The Lumberjack's Wife

It is finished.

School for the day, that is.  It is 3:13pm and we are D-O-N-E.  Well, actually, I am done, which is all I care about, apparently.  The girls are in the other room being taught Latin by a lady in the TV.  They have at least another 45 minutes.  Stinks to be the them.

I thought I would snap a photo to capture the disaster that is school.  You’re welcome.

From morning until lunch, school was downstairs.  I am not sure how it came to pass, but school ended up at the kitchen table by the end of the day.

Points of Interest for the above photo:

1)  It is a disaster zone.

2)  There is a blue bowl.  This was for popcorn.  We were doing History and Latin review (before I turned them loose on TV Teacher).  Latin requires popcorn.  It is a fact.

3)  The markers exploded.

4)  There is a large, coffee mug at my seat.  Amen.

5)  On the island, there is a container with a green lid.  This is Handsome Dude’s “gun money.”

What’s that?  Oh!  Have I not told you?  The boy is saving up his money for a gun.  He has three dollars and about 18 pennies and he is certain he is the wealthiest boy in the world.

I told him that he ain’t getting no gun.  If he can’t even aim into the toilet properly, we are certainly not arming him with a weapon.

6)  Also on the island are some eggs the boys gathered.  This is their joy in life.  Their purpose, if you will.

It is not my joy.  I am the Chief Poultry Poop Wiper-Offer.  Trust me.   It is not as esteemed as it sounds.

7)  Little Dude no longer has a shirt.  He started off the day with a shirt.  I do not know where it went, and currently I could not care less.

8)  Little Dude is sitting on the counter.  Which is odd since he is not supposed to do that.

I decided to show you all that picture so that you wouldn’t think homeschool was all sunshine and roses and the house was always tidy and eggs were poop-free and life was peaceful and full of bliss.  But them I remember you read this blog and, most likely, had no such impressions of homeschool.

But who cares that the house looks like that?  The girls and I learned all about Guy Fawkes today and can recite the first few lines of this poem:

“Remember, remember, the fifth of November,

The gunpowder treason and plot.

I see no reason why gunpowder treason

Should ever be forgot.”

So, there you go.  We are learned.

Fun Fact:  I actually do kind of like homeschool.

I KNOW.

There really are a lot of awesome aspects to it.  But it is truly exhausting and even overwhelming at times, in my opinion.  This year has been a bit tougher because I added HD to the mix.  When I think about having all four next year, I want to crawl into a hole and hide.

The problem is that you have each child in a different grade.  So you are teaching 3 different grades of math, 3 different grades of reading, and so on.  I do combine the girls with science, history, Latin, art, and so on and I plan on doing the same for the boys.  But I am having trouble coming up with a good schedule that works for us.

I need help.  Please advise.

In other, not at all interesting, news, it has been brought to my attention that I can grow zucchini.

And that’s not even all of it.

That’s a lot of zucchini bread, my friends.

Alright.  The TV teacher is done (darn), the kids are back (double darn) and I need to clean some poo off eggs (oh, the humanity!).

Later dudes.

Before we begin, I must answer three questions I received about my last post.

1)  Yes.  Our $100 Craigslist cook-top works.  It is 5 years old, so it is not brand new.  But it works and saved us $1,600.

2)  What will we do with 300 pounds of corn?

How the heck should I know?

Why do we have over 50 chickens?  Why are we raising rabbits?  Why do we have a garden that took me all summer to weed and the rest of life to preserve the bounty?

Why do I live in the country?  Clearly I am not suited for it.

These are all very good questions that you can take up with my husband when he starts a blog.

3)  Why is canning bad for the smooth top stoves?

When David and I went to the big city appliance store, the nice salesman told us all about the inner workings of all the cook-top surfaces.

Under each burner on a smooth top, there is a disk, almost like a plate, that is the same size as the burner.  This is what heats up and cooks your food.  Canning pots are usually much bigger than the burners.  Normally, heat from a stove starts under your pot and then escapes the stove by traveling up the sides of the pot.  Since canning pots are so much bigger in size than the burner, the heat ends up getting trapped under the surface because it has a hard time getting around the pot.  Canning also takes a LONG time, so you have all this heat trapped under your surface for too long.  There is a computer inside the cook-top, and electronics do not do well with heat, so the heat was trapped in there too long and it fried the computer in my cook-top, rendering it useless for now until all eternity.

