The Lumberjack's Wife

We have been busy bees as of late and I have had no time for blogging activities.

So, without further ado, I present to you:

A List.

1)  Handsome Dude’s basketball team has started playing games.

He gets to take his uniform home, as if life could not get any more exciting.  As soon as he returns home from being a basketball champ, he puts his uniform on a hanger and takes it with him from room to room to proudly display it in all its gloriousness.

He is his own biggest fan.

2)  Last night was his first game.  It did not start until 6pm and it was all I could do to keep Mr. Basketball out of his uniform all day.  Contrary to popular belief, 5 year old boys are not at all tidy and are known to spill ketchup and applesauce on their attire from time to time.  Finally around 3pm, I relented and allowed him to break out the uniform.

It was all very exciting.

3)  Little Dude, a fan of the chickens, asked me the other day when I was going to “hatch” another baby.

4)  Homeschooling for the win!

5)  Last Saturday, the girls had a basketball game over at the far end of the earth.  We made the most of our travels and decided to stop at a horse museum on the way home.

6)  Apparently, since we homeschool and all, we must do these sorts of things on Saturdays.  Its in the handbook.  I checked.

7)  Do y’all remember the day I had to play Vet Rescue and capture an injured chicken?

Sure you do.

Poor Sweet Pea has been caring for said hen.  She even named her “Sweetie.”  Yesterday, Sweet Pea went to check on Sweetie and found she had died.  It was all very traumatic.  Sweet Pea desires to be a vet when she grows up, so she is usually pretty willing to help out with the animals, but she loves animals, so it is hard when sad things happen.

8)  And lots of sad things happen here with the animals.  Hello?  Are you new here?  Have you not read this blog?

Welcome!

9)  My neighbor texted me yesterday to inform me of recent neighborhood sightings of:  a cow moose and mountain lion tracks and to inform me that someone else in the ‘hood heard wolves howling.

10)  Its like “Neighborhood Crime Watch:  Farm and Country Style.”

11)  So, now I have to fear the wolves.  And did you know that mountain lions and cougars are one in the same?

There you go.  You learn something new every day.

Alright.  I must go tend to my homeschooling duties.  We are going to be covering the differences between “mammals” and “birds” so poor Little Dude doesn’t go through life thinking ladies lay eggs.

Later, dudes.

I am drowning in a viscous cycle of homeschool, basketball, and attempting to keep up with my own online college classes.

Drowning, people.  Drowning.

Plus, I feed the animals now. True, the feeding of the animals takes a mere 15 to 20 minutes, depending on my arm strength and will to get things done, but that is not the point.

The point it this:  I am complaining.

Allow me to share you with two humorous tales that have happened as of late.

Hold on to your pants, folks.  This is going to be thrilling.

Tale #1:

I was helping Handsome Dude sound out cvc words the other day, as I am wont to do.

Yes.  That’s right.  I said “cvc,” like it ain’t no thang.  I am simply trying to impress you and make you all think I have some sort of business homeschooling my children.

CVC stands for consonant/vowel/consonant.  CVC words are the first words kids learn to read, for they are simple.  Words like CAT, HAT, PAM, TAN, and JAM.

These are the only words Handsome Dude can attempt to read at this point in time.  You throw in a word with more than three letters . . . consider his world rocked.

So.  He was doing his thing, and doing a mighty find job at it, I might add, the Mr. Kindergartener that he clearly is.

HD:  C-A-T.  CAT!

Me:  Yes!

HD:  Y-A-K.  YAK!

Me:  Yes!

HD:  B-U-T . . . .nope!  Not reading that one.  It is a privacy word.

Ha!

A privacy word.  These are things that humor me now.  I suppose that’s what happens when you are old and homeschool.

I had to explain to the boy that there are two different “but” words, but he would hear none of it.

He stood his moral ground.  And probably said “but” 18 times in his own defense.

“BUT, Mom!  I can’t say that word!  It is for privacy!”

He is astute.

Tale #2:

As a mother of boys, I have realized no good can come out of both boys being in a bathroom together.

True Story:  They once tried to cross streams.  If you know what I mean.  And I think you do.

So, I walked by the bathroom and heard the two of them in there.

Me:  (knock, knock)  Who is in this bathroom?

