.

It just . . . flew off.

And I truly hope it didn’t hit the car behind me.

So, yeah.  I am dreaming of a fancy rig.

The mechanic took a bit of time to repair the truck.  A couple of weeks later he called David, and David gave him the credit card info over the phone.  After a bit, David asked what the final total was again.

The mechanic:  $10,600

Which is a bit more than $1600.

Apparently, David heard him wrong?  Or the mechanic said the wrong price?  Either way, our truck is fixed and we now owe $10,600.  And I am thinking I will need to wait on a newer car for me.

Which is a colossal bummer.

***

The school year is going well.  We had our Open House last week.

One family came through and left for a bit.  Then they came back, looking like something had been bothering them.

Dad:  We wanted to let you know that you forgot to put our son’s birthday on your birthday poster there.

I look at the poster.  It is festive and happy and I write all the kids’ birthdays on it.  I truly don’t know why I have it.  I don’t really use it.  It is just there.  And I realized that all the kids listed on the poster were my kids from last year’s class.  I had completely forgotten to change it.

#winning

Me:  Oh!  Well, hmmm.  I actually forgot to put everyone’s birthday up this year.  This is last year’s class.  I guess I forgot to take care of this!  I am sorry.

**awkward silence**

Grandma:  Well!  The custodian tells us you are a great teacher!

Me:  Oh, good!

Yes.  Taylor is winning at life.  She has a fancy car that opens in the back (minus one windshield wiper), a makeshift guest room (just don’t look too closely at the boys’ room), a squeaky clean toothpaste drawer, and she is on top of all the things in her teaching career.

Boom.

Happy Saturday!

Have I told you that the pigs ate a lot of my hens?  It is true.  They did. Viscous, stinky, wretched pigs. We only have three hens left.  We had about 40?  50?  Who knows.  We had many.  But now we have three.

I have discovered that life with three hens is much simpler than life with 40 hens.  I know how many I have.  I notice if one is missing.  I feel much more on top of things.  When we had a plethora of hens, I had no idea what was going on . . . if one was missing, if one died . . . no clue.

These hens are doing a swell job in the egg laying department.  I am quite impressed with them.  They are good hens.  We also have one rooster.  He is a bit of a whack-a-doodle.  I watched him run up and down the chicken yard today-back and forth, back and forth.  Perhaps he was getting his morning exercise?  Oh!  Have you seen a chicken or a rooster run before?  You should check it out.  It is humorous.

Anyways.  One of my new kiddos in my first grade class was all-agog the other day because our custodian told him that his new teacher always hatches chickens in her classroom each year.  So, now I will be looking for a few more good hens to add to my flock.  I have to make sure I have some hearty fertilized eggs come spring.

This is my life.

School.

Getting ready for a new school year as a teacher will kill you dead.

People asking me this question 2 days before school starts:  Taylor, are you all ready for the school year?

Me:  Oh, I think so!  It has been stressful, though.

People:  Well, you have had all summer to get ready!  I don’t know why you are stressed!

And I want to punch them in the face.

I don’t.  But I want to.  And I don’t really blame them, because I get where they are coming from.  But good gosh!  No one understands the amount of work and changes and curve balls that get thrown at teachers right before school starts!  No matter how prepared you are, those last two weeks before the start are brutal.

I can already tell my class will be an easier group than last year.  Last year’s crew kicked my hiney!  This group is pretty sweet and I am hoping for a banner year.

Sweet Pea started high school.

She also is wearing contacts, got her braces off, is going to a dance next Saturday, and is expecting to get asked by a B-O-Y.  She also made Varsity basketball.

Daisy Mae started 8th grade.

She is going to a new school . . . and loving it!  She just found out she made the A team for volleyball.

The boys and I are at the same school . . . for the last year!

Handsome Dude is in 5th and Little Dude is in 4th.  HD fell asleep after school by 5pm-and slept until I woke him up the next morning at 6am!  He was done wore out.

And there you have the back to school update for Team Maliblahblah!