So.  There you go.  Hold your head high, you learned something new today.

***

Homeschool.

Raise your hand if you think I am going to pitch a fit.

I will try to not partake in the fit-throwing of the homeschool.  I will merely try to relay the splendor that was yesterday.

Yesterday was a day where I just could not get ahead.  Do you ever have one of those days?  I would get all situated to educate and inform my little darlings, then realize that I forgot to print out ONE paper that I REALLY needed.

“Everyone quietly work on something and I will be right back.”

Ha!

‘Tis like their secret code to play a rousing game of “Let’s scream and run through the house because Mom is stressed!  She always loves it.”

Then I get upstairs and need to get online to get the paper I need to print, but the Internet is feeling all weak and feeble, so I have to restart the computer.  While THAT is going on, I see that someone literally threw their bowl of cereal into the sink after feasting at breakfast, resulting in the splattering of milk all over the wall and counters.  Which was totally Handsome Dude.

The boy is 5! This is a no-no.  He must be taught!

So, I go find Handsome Dude and make him clean it up, which is of course the most daunting task in the world to him.  I remember about the Internet and try to start that up again when Daisy Mae comes up to tattle, as per her usual custom.

“Mooooooooooom.  I asked Sweet Pea for help with math and she didn’t answer so I asked her again and she told me I was a baby.”

So, I talk to Sweet Pea about being kind to others, and would she like it if someone told her she was a baby when she needed help on math?

The Internet is ready.  The milk is wiped.  The math question is answered.  On to the printer!

And the printer is out of ink.

Luckily, and this will shock you, I have a stockpile of ink.

Holla, Teller!

I remember the boys have not yet had a bath, so I inform them to get in post haste.  The boys went through a horrific period of splashing in the bath awhile ago.

This was no ordinary splashing, my friends.

This was like the entire bath blew up in the bathroom every time.  It got so bad, David and I took baths away from the boys for about 6 months and made them shower.  Oh, for the weeping and gnashing of teeth it caused them!  Because, we all know how terrifying showers are.  Obviously.

But, anyways.  I told them to take a bath.  The girls get situated at the table to finish up some science.  I remember that I need to switch a load of laundry and answer a rental house email.

As I am, yet again distracted, Daisy Mae informs me that the boys are splashing.

Hold the phone!

My boys?  Disobeying?  Get out of town.

She speaks the truth.  They are standing on a ledge near the tub and literally cannon balling into the bath.  And they have the audacity to look at me and say:

“Hi, Mom!  What, Mom?  What did we do?  Are you mad, Mom?  MOM? MOM?”

So, I put an end to the water aerobics and make them get out and start wiping up their messes.

The paper I had to print was a reading sample for Daisy Mae so I can time her and see her words per minute.

I just need it quiet for ONE minute.  Seems reasonable, right?

I tell my boys to clean up in the bathroom and to not open the door at all.  I will come and open the door when they can come out.

“Ok, Mom!”

Daisy Mae starts her 60 seconds of reading.  Ten seconds into it, the door bursts open and Handsome Dude, who is still naked, begins to shout:

“Mom!  Do you want me to put this towel in the hamper?  MOM!?  MOM!?  MOM!?”

Little Dude, also naked, comes out and begins to race his car around.

Daisy Mae stays the course, and continues to read.  I nudge Sweet Pea and mouth to her to go and get the boys back in the bathroom.

The boys, unimpressed with Sweet Pea’s authority, begin to scream in protest.  I look up and Sweet Pea has both of them by the arm and is attempting to drag them back to the bathroom, while they are naked and flailing.

The sixty seconds are over and Daisy Mae read the fastest she has ever read.

Bam!

School took us until a little after 4pm.  We did Bible, Math, Spelling, Reading, Phonics, Writing, History, and Science.

And Handsome Dude had the nerve to ask me this question after dinner.

“Mom!  MOOOOM!  Why we not do school today?  Did we not wake up in time?”

Why we NOT do school today?

Oh, we DID school.  And it was full of splendor, my boy.

No need to offer advice, dear readers.  I know where I went wrong yesterday.  I was too distracted and tried to do too many things at once.  School goes much better when that is the only thing I am trying to do.