*silence*

Me:  Answer me now.

HD:  Oh, sorry!  I couldn’t hear you!  I am in here!

LD:  Me, too!

Me:  Nope.  One of you out.

The door is unlocked and opened and I see Little Dude on the, *ahem*, throne, and Handsome Dude standing nearby, donning his father’s headlamp.

Because, as we all know, when the little brother is doing a number two, it helps if his older brother is standing nearby to offer moral support and extra light.

Me to Handsome Dude:  You cannot be in here.

HD (looking like I ruined his entire life.  And I probably did):  Ok.

LD to HD:  It’s ok!  You go in mom’s bathroom and we can still talk!

HD:  OK!

Now, reader.  There are two bathrooms on the main floor and they do share a common wall.  It took me awhile to put the house plans together in my head, but it is true.  There is one wall shared by the two bathrooms.  And my boys figured this out long before I ever would.  Its probably because they are homeschooled.  I hear homeschooled kids can be quite bright.

Handsome Dude heads to the bathroom, still donning the head lamp.

This is the convo the two lads shared together through the wall  on that winter’s day:

LD (shouting):  ARE YOU IN?

HD (shouting):  YES!

LD:  WHAT DO YOU SEE?

HD:  I SEE DAD’S HUNTING MAZ-A-GEEN.

LD:  WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

HD:  I AM GOING TO THE BAF-ROOM!

LD:  OK, GOOD!  ARE YOU SITTING OR STANDING?

HD (stopping to think for a moment.  It was, after all, a tricky question): I AM SITTING!

LD:  OK, YOU ARE POOPING!  ME, TOO!

HD:  COOL!

***

My boys.  They keep things spicy around here.

Happy Wednesday!

We go to church on Friday nights.  Since David works in town, we usually meet at church.  This week, I was waiting for him to meet me when I got a call from my neighbor.

Yes.  That’s right.  Not only do I have my neighbor’s cell number, we are also Facebook friends.

I am that cool.  But this you already knew.

Me:  Hello?

Neighbor:  Taylor?

Me:  Yes?

Neighbor:  This is Buzz.  Your neighbor.  How are you?

Me:  I’m fine!  How are you?

Buzz (chuckling)  (Why?  Stay tuned.)  Well, I’m up here by my shop and . . .

A million things are going through my head now.  In my mind, I am doing a virtual “roll call,” if you will , of the animals. 

Did I remember to close up the chicken coop?  Yes.

Did the rabbit gate get closed up?  Pretty sure.

Was the dog put in the garage?  Yes.  The cats, too.

Did the pig fence get closed?  Yes.  I did it myself.

Me:  Ok . . .

Buzz:  And it looks like all your pigs are running around.

Well, drat!  That can’t be good.  Especially since I was the one who made sure the pig gate was all closed up.

Me:  Oh, dear.

Buzz:  Are ya home?

Me:  No.  I’m almost an hour away.

Moments later, David pulled up and I had to send him immediately home.  Because, hello!?!?

It isn’t neighborly to have your seven, OH YES, seven pigs running amok!  It’s like the number one rule in The Neighbor Handbook.

Thou Shalt Not Allow Your Pigs To Trespass on Thine Neighbor’s Land.

Seven pigs.  Seriously.  Because my husband cannot handle doing anything on a small scale.  Turns out they broke their electric fence and rooted underneath.

That’s right.  I just said “rooted.”

So this was the fun convo I got to have with every Tom, Dick, and Harry at church on Friday.

Tom/Dick/Harry:  Taylor!  Where’s David tonight?

Me:  Oh, well, our neighbor called and our pigs got loose.  He had to rush home and wrangle them up.  The rascals.

Tom/Dick/Harry:  (crickets chirping)

Me:  Oh!  Have I not told you?  We raise pigs now.

Tom/Dick/Harry:  Do you, now?  How many do y’all have?

Me:  Only seven.

Tom/Dick/Harry:  (crickets chirping)

Me:  I am still normal, I promise.

So that was fun.

On Saturday, the plan was to load the bulldozer onto a flatbed trailer and have the truck tow the bulldozer to the mechanic.  I was to follow in the sweet minivan because the truck also needed to spend some time with the mechanic.