Happy Sunday!

Me to Unnamed Child:  It smells.  Why does it smell? What IS that smell?

Unnamed Child:  I don’t know.

Me:  IT IS B.O.  Gross.  And it is you.  Are you wearing deodorant?

Unnamed Child:  Um.  Nope.

Me:  Why not?  I bought you some.

Unnamed Child (shrugs.  almost as if he/she does not care about this issue as much as I do):  I forget a lot.

Me:  No.  You may not forget.  Ever again.  You will wear deodorant for all your days.  Every day.  Always.  You may stop never.  Well, maybe when you are 70.  But until then, all the days.

Parenting.  Full of joy and pleasantness. And BO.

School is coming.  And all the stress has come with it.  Sweet Pea is starting high school (HIGH SCHOOL OF ALL THINGS) and Daisy Mae is starting a new school.  The boys will still be with me.  My kids need shoes and clothes and supplies and I am spending all the money all the time.  Handsome Dude’s feet are ginormous and he can no longer fit into boys’ sizes.  It is a challenge to find shoes for him for less than $80.  He is like a giant bear cub in Nikes.  And the shoes will have holes in them within three months.  For the love.

So, I feel like we are basically hemorrhaging money.  Every time I turn around, there is something else to buy or another fee to pay.

And then.  There is my own classroom.  And I thought my max amount of students was 23.  So I planned for 24. Because, you know, life.  And then I found out I will have at least 25.  So now I have to go back to The Walmarts and buy more things.  But that is what August is for, I suppose.  Swipe that debit card!  Swipe, swipe, swipe!  I am planning for 27.

27!  That is a lot of six year olds.

And then.  There is camping.  Camping in August!  My husband does not understand that back to school stress, mixed with back to school shopping stress, sprinkled with camping packing/shopping stress is a recipe for a total Taylor meltdown.

We went camping last weekend.  And I am sad to report that our quad cab is getting a smidge too small for 6 people and 2 full grown black labs.

And we have go camping AGAIN.  This coming weekend.  Return on Monday, start teaching Tuesday.  I am sure I will handle the stress well.

***
The boys went to kids camp for the first time.  And something exciting happened.

They were SAD to go to camp.  They were going to miss . . . wait for it . . . ME!  Oh, friends, this is excellent news.  These boys can be a “challenge.”  But they love me!

Me, every time I drop the girls off anywhere since the year 2003:  Wait!  Bye!  Come say goodbye!

Girls, not even turning around:  See ya!

But my BOYS!  They may have even shed a tear or two.  Yes.  I am thrilled.  Don’t judge me.

Do the boys use soap in the shower?  No.

Do they know to brush their teeth even if Mom or Dad does not put in a formal request 8 times in  one evening?  Ha.

Can I trust that when I drop the boys off somewhere they will use their best manners and not ever pass gas and think it is funny?  Nope.

Can the boys behave like decent human beings in a store?  HECK NO.

But were they sad to leave their Mama for 5 whole days?

Yes.  Yes they were.

And that’s a win.

***

I shall leave with the obligatory Eclipse Viewing Photo, brought to you by Daisy Mae.

We were dropping the aforementioned boys off at camp.  Hence the bus.

Happy Saturday!

I am going to miss summer mornings.

Every morning, I wake up before 5am to David bringing me coffee before he leaves for work.  This is the best.  Having someone bring you your morning java is a top notch plan, and I highly recommend it.  And I deserve it!  On account of the naughty piglets.

These piglets are like my boys when they were toddlers reincarnated into swine form.  They are everywhere-except for where they are supposed to be.

They don’t listen to me.  This is why they remind me of my boys from the days of yore.

Back to my delicious walk.

My kids are out of that terrifying “up at the crack of dawn” stage, and I thoroughly enjoy my quiet mornings.  I do the laundry.  I clean up 14 water glasses and ice cream dishes from the children who were up and enjoying the late summer bedtime the night before.  I water the flowers. I wonder why the kids felt the need for 14 water glasses.  I make the bed.