***

On a lighter note, we asked all the children what they would like to be when they grow up.

Little Dude says he would like to be a “Can Man.”

Which, as he describes it, involves riding around on a 4-wheeler all day with a garbage can attached to the back, picking up cans all day to recycle.

He is reaching for the stars.

1.  Jo-Jos.  I cannot believe the people do not know what Jo-Jos are.  We had an event at church yesterday, and, as luck would have it, Jo-Jos were on the menu.  Here is Daisy Mae posing with the beloved, fried potato wedge.

The poor picture quality is certainly not my fault.  The theme of the event was a sort of space theme and it was quite dark in there.

2.  Otherwise, the picture would have been super top notch.  As you well know.

3.  Yes.  My church has space-themed events.  Doesn’t yours?

4.  The astute reader might recall that my cook top completely and utterly broke whilst I was canning the other day, resulting in me shunning peaches, canning, and my family name all in one fell swoop.

Well.

This weekend, country came to town.  David loaded up the truck and trailer.  We had rabbits to transport. We were hoping to get hay.  Also, perhaps bunk beds. Plus, we were in the market to get the little lady a new cook top.  I am sure we were quite the site, pulling up to the classy appliance store with our truck, trailer, animal cages, and four well-behaved, and not at all dirty, children.

But, I digress.

5.  To replace the exact cook top we had was going to cost us country folk $1,700.

6. I know.  It killed me dead, too.

7.  So we told the kind man we would let him know and walked our poor, country selves back to the rig.

8.  Fun fact!  Canning killed my cook top.  So, in order to pay for blowing up my old one, I will have to can for all eternity.

9.  As luck would have it, about 1 hour after we got the $1,700 quote, we found one on The Craiglist and my husband got it for $100!

Bam!  Be excited.

10.  Next, we were to join my parents for some blackberry picking.  I know.  We are relentless with the berries.  We have some friends who were going out of town and they said, and I quote,

“Please.  Come and pick our berries.  You can have them all.”

Well, you know us.  So, we went and picked and picked and picked.  After a slight communication problem, we realized that we left at least half of the berries at our friends’ house.  So, the next day, David and I went to fetch them and there were seven happy deer nearby and a very empty, clean blackberry container.  So, we basically picked berries to feed the deer. I am sure the deer appreciated the special treat of being able to eat berries without having to deal with thorns.

11.  It was an epic, berry picking fail.

12.  The boys got invited to their first (that I can recall) friend birthday party.  They were about to explode with excitement over these two facts:

A)  There might be cake.

B)  Their sisters were not invited.

Every 2.5 minutes, I was asked this question:

“But not the girls, right, Mom?  RIGHT?  MOM?  THE GIRLS CAN’T COME, RIGHT?”

They are so loving of their sisters.

13.  David wants to purchase 300 pounds of corn for $25.  It is another one of his Craigslist deals.

Just thought I should let you know.  So you could pity me.

14.  Take heart!  I shall not can any corn on my new $100 cook top. If you never learn anything from me while reading this blog (and you probably won’t), please take heed of this warning:

Do Not Ever Can On A  Smooth Top Stove.

Don’t!  Don’t do it!

I will be taking my canning to the camping stove set up on my back deck.  Because I can’t get any classier.

15.  I found a chicken’s leg in the chicken coop.  It was horrifying and fascinating all at the same time.

Why was it there?

How did the chicken die?

And, perhaps most importantly, where is the rest of the chicken?  Why was that one leg deemed unfit for consumption while the rest of the chicken was a tasty snack?

Things to ponder on a Monday morn.

Homeschooling.  ‘Twill be the death of me, mark my words.  I ain’t gonna lie, folks.  I feel like my brain is going to explode if I have to cram one more thing into it.

Oh!  But it is a blessing.  The homeschooling.  A joy, really.

The worst is seeing all the cute back to school pictures with all the happy children in their happy desks with their happy parents kissing them goodbye.  And I know that there are pros and cons to all aspects of the education world, but,oh my lands, when Handsome Dude is on his third fit solely from the trickery of the letter “y”, I COVET the peoples who outsource the education.  Oh, yes.  Covet.

CCCCCOOOOOOVVVVVVEEEEEETTTTTTT.

