The Lumberjack's Wife

I sent Handsome Dude and Little Dude outside this morning because they were driving me insane it is good for them to get fresh air.

They asked if they could get the eggs  And I, the mean mom that I am, said  “no.”  I have a very logical reason for this.  The hens will still lay eggs and there will be more to gather later in the afternoon.  I do not wish to have the eggs coming in all throughout the livelong day.  I like to clean them once and put them away and be done with it.

So, they go outside and I do the happy dance because I get to clean the kitchen in peace.

A few moments later they barge in the front door.  They are panting and covered in a poo/mud mixture.  But this is not abnormal.

Handsome Dude:  Mom!  You lied!

Me:  What?

Handsome Dude:  You said there would be no eggs.  But there were eggs, Mom!

Me:  I never said there would not be eggs.  I said do not get the eggs.

Handsome Dude:  Oh.  Well we got eggs.

Me:  Well, where are they?

There were no eggs in their grubby, little hands, nor did they have our little egg carrier.

Yes.  We have an egg carrier.  Don’t you?

Little Dude:  They are in my pocket!  Surprise!

And Little Dude started pulling eggs out of his pockets.  It was like a magic trick, I kid you not  They just kept coming!

Three came out of his coat and I asked if that was all.

Little Dude:  Nope!

And he started pulling more eggs out of his pockets.

As he was pulling them out, he exclaimed: “Oh, gross!  I fink there is baby tricken in my pocket!”

Allow me to interpret.  He said “I think there is a baby chicken in my pocket.”  Which was, in fact, merely a broken egg.

No baby.  Just yolk.

Lots of yolk.  In his pocket.

Have you ever tried to scoop a broken egg out of your four year old’s pants pocket?

Oh, its fun.  I implore you to try it immediately.

All in all, Little Dude have seven eggs hiding in his tiny pockets.

One, regrettably, did not survive the adventure.

So, tell me, dear readers.  What crazy things have your kids done?

Surely, I am not alone.

Right?

This post is disgusting.

Proceed at your own risk.

So, trying to take college courses while rearing children is difficult.  Case in point:

Tonight I was attempting to start on my schoolwork.  I got all set up when I heard Handsome Dude wailing from outside.  And you can imagine my surprise when I see Handsome Dude AND Daisy Mae covered, oh yes, COVERED, in pig poop.

Pig.

Poop.

Turns out they decided to “help” their dad with the pigs and fell down.  Needless to say, Taylor’s study time did not happen.  But emergency bathroom cleaning did happen.  So, there’s that.

Have I mentioned that I feel at times that I was not meant to live this life?  Yes?

Let’s look at another example, shall we?   David and I were having a little convo regarding the pigs and their upcoming impending doom with the butcher.  Just so everyone is clear, before we got the pigs, David assured me that some butcher man would be coming to our place, killing the pigs,  and taking the pigs away.  I did not want any butchering-nonsense happening at our house.

I knew that David was starting to do his “scheming”.  He has had a glimmer in his eye and  been watching YouTube videos on how to skin/gut a pig for the past couple of weeks.

What’s that?!  You didn’t know there were such videos on the YouTube?

Well, you are missing out, dear friends.  Nothing like hearing a pig scream and beg for mercy upon his life.  Good times.

You will be pleased to know that I put my foot down and make him wear headphones now during his YouTube sessions.

David:  Taylor.  If I shoot the pigs and take them into the butcher myself, we will save $50 a pig!

Me:  Nope.

David:  Why?

Me:  I am not going to be THAT person.

David:  What person?

Me:  The person who has pigs being butchered on her property.

David (trying to look patient):  But it will be so much easier.

Me:  What’s going to happen?

David:  I shoot the pig and then I have to gut it and clean it.

Me:  NO!  Where are the guts going?  Where is the blood going?  Ew.  No.

David:  Well, that’s exactly what the butcher will do if he comes out here.

Me:  WHAT?!?!?  I thought he was just shooting the pigs and taking them.

David:  Well he still has to gut them!

Me:  I thought he would just throw the pig carcasses in the back of a shady-looking van and take them away.

David (trying even harder to remain patient):  No, Taylor.  He would gut them at our house.

So, dear readers.  I lost.  I am waving my white flag and next weekend the first two pigs will be killed, skinned, and gutted by David. And then they will get transported to a butcher.