But the best part of the summer morning?  The morning walk.

Friends.  I absolutely love the morning walk.  I made a goal to hit 10k steps a day a couple of months ago in an effort to strengthen my knee, and I don’t mean to brag, but I am crushing it.  I take our two labs, Tank and Abbie, out with me every morning.

Abbie is new to us.  Handsome Dude got her for his birthday in April.  We are getting to know her and she is a charming addition to our family.  I have learned on our walks that Abbie feels the need to void her bladder and/or bowels 18 times during the first 40 minutes of the day.  It is intriguing.

Abbie has a lot of energy and she gets out a bunch of it on our morning strolls.  Tank is an overweight, lazy (albeit sweet), 9 year old lab.  He cracks me up every morning with just how truly lazy he is.

Oh, he’s smart.  He knows my route. He knows that I am going to walk on a path by the house, get to the top of a little incline, and then turn back towards the house.  So?

He waits for me.

Can you see him?  Abbie is the dog near me, and Tank is back by the house waiting for us.  Such slothfulness.  And then when we join him, he gets a little hop to his step and acts all proud of himself and tries to keep up again for a time.  Sometimes he just  gives up and sits by the front door.

After my heavenly, quiet walk, I go inside and shower-STILL ENJOYING THE PEACE.  But then, I must wake the children.  It is inevitable.

I am going to miss my quiet mornings when the crazy school year starts back up again and I have to turn into a crazy lunatic to get us out the door on time.

Get up, get up, get up!

Get in the shower!

Eat!

Get out of the shower!

Now, you get in the shower!

No sleeping at the table!  Eat!

Where are your SHOES?

Put some clothes on or learn how to properly wrap a towel around yourself!

WHY ARE YOU STILL EATING BREAKFAST?

How can someone take a shower for 10 minutes and not even get their hair wet yet?

MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!

Ah, yes.  It will be a joy for all to hear.

Happy Wednesday!

Taylor during the school year:  Maybe in the summer, I will find time to blog.

Taylor during the summer:  Oh, shoot!  My blog!  Maybe I will find time during the school year when we are in more of a “routine.”

Such is life.  I sure do miss writing.

Today was “Clean Out The Boys’ Closet Day.”

*Shudder*

My boys want to wear zero pairs of pants.  Even when it is 7 degrees outside.  I am the adult of our relationship, so I have to be all responsible and make sure they at least have a few pairs of pants.

The dudes holding up non-jeans:  Why do we even HAVE these?  Get rid of them!

Me:  No way!  What if I have to take you somewhere decent?

Handsome Dude:  These will not fit me.

Me:  Oh sure they do.  I am not donating these.  Then we will get invited to a wedding and I will have to take you shopping.  I am not buying more dress pants.

So, I have them try them on.  Certain am I that I shall win this battle.

Yes.  I was wrong.  And yes.  Little Dude is holding a cat.  And why wouldn’t he be holding a cat?

Will I go buy new dress pants?  NO!  But I will become horribly stressed come November when we are invited somewhere and I realize all they have are jeans and basketball shorts.  With cat hair on them.

The dudes are growing up.  Little Dude turned 9 last month.  NINE!  Both boys are able to work a bit more and earn money.  Instead of spending all their money on fidget spinners, gum, and football cards, David and I encourage them to put their money into bank accounts.  And the boys have more money saved than each of their sisters.  I know.  It’s like the Twilight Zone over here.

Little Dude to Handsome Dude:  We should use our money to buy a POOL!

HD:  Are you crazy?!  We can’t buy a POOL.  We live in the wild!  Deers would stand by it and shed their antlers in it.  It would be a mess!

LD (stops and thinks for a moment):  True.

We have little out here in Ruralville for 7 years now.  When we first moved in, I asked David if we could have a fire pit.  Years have passed, and there have been many projects, but no fire pit.  He’s a busy guy.  I get it.  I moved on, and I haven’t even suggested it for at least two years.