So.  I am tired.  And basically throwing a huge homeschool fit.  But I’ll get over it.   I have no choice.  I just need to get a better schedule.  Tuesday went horrifically long and today was a bit better.  We ended at three and loaded up to hit the library.

My kids are total homeschool kids.  You should hear the cheers and whoops and hollers I get when I announce an impending trip to the library.

At the library, Handsome Dude announced he had to use the BAFROOM  all by himself.

Well, son.  By all means!

He came back and was walking funny . . . a little “saddle-sore” if you will.  He then announced loudly for all the world (which was just us homeschoolers and the librarian) to hear:

“Mom!  I not wipe!  I need to wipe the poop!  I’ll be back!”

Awesome.

After we impressed the librarian with our manners and cleanliness, we headed to the grocery store to buy a few odds and ends.  I decided to buy Jo-Jo’s for a snack and then take the kids to the park.  Because I am the world’s best mom, didn’t you know?  And my kids have NEVER heard of a Jo-Jo!  Outrageous.

Do you know what a Jo-Jo is?  Hmmm?  HMMMM?

We went to the park.  Little Dude fell on his head, as per his usual custom.  They posed for a picture.

And then we went home.

I sent Daisy Mae on a little harvest trip to the garden.

Zucchini.  Nailed it.

I set to work on shredding this beast, which was no easy feat.  I decided to make a chocolate zucchini cake.  What a brilliant plan to take something as healthful as zucchini and shove it into a delicious cake!

Genius.

The girls, relentless with their studies, decided to do science on their own accord-the crazies that they are.  And when they asked for help, I, the good homeschooling marm that I am, told them bluntly:

“Sorry.  Mom is done with school for the day.”

So.  They were on their own.

Are they doing an experiment?  I cannot be certain.

I had a zucchini to deal with.

I am fairly certain I have anywhere from 10-40 more of those zucchinis out there in my garden to deal with.  Makes me want to run and hide.

In other farm and garden news, there was a deer in our garden!

Can you see it?  Can you see it?

The poor thing was terrified and slammed all around in the garden before finally finding his/her way out.

David’s not here.  He’s making me popcorn.  Otherwise I would be able to fill you in on the gender of the deer.  Because I am certain you care.

Also in our garden:  coyote poop.

So, great.  Another thing to worry about.  Coyotes.  Every morn, I wake up and make sure Peter the Cat made it through the night.

Alright.  I am tired something fierce.

I need to get sleep so I can have the energy to ruin Handsome Dude’s life with the letter “y.”

PS-The deer was a girl.

You can rest easy now.

We have returned from our weekend camping extravaganza.  It was full of adventure, which is to be expected when one is camping with a husband such as mine.

First off, we have to set up the parachute.  You all remember the parachute, don’t you?

Well.  My husband has one.  And it is a joy, nay, a pleasure to try and set up.  My parents and I start to help him set it up when the camp host comes to offer a friendly greeting.

Friendly Camp Host:  Hey!  It’s you!  It’s The Parachute Guy!

David:  Oh, hi!

Friendly Camp Host:  You come here every year, right?

David: Right.

David has abandoned us, The Lowly Parachute Pole Holders, and goes to chat with his new fan.

Friendly Camp Host:  Yeah!  You are on my Facebook page!

David:  Oh, really?

Friendly Camp Host:  Hey, where can I buy one of those?

And they chat and chat and chat while we, The Lowly Parachute Pole Holder-Uppers, sit and wait for David to finish impressing the socks off of everyone.  Which apparently is not hard to do when one camps with a parachute.

Don’t lie, readers.  You would want to meet The Parachute Man, too.

So, after I almost DIE whilst holding up a parachute pole (which may or may not have come crashing down a time or two), I have to go gather wood with my Lumberjack.  On the side of a road.   Here is the lesson I learned while gathering wood on the side of the road with my husband:

Do not go gather wood on the side of the road with your husband.  Ever.

My husband knows where every dead and downed tree within a 20 mile radius is at any given time.  True Story.  He is like The Dead Tree Whisperer.  As luck would have it, this tree is off the side of the road, in a ditch.

He hooks it up with a chain.  I think?  What do I know.  I was probably checking Facebook on my phone.  Then  he has to try and pull it out of the ditch without getting the truck stuck in the ditch.  If that makes sense.  And it probably doesn’t, because, again, I really didn’t care.  But what I do care about is dying and the truck was all smoking and bucking and basically throwing a HUGE fit and I was sure immediate death-by-ditch was upon us.

