The Lumberjack's Wife

On Saturday, we celebrated David and his dad’s birthday.  David’s sister, Lisa, prepared the beloved huckleberry pie for the occasion.

I don’t know if you can tell, but that’s David’s, “I am so happy and blessed in life!” face.

On Sunday evening, my friend Bimlissa and I were conversing over the Internets and discussing homeschool rooms and organization. She sent me a picture of her daughter’s desk.

Check out the sign above the desk.

Pink!  Sparkles!  Glitter!

Hilarious.  And a fine homeschool motto if there ever was one.

Therefore and henceforth, my girls and I decided to go make some magic in our own homeschool room.  As a result, my girls were certain that homeschool is, and always will be, The Most Awesome Idea Known To Man and begged, nay, pleaded with me to start school early.

Like FIFTEEN days early.

So.  Guess what we did yesterday.

We had ourselves our first day of school.

In August.

It was like a dream come true.  Except it wasn’t.

Things started off promising, but then Sweet Pea, the perfectionist that she is, missed THREE problems on her math assignment, and, well, the world basically ended and life is too hard and she just can’t take it.

Daisy Mae got an A+ for attitude all day and got a 100% on her math.  I wrote, and I quote,

“100% You rock, girl!”

on her paper, so basically, heaven opened up and angels were singing and she proudly displayed her perfect math paper on her desk and showed her father immediately upon his arrival.

Handsome Dude.  You know how I have been dreading the schooling of the boy, right?  Well, he started off full of hope and promise.  He traced all his letters and numbers and did the most beautiful job I have even seen him do.  He did his Bible lesson and he did math, and, of course, got a 100%.

I never doubted him.

But then he had what I would like to call, The Great First Day of School Meltdown 2012 and had to take a nap.

It happens.

For Handsome Dude, I am doing a curriculum called All About Reading.  After his meltown/nap combo, I started his lesson and he immediately looked at me and informed me that he had to use the facilities.  So while he was taking care of business, Little Dude walked over to me and he and I did an All About Reading lesson.  Little Dude breezed through it with flying colors.

Enter Handsome Dude, fresh from the toilet.

“Mom?  This is pwetty twicky.”

So, as he is trying to sound out the word Nap, and throwing in the unnecessary sounds of the letters “t” and “s” and all sorts of fun stuff, Little Dude would come by and say things like:

“Oooh!  Nap!  See, mom?  That says NAP!”

Helpful.

Finally, it was lunch time.  Hallelujah!

Daisy Mae, who had been doing her silent reading, came upstairs sobbing that she did not feel good.  I took her temp and she had a fever!  So, I gave her some Ibuprofin and set her up with a smoothie, hot dog, and American Girl movie.

I was like The Best Mom Ever.  I thought I was off the hook for school, but Daisy Mae made a miraculous recovery and begged, nay pleaded with me to do history.

It was a long, hot school day and we did not finish up until 4:30.  Of course, we did have a movie/fever break, but still.  I am entitled to whine.  It is my right.  I will admit the day completely wore my brain out and I am going to need a lot of coffee and patience to get these kids through school this year.

Pink!  Sparkles!  Glitter!

Today, Daisy Mae has taken a turn for the worse and I am probably going to have to take her to the doctor.

Well, folks.  Country is coming to town today!  I will be driving my husband’s truck and in it will be 2 hens, the Daddy Woo-Ster, and five rabbits.  We are taking ourselves and our livestock to the county fair.  Do y’all remember my last encounter at the fair with Susie Fantastic, Rabbit Expert Extraordinaire?

Yeah.  I am NOT going through that again.  I am making my beloved meet me at the fair to help me.  He can stare at the rabbits’ private areas and genderify them.  Thankyouverymuch.

Random Topic Quick Change!

Little Dude.

He is becoming quite the country boy.  As you can see.

Well, yesterday, the girls found a dead snake.

Lovely.

David came home about an hour after that.

Me:  Boys!  Tell Daddy what you saw today!

Handsome Dude:  A snake!