And then, about 2 weeks ago, he said to me, “Hey.  How much money do we have right now?”

He asked this because I am the CFO of the family and I know all the things.  Obviously.

Readers.  This question that he asks me always fills me with dread.  And I just knew he found a smokin’ deal on Craigslist for a tractor.

Me (trying to not sigh):  Why?

David:  I was thinking of putting rock down in that area over there and building a fire pit.

Now.  A tractor, I don’t think we can afford.  But a FIRE PIT?  Sure!

So, that’s what we did.  And it is magnificent.  And guess how much we spent on the rock?

One Thousand Dollars.

!

Can you believe such a thing?  Each rock is precious and we will not allow any child to throw one or any dog to relieve himself on one forever and ever.  Amen.

If you look closely, you might be able to see that David hung hooks on the tree so I can hang flower baskets.

!

I have high hopes that my lovely flower baskets will not become feeding troughs for deer.

I bought some marshmallow roasting sticks to have out there and I was talking to HD about how I thought it might be a good idea to have a large nail in the tree so we could hook the roasting sticks to the tree.

Me:  But I don’t have a hammer.  And I don’t have a large nail.  We will need to wait for dad to come home.

HD:  I have just the perfect nail in my toolbelt, Mom!

Yes!  I forgot!  David gave the boy his old tool belt.  And apparently, the tool belt came fully equipped with nails and a hammer!   Yay!

So Handsome Dude, went out with me to the tree.

HD:  Where do you want it, Mom?

I showed him and he put the nail in the tree and hung up the roasting sticks.

Oh.  This could come in handy, my friends.  Sons who are handy?  Mmm-hmmm.  This could work.

Let’s talk about the garden.

In years past, we have spent our entire lives weeding that darn thing.  And for what?   AND FOR WHAT.

No.  I am not bitter.  Why do you ask?

This year, David suggested we only do the berry end of the garden and not try to grow the corns and the beans and the whatnots.  This was all very fine with me.  As luck would have it, we have had a TON of berries this year.  A TON.  I have so many frozen berries in my freezer, friends.  You should be jealous.

Daisy Mae and I have made 4 batches of jam thus far.  Here we are, taking a “selfie”, with one batch:

Me:  I don’t get it!  Where do I put my eyes?

Daisy Mae (AKA . . . The Selfie Queen):  Just look at the camera.

Me:  I DON’T UNDERSTAND.

And here’s some news that is not going to surprise you . . .

We have a couple of renegade piglets.

Oh, yes.  Mama Pig had herself a litter of piglets.  Not quite sure what happened to most of them, but two are left.

Life is hard out here my friends.  David thinks it was a hawk or something.  All I know is: there were 6, now there are two.

And those two are ruining my life.

They are everywhere.  Except where they are supposed to be.

They are in the driveway.  They try to dig into the chicken coop and have a meet and greet with the hens and ducks.  They sneak into my garden.

And they eat the precious strawberries.

You might say, “Taylor! How do you know they are eating your strawberries?!”

Well, friends.  It is because they have tasty berry juice smeared all over their snouts.

And are we surprised, my dear friends?  Are we surprised that piglets born at Taylor’s house are naughty and eating her strawberries?

No.  No, we are not

Happy Monday!

This is what happens when your people won’t let you eat kill any more chickens.

You are forced to look wistfully at them, longing for better days.

Notice how I used the word,  “more.” Mmmm-hmmm.

The school year is winding down and everyone is ready to be done.  The kids are in this weird transition of wanting to be outside and do summer-ish things, and yet, we are still going to school every day.  I wanted to give you a little glimpse into a typical “school night” for my house these days.

With longer days, David works longer hours and he is not home to enjoy “school nights.”  Pity.

First of all, you need to know that Abbie, our new chicken-eating dog, has only been with us for about 2 weeks.  You also should know that she has taken a fancy to pooping on the carpet.  Because, of course!

Secondly, you should be aware that the boys have invested in ducklings.