It was so terrifying,  I stopped checking Facebook.  True Story.

He pulls it out and gets us onto the road, but now we are towing a huge, dead tree on a road with all sorts of dust flying behind us.  Because my husband likes to keep life interesting.  He pulls it  about 1/4 mile down the road and gets us off to a wider space, yet still on the side of the road, where he cuts the wood into logs and I, the loyal helpmeet that I clearly am, load them into the rig.

And, yes.  I called the truck a rig.  It seemed appropriate for the tone of the story, wouldn’t you agree?

As I was recovering from two near-death experiences in one hour, we pulled up to camp behind a truck, driven by the aforementioned Friendly Camp Host with a Facebook page that contains a picture of our campsite,  carrying a dead moose.

Exciting, I know.

My mother, yes MY MOTHER, comes up to the window and has THIS convo with MY husband.

(You can tell from my excessive use of all caps that I am a bit OUTRAGED at the following happenstance. )

Mom:  I got it for you.

David:  What?!

This is the most emotion my husband has shown in at least two years.  At least.

Mom:  It’s yours.

David:  Are you SERIOUS?!?!

Mom:  I’m serious.

David:  100%????

Mom:  100%

And David, who for some reason is driving his truck barefoot after wood cutting (?) hops out of the truck in his barefeet and basically skips with joy to the poor, dead animal.

Be warned!  The following picture might contain a dead moose!

I’m not kidding!

Leave now or forever hold your peace!

In the past year, the state has made it legal for peoples to harvest road kill.

Oh, joy.

So, instead of letting this moose go to waste, my husband, yes, MY husband gets to gut and clean this moose.

At camp.

Guess who gets to have moose meat in her freezer now?

Please.  Try to contain your jealousy.  Not everyone can live my glamorous life.

So, yes.  That was all one, lovely, calm evening being married to my husband.

You can’t make this stuff up, people.

***

The next day, my mother-in-law, ever worried about the cleanliness of the moose meat, organizes second Moose Meat Clean Up Crew, where basically all able-bodies adults get to stare at the flesh and cut it up all over again.

Fun!

That was the closest I could stand to get to the moose flesh.  My apologies.

I decided to volunteer to watch all the small children under the age of 5 and take them on a trip to town to buy ice.

Aren’t I the smartest?

Somehow, my mother in law ended up with all the moose meat and I am ever-so-grateful and hopeful that it will stay forever and ever in her freezer.

Amen.

The blackberries are on like Donkey Kong in this area and on Friday, my husband and the rest of the Moose Meat Crew went on a blackberry hunt while I, once again, watched the children.

Then on Saturday, I went on a bike ride with my mom-in-law, my mom, Amy (sis in law), Alex (bro in law) and Holly (sis in law-Alex’s wife).

My mother in law is not your typical Grandma.  She bikes for fun and basically I was exhausted, hungry, and praying she would get fatigued and let us turn back.

She remained strong and steadfast and we biked for about 12 miles.  Which is good because later on, I had a Moose Tracks ice cream (no relation to the animal in my ma-in-law’s freezer).

On the bike ride, I, being a true Maliblahblah now, spotted millions and millions of blackberry bushes.  I informed my husband when I got back, and he just had to go get them.

So, he asked Amy if he could borrow her bike.  Since it has a basket.

My husband.  He is such a mystery.  One second he’s got his hands deep inside the cavity of a moose.

The next he is riding a bike with a basket to find some tasty berries.

Alright.  This post has gone on long enough!

We had fun.

We ate a lot.

We went to the fireworks.

Amy took pictures.

See?

David, HD, and I

Amy, Sweet Pea, and Jason.

I know you are confused and wondering why there are fireworks.  Regretfully, this post has droned on enough and I have no time to explain.  You are just going to have to accept it.

So, tell me dear readers.

What are your exciting camping adventures?

Do tell.

I have no business writing this post, but here I am, rebelling all the same.   I am about to embark on a five day camping trip.

Yes.

Be envious.

No.

I am not ready.  Hence the irresponsible blogging.

Next year, if I mention buying tons of fruit to can anywhere near or around Labor Day Weekend, you have permission to smack me upside the head.