But, wait!  It gets better!

The butcher will only accept the pig bodies (?) during hours when David is at work.  So, I, yes, I, Taylor Maliblahblah, will be hauling two pig bodies into town, where David will meet me and unload them.

But, wait!  It gets better!

David will be putting the dead pig bodies in a tarp in the back of my minivan.

Minivan!

And to put my mind at ease, he has assured me he will be purchasing a new tarp.  And he promised it won’t smell.

Oh

My

Word.

This was not the life I was meant to lead.  To even it all out, my friend, Amanda, and I are going out to get makeovers in the big city the day before the pig butchering event is to commence.

If I am going to be hauling dead pigs to town in my minivan, I am going to look stylish doing so.

Life is still busy.  Another list is what we shall do.

1)  The girls are FINALLY done with basketball.  I have been taking them to practice every Monday and Wednesday and to games on Saturdays since the end of October.

Basketball.  Over it.

They won their last game and each scored points, so it was all pretty awesome.  And speaking of awesome, let’s check out another fab photo edit by yours truly.

I dedicate this beauty to my pal, Melissa K, who was so very proud of my last “blur out the name of the town” job.  I am sure she is admiring my nice, straight line and how wonderfully the shades of red match.

Oh, sure.  I could spend hours upon hours trying to figure out how to make things look, well, nice.  But ain’t nobody got time for that.  (Name that famous YouTube character, if you can)

2)  I cooked chicken.  I mean, our chickens.

Do you remember last summer when David grew weary of feeding geriatric hens and went on a butchering spree?  Well.  Some hens were pressure canned.

And some were thrown in the freezer.  I cooked three, count them THREE hens all by myself, shredded the meat, and added them to a delicious casserole.

And, you had better sit down for this next part.

I ate it.

I, yes, I, Taylor Maliblahblah, ate meat of which I knew from whence it came.

This is a big step for me, people.  I even knew the name of one of hens.

Sassy.

I ate Sassy.  In a casserole.  The end.

3)  I also ate elk.  I mixed it with beef and shoved it in a casserole as well and just went for it.

Who have I become?

4)  Thankfully, I did not have a name for the elk.  That probably would have killed the deal.

5)  Do you remember that I gave the pressure canned chicken to my sister in law and her husband as a Merry Christmas sort of blessing?

They ate it and called it delish.

Attention all readers of this blog who have been horrified every time I post this picture and deemed these tasty, canned meat morsels unfit for human consumption:

Take it back.  Apparently, it is divine.

6)  In retrospect, Sassy could have been one of the gals to be canned and not frozen.  So I might not have eaten Sassy for reals.

FYI.

7)  I can’t find Peter.  It is making my heart sad.

I have never been a cat person, but I really enjoy visiting with our two cats when I go outside to feed the animals.  Today, I looked everywhere for him and he was nowhere to be found.

True.  He is a cat and could care less if I call him or not.  It is quite possible that he was asleep in a barrel of pig food and simply could not make the effort to make his presence known.

But still.  I worry.

Because I am a 31 year old homeschooling mom who tends to chickens and pigs and I worry about these sort of things now.

8)  I would like everyone to know that last week at church I had a group of people tell me that they would have never guessed that I would ever live on a farm and raise pigs and chickens and all that nonsense.

I just want the records to reflect that.  Thank you.

9)  Look at the woodbox my husband made!

Shoot!  I thought I moved that vacuum cord.  You know.  Photo staging.  Or something like that.

Oh, well.

Anyways.  He made it out of scrap wood and it is a vast improvement on our old wood box, which has been falling apart for, oh, like two years.

10)  Speaking of my husband, he did something really nice for me!  We were at a store together and he noticed I like this certain hooded, sweater vest.  I thought it was too expensive and we left.

Please note!  We were at a store that sells work boots.  My Lumberjack would never be at somewhere like, the mall.

Please note!  Is it sad that I like clothes at a place that sells Lumberjack-ish work boots?

Please advise.

Anyways.  He went back to the store later on to try and get the vest for me.  They did not carry my size.

Please note!  He knew my size.

Amazing.

Anyways.  He found it online and ordered it for me.

David.  My husband.  Shopping.  For me.

This is like the equivalent of me eating Sassy.

And I am wearing my cute vest at this very moment.

Happy Monday!

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.