Oh, they are delighted with themselves! They are sure these ducklings will make them RICH!  They shall sell duck eggs and incubate duck eggs and sell ducklings . . . . they are quite proud. The ducks are currently living in a box under a heat lamp in my dining room.  Be jealous.

Anyways.  School nights.

We arrive home around 5:30pm.  We walk in and are immediately hit with the disgusting smell of duckling poop in old straw that has been sitting under a heat lamp all day.  Not pleasant.  Everyone is hungry and cranky.  After opening windows and lighting candles (because tulip scented duckling poop is better than regular duckling poop)I,  start dinner and get everyone started on chores.  The boys’ chores involve changing out the duckling straw and feeding pigs.

I must also inform you all that this day is unseasonably hot.  So, in addition to the usual after school chaos, all the kids are changing into tank tops and shorts.  The girls are bringing out lawn chairs and spraying on sunscreen.  Because they fancy doing homework in the sun.

The boys put their ducklings in a tub of water outside.

The ducklings enjoy a pool party in the hot sun while the boys clean up their poo.

Lucky ducks. (See what I did there?)

Me:  Boys!  Where are you?

The boys emerge from the hay barn.  The hay barn is in the opposite direction of the pig pens.  They should be in the vicinity of the pigs, as they should be feeding pigs.

Boys:  Mom!  Can we throw all these eggs into the woods!  The hen isn’t laying on them.  She left them here for weeks!

Yes.  Our chickens have figured out how to get out of their protective coop area.  Everyone is too tired to care and/or fix it.  So I guess we now have free range chickens.

Me:  Fine.  THEN FEED THE PIGS!

The rest of the evening turned to chaos.  I felt like I was running around like a crazy person trying to get everyone through chores, dinner, lunch packing, and homework.

Feed the pigs!

Where are the ducklings?

Where is Abbie?

Girls, put away all beach blankets!  It is a Thursday night at 7pm!

Why are you building a fire?!  It is 80 degrees!  FEED THE PIGS.

Where are the ducklings?  You better make sure Abbie isn’t eating them!

GET THE DUCKLINGS BACK INSIDE!

After we *finally* get through all the outside chorin’, I move the children on to packing lunches and finishing up homework.

Daisy Mae needs help in math.  I am a teacher.  Seems reasonable that I should be able to help her, does it not?

“Mom, I need to find the lateral area of a cylinder.”

Friends.  I tried to teach 1st graders how to add and subtract ten from a number today.  I know not the mysterious ways of a cylinder, nor its lateral area.  And judging by my students’ work today, it would appear that I also know not how to teach adding and subtracting tens.

Little Dude is never quite sure where his homework passport is, nor does he care.  I usually must request for him to bring me his homework about 3 times an evening.

Handsome Dude, on the other hand, is extremely ANNOYING about getting his homework completed.  He goes into a panic every evening and worries that I won’t sign his passport (I have never not signed it).  He shoves his passport under the bathroom door to me when I am trying to use the facilities.

As I am signing his homework, I notice that I am supposed to send in his wax museum costume the next day.

We actually haven’t really gotten the costume figured out yet.  I thought I had another week.

Me:  Great!  How can we make you look like President Andrew Jackson?

I look at the boy.  He is wearing basketball shorts, has mud smeared on his glasses,  and smells like a potpourri of animal poo.

Me:  Go to your room and bring me any pants that aren’t jeans.

HD:  I don’t know what “not jeans” are!

Me:  Dark blue, khaki, or black pants.

HD:  I don’t understand!

Me (showing him denim):  Any pants that don’t  look like this.   And find a white button down shirt.

He brings up jeans and a gray short sleeve button down shirt.  And I was too tired to care and that is what I sent him to school with.

Teacher/Parent for the win!

Stand down, readers.  The wax museum truly isn’t for awhile.  I am headed to the Goodwills this very day to try to find something a bit more Andrew Jackson-ish.

Little Dude is incubating chickens eggs on the counter.  I need him to turn them in the incubator, but that would mean I have to find him first.