Life.  Not cheap.

David gets the bulldozer loaded up and the truck hitched up when, lo and behold, the truck dies.

It just . . . dies.  With no hope of a resurrection or anything.

David comes up to my window and asks if I would mind terribly if, instead, I towed the truck to the mechanic.

Me.  Taylor Maliblahblah.  The tower.  Of a truck.

I looked at David almost as if he were an insane, crazy person.  And rightfully so.

He sensed my look of disdain and assured me that he would unhitch the bulldozer first.  And I, dear reader, had to wonder if he, my beloved, was even considering the minivan towing the truck/dozer/trailer combo in the first place.

Wouldn’t surprise me.

Now, readers.  I have been married to this man for 12 and a half years and I cannot even begin to tell you how many times we have had to do this fun towing activity.

Obviously we can’t get enough.

From experience, I must inform you all that it is much better to be the “Tower” than the “Towee.”  So, there you go.  If you are ever faced with a choice, be the person in the lead.  It sounds worse, but truly, it is not.

I am sure we were quite the site . . . a Honda Odyssey towing a 1-ton truck down the highway.

I almost died from stress.  But I didn’t.  And I lived to blog about it.

You’re welcome.

This week, I started feeding the animals for my husband.

Why?  Because I am awesome.  Obviously.

Want to test your upper body strength?

Fill two 5-gallon buckets with water and walk uphill (both ways-ha!) to bring pigs water and see how well your arms do.

Mine?  Not so well.  But, I digress.

It has been lovely outside as of late, so I don’t mind feeding the animals.  What I do mind is yesterday’s episode of:
Vet Emergency:  Taylor Edition.

On Tuesday, I noticed a hen huddled in one of the nest boxes.  I didn’t think much of it, but on Wednesday, I saw her still there and lots of blood coming from her bottom.

It is moments like these when I rue the day Mr. Lumberjack ever got the notion to move us out to Ruralville.

Like I know what to do with a hen and her bloody bum.  Good riddance.

Since my husband was not going to be at the homestead until about 9:30pm, I decided it was up to me, Mrs. Farm and Ranch, to tend to the hen.

I will let you all in on a little secret:

Hens are nasty-mean to each other.

Oh, yes.  And those nasty-mean hens were pecking the poor, injured hen’s wound.  And poor, injured hen was making a little “yelp” sound whenever one of her so-called friends would peck at her.

And, yes.  I said “yelp.”  Just go with it.

Well, I have never touched a chicken.  And I don’t plan on ever doing so.  They give me the willies.  But I was able to catch the hen with my trusty fishing net and bring her to a safe little hutch, away from all those nasty-mean hens.

We are putting some sort of cream on her feathered bum and hoping she will heal.  It was all very stressful for me, because, oh!  Have you heard?

I don’t have time to deal with this stuff.

It made me want to put the house up for sale.

But, alas.  I survived.

Barely.

Pig Update:

They are still disgusting.

Chicken Update:

They are nasty-mean, but they give us eggs and we forgive them.

Rabbit Update:

I still don’t like them.  Hate me if you must, but it is true.

I loathe them.  There.  I said it.

Cat Updates:

The warm sunshine inspired them to brush up on their hunting skills.  Or skillz.  Whichever you prefer.

Today’s prey included small birds and the injured, bloody hen.

Fear not, bird lovers! The cats are lousy hunters.

Kid Update:

They are cute, but cannot figure out how to properly dress for winter-themed activities.

I wash my hands of it.

I will leave you all with this little convo between Sweet Pea and I:

Sweet Pea:  Mom?

Me:  Yes?

Sweet Pea:  Want to know what I think is the best?

Me:  What?

Sweet Pea:  You know after lunch, when you make us read for awhile?

Me:  Yes.

Sweet Pea:  I think that is the most relaxing time of the day.

Me:  Why’s that?

Sweet Pea:  Oh, I am just so cozy on the couch and we are all quiet and reading.  I can hear the coffee pot making coffee and the dishwasher running and the washing machine running and the dryer running . . . it is all so peaceful.  It’s like . . . “Ah . . . Home Sweet Home.”

And I was thinking to myself, “Dude.  That is not relaxing at all.  That is your mama trying desperately to accomplish 18,000 things while you guys are all contained and quiet for 30 minutes.”