A good, firm, smack.

We bought 60 pounds of peaches and 30 pounds of pears on Saturday.  The pears were ready, but the peaches were not ripe.  I checked them yesterday and they were ripe.  Like about to summon fruit flies, ripe.  I finished school around 1pm and decided to tackle the peaches.  Even though I should have been getting ready for camping.  Perhaps I am in denial about having to go camping and think that maybe, just maybe, if I don’t get those brownies baked, I will simply have to send my regrets and stay behind.

(source)

So.  Yesterday, I start to can the peaches and hear a loud pop.  As luck would have it, my entire cook top is broken and there is smoke coming out of it.

Even my kitchen thinks I am canning too much.

I call my beloved.  I feel confident that he will make it all better.  He is afterall, an electrician.  Plus he’s cute.  He feels the stove is, and I quote, “A gone-er” and when he comes home he will set up the camping stove on the deck so I can finish my canning.

He arrived around 9:15 and I finished up one batch of peaches while he got the trailer all ready.  We fell into bed at 11:30 and while he was setting his alarm for 3:30 IN THE AM, I casually said,

“I think our lives need to calm down.”

And he said, “Yup.”

But who has time to come up with a new life plan when there are ripe peaches summoning fruit flies on one’s counter?  So, I woke up at 6 to finish the canning and basically, I never want to see a peach as long as life endures.

I am ready to list all my canning jars, pressure canner, water bath canner, and all my garden produce on Craigslist.  This would basically shun the Maliblahblah name, but can somebody tell me WHY I am canning the life out of everything?

I want to go to Paris.

I don’t want to can food anymore.  I want to go to Paris and sip coffee.  That’s all.  Is that too much to ask?

Maybe with all the money I save on canned peaches this year, I could pay for a trip to Paris with my husband.  Paris looks exactly like they place he would like to visit.  I’m sure he would fit in well.

Alright.  I have nothing to say.  But you already gathered that.  I’m just tired and cranky and now I need to buy a new cook top.

What are your plans for the weekend?

Please share.  Or not.

The choice is yours.

Remember that fateful day early last week when I informed all y’all that I was going to start homeschooling early?

The following post will illustrate why that was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea.

1)  I wake up in the morning full of hope and promise.  The day is fresh!  My kids are asleep!  It’s going to be a good day.

2)  Out of the corner of my eye, I see the fruit.

Oh, yes.  The fruit.

This is all the fruit we bought this weekend.  On a whim, if you will.  Also this weekend, we went to church, cleaned our rental twice (yes!  TWICE!), went to the fair, and helped David’s parents with yard work.

We are busy bees.  Who buy fruit when we have no business buying fruit.

3)  I decide to move school to the good ol’ kitchen table so I can deal with the canning of the pears.  This is a brilliant move on my part.

4)  All the kids start math.  Daisy Mae takes over the teaching of the boys and all is well as I peel and slice pears.

5)  Fun Fact:  I am not even certain my family likes pears.  It is a good thing I have 30 pounds of them to feast on.

6)  Handsome Dude has explosive *ahem* diarrhea, so he is off the hook after math.

7)  This is good news for the homeschool schedule.  For I don’t have time to teach him why the word “nap” it not sounded out like:  “UM . . . . TRUCK???”

This is bad news for Mt. Laundry.

8)  Little Dude, in all his preciousnesss, asks if he can go collect eggs.  I say yes!  I am nice and accommodating like that.  Plus, it removes him and his shouting voice from the kitchen, aka classroom, aka pear canning central.

9)  Unbeknownst to me, Little Dude decides to also visit the hens and goes into the coop.  He is unable to latch the gate behind him, decides it is not something he needs to worry about.  He comes back inside, where I am canning pears and blissfully unaware of the sixty, oh yes, SIXTY, escaping hens.

More on that later.

10)  Yes.  I have SIXTY hens.  Don’t you?

11)  Also.  Little Dude came back with zero eggs.  It is a good thing he is cute.

12)  Math is done.  Silent Reading is done.  History is done.

Pears are done.

13)  And when I say pears are “done,” I mean that one batch was done.  I still have about 6 quarts left to can.

14)  And lets not forget the SIXTY pounds of peaches my husband found this weekend for a smokin’ deal on the Craigslist.