And do I ever know where Little Dude is?  No.  No, I do not.

No one wants to pack their lunch because all of our food is disgusting.

No one knows how to do the Pre-Algebra homework.

No one wants to listen to the ducklings “peep” anymore.

No one wants to pack their bags.

No one wants to clean up beach towels, sun screen, and lawn chairs.

No one wants to feed the pigs.

No one wants to gather the eggs.  (The eggs for eating.  Not the eggs for incubating.  Keep up, people!)

No one wants to brush their teeth.

No one wants to go to bed.

School nights.  We are over them.

Because I am the world’s most fun teacher, I decided to incubate eggs once again in the classroom.  My “spirited” class was very excited for this magical event.  And as time went on, the more excited they became about the arrival of the chicks.  And the more excited they became, the more nervous I got.  I do this every time . . . the worrying about whether or not anything will hatch.  In the past, the other classes I did this with weren’t as excited about the coming chicks.  But this class was 100% in.

To add to my worry, I realized I had possibly put the eggs wrong side up in the incubator.  Because although  I like to pretend like I am a farm and ranch gal, I clearly am not.  AND THEN when I came into the classroom one morning, the incubator was about 15 degrees colder than it should have been.  The horror.

Me to David:  But, David!  If you think about it, in nature, maybe a mama hen would leave her nest for a few minutes to get food and then get distracted and not come back for several hours, but still return to her nest . . . and those chicks might survive, right?  Hmmm?  RIGHT?

David (not really caring one bit for my incubation woes):  Sure.

The eggs were supposed to hatch on Wednesday.  But they didn’t.  We went to home group Wednesday night and I had the audacity to ask my home group gal pals to pray for my incubation woes.

“I know it is silly, but WE NEEEEEEEEEEEEEED THIS, this class and I.  It has been a year.  And they are so “lively” and “challenging” and it is almost MAY and we are still working on when we should be calm and quiet and WE ALL NEED TO READ and write and not talk when the teacher is talking and it has been  A year, my friends, and we just need this.  This year has been so hard.  And they are so excited.”

Dramatic, much?  So on Thursday I came into my classroom all hopeful-like, and nothing.  I waited until about 1:30, and when still nothing had happened, we had “the talk.”

And the talk involved discussions about the word “perseverance” and what would scientist do if the first time they tried something they failed?  And my spirited class and I came up with a plan on how we could try again.  We would put new eggs in the incubator the next week, make a few changes, and see if we could hatch an egg.

Later that evening, I told David about our talk.

David:  Wow.  You are like teaching them life lessons and about the real world.  You are not just teaching them reading and math?  Huh.

Me:  You really have no idea what my day is like, do you?

But I digress.  So I had the talk with my students Thursday at 1:30 .  And I took them to their special and came back to my classroom for prep.  As I was working, I heard chirping.

CHIRPING!  I KID YOU NOT!  Mere minutes after I told the kids they were most likely not going to hatch.  Because, remember, I like to pretend like I know what I am doing, but we all know, I do not.

The chick was not hatched out Thursday afternoon.  When I came in Friday morning, the boys and I walked into my classroom just as a chick was hatching.  But, alas.  It was not the Thursday afternoon hatching chick.  That chick died mid hatch.  Because it is a cruel world.  This was a new chick.  After this one hatched, part of the shell was kinda stuck to him/her for awhile.  Teacher friends were peeking in and asking me why, and I acted like it was all good, but truly, I had no idea if it was all good.

So the kids came, and were all so excited.  The chick survived the day and everyone got their picture taken with the chick.  And I am glad I don’t have to start the incubation process all over again.

The kiddos decided we should name the chick, SuperChick, because he was able to survive even after being so cold.

Teach spirited children about the life cycle of a chicken . . .  Check.

My favorite part about doing this in the classroom is the hilarious questions I get from teacher friends who are as clueless as I am about all things farm and ranchy.  I mean, I know more now, because I am living the dream and all, but it is sure funny to answer their quandaries.