But I smiled at her and let her have her moment.

Happy Thursday!

Well.  I hath survived my first week of college.

Yes.  That’s right.  Week one.

Aren’t you glad I have a blog?  I sure am an interesting gal.

I am happy to report that I am scoring a 25 out of a total of 26 points thus far.  I am, however, certain that if it weren’t for two young ladies residing in my home, I would have a 26 out of 26.

Allow me to elaborate.  If I may.

On Friday morn, I informed the darlings that I, The Mother, must do some schoolwork and they, The Children, must start their schoolwork on their own.

Sounds simple enough, right?

Wrong.

As I was tending to my studies, I heard the sounds of weeping and gnashing of teeth coming from the downstairs.  I left my quiz to go and assess the sitch.

I am the one in charge, after all.

Imagine my surprise when I see one of my darlings with a chair raised over her head to hit her sister.

Her reason?

Her math was hard and she needed her sister to be more quiet.

Why, yes!  By all means!  Whack your sister in the head with a chair!  That seems reasonable.

Such a peaceful family.

So, yes.  They are the reason I received a 25 out of 26.  They are to be blamed.

I am happy to report that no siblings were harmed by flying chairs during the making of this tragic morning.

***

Tonight, I was going over Little Dude’s Awana lesson with him.  Tonight’s lesson just happened to be a review, so I thought I would take this opportunity to brag a bit about my brilliant and knowledgeable boy.

Me:  What was the name of the man who was teaching by the Jordan River, telling people about the promised Savior?

LD:  Ummm?  Jesus?

Me:  No

LD:  God?

Me:  No

LD:  Oh!  I know!  Jesus AND God!

Me:  No.  John the . . . .

LD:  Drain-Ho!

Me:  (sigh)  John the Baptist, dude.  Let’s move on.  When did Nicodemus go to see Jesus?  During the night or the day?

LD:  Day!

Me:  No.

LD:  Oh!  Ask me again!

Me:  Ok.  When did Nicodemus go see Jesus?  Night or day?

LD:  Ummmm . . . . oh . . . um . . . . night?

Me:  Yes!  Jesus told Nicodemus the good news.  Who can you tell the good news to?

LD:  You need to love God.

Me:  No!  Who can you tell?  Who can you tell about God?

LD:  God!

Me:  No!  Everyone!

LD:  Oh!  Ok!

Me:  What did the men with the sick friend do when they couldn’t get into the house where Jesus was teaching?

LD:  Um.  They messed him up?

Me:  They messed the friend up?

LD:  Yes!

Me:  Um, no.

LD:  Oh!  They messed the house up!

Me:  Because they cut a hole in the roof?  Works for me!  What did Jesus do first instead of making the man well?

LD:  I not know.

Me:  He said, “Your sins are . . . “

LD:  Great!

Me:  No!  Forgiven!  Dude!  Do you listen to any of these stories?

LD:  Look I see the word “us!”  And “up!”

Me:  Yes.  Yes, you do.

***

And finally, as I was leaving for co op on this chilly morn, I noticed this dandy For Sale sign hammered to our mailbox post:

Yes.  Those black smudges were done by yours truly.  It’s called “editing,” people.  And I am darn good at it.

Apparently while the boys were playing yesterday, they found our old “For Sale” sign that we used for our purple minivan.

Yes.  We once had a purple minivan.  Didn’t you?

Ours even had a dent in the back.  Oh, yes.

Drool if you must.

Anyways.  They somehow managed to find it, deem it necessary to post, and nail it to the mailbox.

What in the world?

This was on David’s watch.  FYI.

Alright.  I’m off to start week two of college.

Be excited.

Last night, after dinner, I sat down at the computer to take a looksie at my online college courses.

Are you confused?  Are you wondering why I am taking college courses?

You are not alone.

When I was a young lass out of high school, I was in college full time, as well as working.  I would take 17-21 credits a semester because I was trying to get through college as quickly as I could.  The astute reader might remember that David and I were, at one time, both majoring in elementary education, so it was not uncommon for us to have classes together.

I know.  David in a CLASSROOM and not wearing boots and Carhatts??

It is almost as if we were living in The Twilight Zone.