15)  It would appear my husband enjoys the number SIXTY, would it not?

16)  We actually probably do have SIXTY rabbits, too.  Maybe more.  I am in denial about my life half the time.

17)  I start to clean up the kitchen and transition to lunch time while Daisy Mae and the boys inform me that they plan to go out and dig for gold.

18)  That’s right.   Gold.

19)  Before they go, I inform them they must put away the clean laundry.  Daisy Mae looks out my bedroom window and shouts:

“ALL the chickens are out, Mom!”

20)  Little Dude heads downstairs for a timeout.

“Did I made a BAD choice, Mom?  Huh, MOM?  HUH?  HUH?”

21)  The older three go on a chicken rescue mission.  The dog is napping in the loft so there were no chicken fatalities today.  Amen.

22)  Little Dude gets lectured, once again, on making GOOD CHOICES, and he joins his sister and brother outside to pan for gold.

23)  Sweet Pea, who is 9 now and above such trivial games, took a chair to the back deck to read in peace.

24)  Before I start lunch, I decide to go start watering the garden.  I pass by the little gold prospectors who have found no less than 18 shovels, 10 buckets, and 3 toy dump trucks.  They have gathered several ziplock bags full of dirt and have declared their wealth for all to hear.

25)  As I am in the garden, I see a flash of white.  There are two fugitive baby rabbits in my garden.  This will not do.  Do you know how much time I spent WEEDING that garden.  Them rabbits are NOT eating my produce.

26)  I grab the trusty fishing net and chase the rabbits around the garden like a normal, sane person.

27)  They escape and hide somewhere else.  I wash my hands of it.

28)  I feed my cherubs lunch and received no complaints whatsoever.  I throw dinner in the crock pot.  David will be home by 6 tonight. Glory!

29)  I send the gold diggers outside to clean up their mess and help water the pets.

30)  I go gather the eggs and decide to try and pull some more carrots.  Because, apparently, I feel I have time to can carrots, too.

31)  ?

32)  Those rascally rabbits are in the garden again!  I call the troops over and we all go into full-attack mode, each of us armed with a fishing net.

33)  After about a half of an hour, the two rabbits are safely back in their pens.

34)  Tank, the dog, is, thankfully, still napping in the loft.  It’s a shame he is so lazy.  He could have had a delightful feast today.

35)  I decide I have no business harvesting carrots and come inside.  On my way in, I see a horrible severed, dead mouse that Peter that Cat has slaughtered for me.

36)  I did not take a picture.  You are welcome.

37)  Little Dude, helpful as ever, decide to do do some harvesting of his own before coming inside.

38)  Rest time for boys!  Hallelujah!

39)  I get Language Arts done with the girls and start to listen to Daisy Mae read when I hear strange sounds from downstairs.

40)  The boys, instead of napping, are playing in their sisters’ room and spraying each other with Cherry Body Spray.

41)  “Did I made a bad choice AGAIN, Mom?  Huh?  MOM?  HUH?  MOM?”

42)  It is now 4pm.  We have finished with school and I allow the children to go upstairs to watch a show.  I have two hours before my beloved comes home.  I decide I will read my book for a few minutes.

43)  Yes!  At times, I do read for leisure.  Thank you.

44)  My beloved calls.  He is on his way home early and how would I feel about going blackberry picking?

45)  Close the book.  Finish fixing dinner.  David comes home, we eat quickly and rush out to the mountains to pick some berries.

46)  Because I have time to deal with berries.

47)  We picked at least three gallons, maybe more.  We were giddy.  GIDDY, I tell you.

48)  We got home at 9pm.  I am sitting here this morning and I have no time to blog.  I have to wash and freeze those blackberries, can some more fruit, teach some school, and I promised the kids I would take them to the water park today.

49)  It is a busy life-but we do have a lot of fun.  I love my husband and kids with all my heart and we have a blast together.

Most of the time.

50)  Happy Tuesday!

I am madder than a wet hen.  And I even know what that means now.

Today started off with much hope and promise.

Actually, it didn’t really.  I knew it was going to be a drag, but it turned out to be a HORRIFIC day, laced with sweat, a hostile rooster, and rabbit urine.

Allow me to elaborate.  If I may.

Today was the day I was to haul the animals to the fair.  David and the children had picked out the lucky contestants and got them all caged and ready to go in the garage.  I simply had to load the caged creatures into the pickup, along with my four children, and toodle on down the road to the county fair.