Friend:  So how do you know which eggs are fertilized?  Do you watch and see which ones the rooster sprays?

Me:  Um, no.

***

Handsome Dude got his own dog for his birthday.

He named her Abbie and he is doing quite well with her.  She seems to fit in to our family great so far!  She is a two year old black lab.

Happy Sunday!

The weekly conversation:

David to kids:  Fill the woodbox.

Kids:  We did.

David:  Try again.  Not full enough.

Today, when I went to check the fire, I found this:

I feel like they are getting a bit passive-aggressive in their old age.  And I felt like I was playing a terrifying game of Jenga while trying to load the fire.

Yes.  It’s the end of March and we still need a fire.  We had one heck of a winter, my friends.  Cold and snow for days.  But, alas.  Spring is coming.

We are on Spring Break.  We are NOT at Disneyland, which is where I long to be.  We just finished up with “Birthday Week.”  Handsome Dude turned 10 and Daisy Mae turned 13.

Daisy Mae!  13!  Here she is on a recent adventure to her Great Uncle Harry’s house.  Harry invited the kids over for fish tacos.  He finds himself to be hilarious.

It’s goldfish crackers in a crunchy taco shell.  Hardy har har.  (Kids loved it, actually)

Yes.  She has a phone.  Both the girls do.  WHAT IS HAPPENING IN THE WORLD?  They have to pay for it monthly and all that jazz and we, the uncertain-parents-who-are-not-yet-ready-for-their-girls-to-be-teenagers, put several rules in place regarding the usage of the phone.

Here’s further proof that Taylor is not ready to parent teens:

Allow me to set up the scene for y’all:

Sweet Pea is 14.  She is interested in going to a dance with a MALE.  My favorite part: “And maybe more than I am not remembering.” (Feel free to steal that genius line, parents)

You see, this covers me for future rules I might come up with on a whim because I AM NOT READY FOR THIS.

And check out Sweet Pea, the good-natured 14-year-old who gives her terrified mama a thumbs up.

#winning

Now, let’s talk about Handsome Dude.  He’s 10!  And (generally speaking) he is so much more mature and hard-working and responsible than I could have ever imagined him to be at 10.

Yes!  Handsome Dude!

1.  He completely takes charge of his homework and completes it in a timely fashion AND does it well.
2.   He has muscles.  I am not kidding.  He has started helping David out more around the property and that kid is buff.
3. He can plow our driveway with the 4-wheeler and plow.
4. He NEVER breaks his glasses.  (Long time readers will take great joy in that statement)
5. His teacher scored him as “advanced” for his behavior.  (I can’t even.  The kid used to pee on my washing machine and then offered no good reason or apology)

Recently, his class performed a square dance and here is, being all good-natured and not all oh-she-has-girl-cooties and dancing with girls.

He looks more like a basketball player than a square dance, but, you know . . . baby steps.

Last night, I made chicken and wild rice soup and he was feeling a bit uncertain about it.  Because, you know, it wasn’t mac and cheese or pizza or something safe like that.  But after a bite or two, he said

“Mom, I love this.  Do you think you could make this next time I am sick?”

Be still my heart.

Little Dude is still . . . .little dude-ish.  He is a bit wacky.

Sweet Pea had some friends over and Little Dude was being all charming and flirty with them.  He bragged to them:  “My dad is the Ladies Man!”

Oh, dear.

Me:  Dude, do you see Dad flirting with girls a lot?

LD:  Oh, yeah.  All the time.  But mostly with you.

He also smacked me on the hiney the other day.  Because Dad does it.

He’s a work in progress.

Also, a quick update on my knee.  The knee manipulation in December was the last procedure I had done on it.  It still hurts quite a bit and does not have full range of motion.  But, I can walk!  I am working on trying to get 10,000 steps every day and hoping that strenghtening it might help.  If it isn’t better by the end of May, I might have to to a new doctor.

Happy Thursday!