David and I used to make fun of the “old” people in the class.  Of course, back then, “old” meant anyone over 25.  Oh, they were so annoying, what with their numerous questions, diligent note-taking, and actual reading of all the material.

You may ask, “Taylor!  Are you saying that you did not read all the required material each week in your academic career?”

Nay.  Nay, I did not.

People.  When you are taking that many credits AND working (with a hairnet, I might add) AND being married to stud, such as David, you do not simply have time to read everything.

You learn the art of skimming and searching for the bold-faced words.  Obviously.

So, now, ten years later, I am back to school so I can renew my teacher certification.  The only way this is possible for this season in my life is for me to take online courses.

And last night, as I fired up my Fancy Internet Machine, I realized that I am now THAT old person in school.

I am taking two different courses.  I found the syllabi . . . that’s plural for syllabus.

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

Young-college-Taylor would have scoffed at the syllabi in the past.  But not old-college-Taylor.

She read it word for word.  And was confused the entire time.

My first assignment in each class was to find the “discussions” board and post something about myself.

Sounds simple enough.

I find the Discussions Board, but cannot for the life of me figure out how to actually post something.

I see that other peoples have figured this out and ascertained that it is possible.

I just can’t figure it out myself.

I noticed  David staring at me funny and I realized that I looked like quite the site.  I was all hunched over with my nose about two inches from the computer screen, furrowed eyebrows, and making nonsensical mutterings under my breath.

Imagine my dad trying to figure out the iTunes on his computer.

That’s what I looked like.

After, oh, about 20 minutes, I finally figured out how to post a comment.  Everyone else is 18-20, no kids, and working as well as going to school.

Me?

“Hi, my name is Taylor and I am 31 years old.  I have been married to David for 12 and 1/2 years.  He is an electrician.  We have four kids ages 4-10 who I stay home and homeschool.  About two years ago, we moved out to the country where we raise chickens, pigs, and rabbits.

I am looking forward to this class!”

Now.  You tell me just how cool those 18 year olds think I am.

I mean, come on!  They are probably drooling over my life.

So.  I posted my required comments, fired down the Fancy Internet Machine, and opened the textbook to read my required reading.

As I was reading every required page, including the introduction, I put my book down and had an epiphany.

I am totally an old fart now.

Toodles!

Well.  I am a college chick again.  Starting today.  Because I have time to take 6 credits, obviously.

You see, dear readers, once upon a time, Taylor and David had a plan.  They got married at the ripe ol’ age of 19 and were in school together to BOTH become teachers.

Oh, it was going to be grand!  They would teach at the same school and go out to dinner after school together and discuss their days and go shopping at malls and live the high life in a town with a population exceeding 300 people.

Yes.  We were reaching for the stars back then.

David had a complete personality transplant and decided to become an electrician whilst Taylor finished up her schooling to become an elementary teacher.

Shoot.  Taylor switched this post to third person and regrets it.  Let’s go back, shall we?

I did graduate, but have never actually taught, seeing as how I became pregnant (surprise!) with Sweet Pea during my senior year.

In order to keep my certification current, I must take 6 college credits every 5 years.  So, this is my second time renewing my certification and I have never actually taught in a classroom.  To tell you the truth, I am having a hard time ever seeing myself actually GOING to work as a teacher, seeing as how I am The Susie Homemaker now.  But it seems silly to let it go.  You never know what will happen in life, and if I do need to go to work, it would be best to go into education and have similar hours as my children.

So, there you have it.  And my classes start today!

Holla!

I would like to thank the World Wide Web for making Internet classes possible.  Because there is no way I could actually GO to school.

***

Handsome Dude started basketball practice last week.  Whenever he would make a basket, the champ that he clearly is, he would take the ball and run over to me and shout:

“Mom!  Did you see me?  Did you see me make it in the hoops?!”

All while the rest of the team was waiting for Mr. Champ to return with the ball.  And each time I would tell him he could not come and talk to me, yet as soon as that boy made a basket, he would forget my words of wisdom and come tell me of his good fortune.

He would then run back in a great big swooping circle, do some sort of jump-flip-turn in mid-air and fancily pass the ball to the next teammate . . . who would have to run and chase after it.