However.

There is something wrong with David’s truck.  Imagine that.  The back tailgate is extremely hard to lower and I could not get it to lower.  Have you ever tried to hoist a cage full of rabbits and/or chickens into a truck with the fear of the urine from the urine tray pouring out onto yourself?

Have you?

Have you?

Hmmm?

I called my beloved.  I informed him of the truck problem.  He apologized, like a smart man should.  I told him I could not lift the huge Daddy Woo-Ster cage up over the side of the truck.  He suggested I drag over the chicken butchering table, get the rooster on to that, and then stand in the truck and lift the rooster into the truck that way.

Yes.  We have a chicken butchering table.  Don’t you?

His brilliant idea worked and Sweet Pea and I were able to load one rooster, three hens, two adult rabbits, and five small baby-like rabbits into the back of the truck.  Because we are farm and ranch gals now.

Folks.

This is what they mean by the phrase, “When Country Comes To Town.”

I, yes, I, Taylor Maliblahblah, had to drive that truck packed full of rabbits and our fowl friends 45 minutes into town.

Ironically enough, when I turned on the radio, David’s favorite country station was playing this song:

I found it to be quite fitting.  Although I don’t live in Louisiana.  FYI.

Because of last year’s fiasco, I informed David that he would, most assuredly, be meeting me at the fairgrounds to help with the registration of our furred and feathered friends.

So, we get there and Oh!  Fun Fact.

We had to pre-register. There is no room and my four darling children and their cherished, albeit stinky, animals are turned away.

The horror!

The audacity!

The gall!

David had to rush back to work and I had a big problem on my hands.  Daisy Mae, who was having severe ear pain and running a fever, was scheduled for a doctor’s appointment in one hour.  I was thinking it would not be the wisest decision to leave all the animals out in the hot sun in the back of the truck whilst we were at the doctor.  Might be frowned upon.  But what do I know?

I needed to claim sanctuary for the animals somewhere.  My parents’ house is on the market and was scheduled for three showings today.  I was pretty sure me dropping off 11 farm animals at their place would not be groovy.

I called my inlaws.  Their house, which is also, ironically, for sale, was available to act as an animal shelter today so we toodled on down the road to their place.  Sweet Pea and I laid newspaper on the ground and began the fun process of  unloaded the animals out of the truck.

The Daddy Wooster was none to happy with us and started to fly around all crazy-like in his cage, causing Sweet Pea to almost drop her end.

Don’t fret!

She kept her cool.

So, we rushed to the doctor and Daisy Mae is in tears at this point.  And instead of the hot sun I was worried about, there was instead a huge thunderstorm outside, so I suppose that would have been a less than ideal environment for the animals to socialize in while being caged in the back of the truck.

Daisy Mae has a nasty ear infection.  You can all rest easy now knowing her diagnosis.

We went and grabbed her medicine and hit the grocery store, because us country folk must make the most of every trip to town.  Then we went to collect the animals.

This time, we had to lift all the cages without the help of a chicken butchering table.

We loaded them up and cleaned up the pee-pee newspapers, but there was a bit of urine and hay still on my inlaws’ garage floor.

I didn’t want to be known as THAT person who leaves rabbit urine on other people’s garage floors, so the girls and I poured water on the pee pee and then had to pick out the hay with our FINGERS in the URINE water.

And my inlaws do not have one bit of soap on their property.  Not a lick.

I needed coffee in a big, bad way, so we headed to Starbucks to grab some and wash our grimy, country hands.

And I am pretty sure that I am the only person who has parked a truck loaded with 4 chickens and 7 rabbits at a Starbucks.

I could be wrong, but we all know I’m not.

I was absolutely amazed at how well my kids handled this situation.  They had been looking forward to entering animals into the fair all year long, but not one of them whined or did any sort of fit-throwing.  I really appreciated that.

Because if they did, I might have snapped.

So.  We are home.  The animals are all safely back where they belong, exhausted from their exciting, albeit unnecessary field trip.  Daisy Mae is feeling better.  I am sweaty and stinky.  David is still at work.

So.  Ask me how the SECOND day of school went.

Go on.  Ask.

PS- I never wanted to be a hillbilly.

Honest.