Because Mr. Champ doesn’t really know what he is doing and can’t pass worth beans.

The coach had them play a 3 on 3 game.   Handsome Dude had the ball and was ready for his moment of glory.  Another boy had the audacity to guard him and try to take the ball from him.

Handsome Dude grabbed the ball back and furiously shouted:

“SSSSTTTTTOOOOPPPP IT!”

The other boy did not listen.  When Handsome Dude tried to take a second shot, the other boy stole the ball.

Handsome Dude, in all his 5 year old wisdom, ran up to the couch to tattle.

“That boy!  That boy!  That boy!  I told him to stop it and he didn’t!”

Wonderful.

***

Little Dude thinks that anytime someone kisses, they get married.

If he sees David kiss me, he groans:

“Oh, no!  Don’t get married AGAIN!”

If I try to kiss him:

“Mom!  You can’t marry me!”

This might work out well when the lad is in high school.  Perhaps he will fear that every girl he kisses will become his wife and, henceforth, he might not ever smooch in his teen years.

Here’s to hoping!

Well, I better sign off.  I have a full day of being a college chick, taking my kids to co op, taking kids to basketball practice, cooking dinner, and trying to squeeze in laundry.

I am, most assuredly, not meeting my fellow-teacher-husband for dinner after work and hitting the mall for some cute, new duds.

Oh, well.

We started back to school on Monday.  We were supposed to head to town and go to our homeschool co op, but, alas.

I could not get my car out of the driveway.

Unfortunate, yes it was.  So I had to break it to the children that they would be doing regular school instead.  Oh, for the horror of it all.  Daisy Mae was murdering me with her eyes the entire morning.

After a bit, she took a break from murdering me with her eyes and looked up at me all weepy-like and said:

“Can we eat our lunches that we packed for co op at our desks?”

I, being the fab mother that I clearly am, obliged.

Redemption!

The kids were ecstatic and Handsome Dude showed me his apple, to which I replied:

“Awesome Sauce!”

I don’t know why.  I just said it.

Then Daisy Mae (shockingly) whined:

“I want applesauce!”

And I informed her there was no applesauce and she was mad that I might be giving her brother applesauce and not her and blah blah blah, such is life with these people.

I wash my hands of it.

So, we were able to make it through school, even though we all loathed Mother.  I went upstairs to start prepping dinner when my boys started shouting that someone was plowing our driveway.

I looked out the window, and our neighbor, Buzz, was plowing for us.  The boys already think Buzz is a superhero, on account of him sharing his name with Mr. Lightyear from Toy Story and all.  So, you can imagine how esteemed Buzz is now in the eyes of the boys.

As soon as Buzz was finished, the boys bundled up and got out their toy tractors and started “hauling” snow in our driveway.

And is that not precious?  I ask you?

There she is.  My poor stuck minivan.  You can see where Buzz plowed on one side and where the snow is un-plowed on the other side.

I never thought I would say this, but I totes miss my Excursion.   I am not sure what we were thinking, getting a minivan and all.

Oh, well.

On Tuesday, Handsome Dude had his first basketball practice.  And life could not be any more exciting for him that it was at that moment.

That’s him on the end with his back turned to the camera.  At least we know that if all else fails, I can rely on my photography skills to earn a few bucks in life.

He made lots of baskets and was on cloud nine all the way home.

***

The other day, I had to use the bathroom.  Like most humans do.  As I was in the bathroom, there was mass pounding on the door.

This is not uncommon.

When I finally opened the door, the boys barged in and informed me they must brush their teeth NOW.

Why, by all means!

As they were brushing, Little Dude got a funny look on his face.

LD:  Mom.  What is that smell?!

Me:  Um, well.  I went to the bathroom.

(Don’t judge, people.  You do it, too.)

LD:  But why does it smell?

Me:  Because.  It does.

LD:  But, Mom!  It smells like poop!

Me:  Well.  That’s because it is.

LD:  No, Mom.  Girls don’t poop.

Me:  Yes, they do.

LD:  No, they don’t.

Me:  Yes, they do.

LD:  Mom.  Stop.  They don’t.

So, there you go.  An update on school and basketball, as well as a public service announcement that girls do not, in fact, poop.

You are welcome.

G’day.