David:  A snake!  Cool!

Me:  Go show Daddy where it is!

Little Dude:  Oh, I fed it to the trickens.

(That would be “Little Dude” for chickens.  Keep up.)

Me:  What?

Handsome Dude:  Yeah!  He just picked it up and gave it to the trickens!

Me:  Oh.  Did they, um, eat it?

Little Dude:  Yes!  They said yummy yummy!

Me:  Oh.  And you just picked up the snake?

Little Dude:  It was squishy!

Me:  Oh.

Little Dude:  Squishy, Squishy!

Yes.  Be jealous of my life.

On Wednesday night, my parents invited us to dinner.  While David was away from the table, I did as any good wife should and informed the server that David was a soon-to-be-birthday boy.

As you can probably imagine, David LOVES making a big deal of his birthday.  He loves getting his picture taken . . .  loves people singing to him . . .

loves, loves, loves.

Fun Fact.  David used to be a server at THAT very restaurant.  Back in the glory days.

Handsome Dude gave David his very first birthday present.

It is a play-do ball with Italian flags proudly mounted in it.  Just what every 32 year old father of four needs.

Yesterday was David’s factual birthday.  Of course, he had to work.  Because have you met him?  But the kids and I were planning on heading into town to clean the rental anyways that day.

Alas.  The stomach bug visited.

So, there I was.  Two kids vomiting and having it, *ahem* come out the other end and the others had head colds and fevers.

Thankfully, my friend, Shelly, offered to help Mr. Birthday clean the house so I would not have to drag the sickies to town.

Holla, Shelly!

While we were recovering, the girls and I taught the boys how to play Uno.

Handsome Dude won.  He was excited.

Please ignore the mismatched clothes.  He had, *ahem*, blown through about 6 pairs of pants already.

Little Dude lost Uno.

He took it well.

Since I had not planned on being home for David’s birthday, I had no plan for a special birthday dinner, nor a cake.

For shame.

I remembered a recipe for Teriyaki chicken that tickled his fancy.  Then I went to check on the garden and saw a plethora of green beans and blueberries.

Garden for the win!

I was able to make a cake from scratch, but did not have enough ingredients for frosting.

Don’t lose heart!

The astute reader might recall that my husband prefers his chocolate cake smothered in our homemade applesauce, instead of frosting.  Because he is totally normal.

I must say, I was pretty proud of our impromptu birthday dinner that we were able to pull together amidst a house full of sickies.  And Shelly was a rockstar at the house and did so much of the work that David was able to get home at a decent hour to feast with his beloved wife and offspring.

The kids decorated the cake with a hunting theme.

The toy soldier is supposed to be David.  Apparently.  And I was far too lazy to wash the toys, so I just laid some wax paper on the top of the cake.  Because I strive for greatness.

Daisy Mae, who had been sickly all day, got all dressed up for her dad’s special dinner.

Precious, is it not?

And now, David is the sickest of all.  Poor boy.

Lest any of you are confused, he is , in fact, at work.

Happy Friday!

Did you know that pumpkin plants grow to be HUGE and have beautiful, orange-yellow flowers?

I have yet to see a pumpkin, but I am enjoying the flowers all the same.  Oh!  And from what I can gather, basically all the plants flower before the fruit/vegetable comes on.  I had no idea.

Teller’s Blog.  Your Go-To resource for gardening knowledge.

Pumpkin plants look a lot like zucchini plants, what with the orange-yellow flowers and all.

Look at that!  I made a zucchini!  Look at me with my Big-Girl-Gardening pants on!

I also have some cucumbers.

Sweet Pea loves pickles, so I thought I might try making her some.  But I never have made them and I am not sure if I have the right type of cucumber.

Please Advise.

When I weed, I sometimes toss tasty green treats over to the rabbits.  Their little yard borders our garden . . . risky business, I know.  But so far, no rabbits have figured out how to get into our garden for an All You Can Eat Buffet.

Anyways, whenever I come into the garden now, this little lady get all excited and waits for a treat.

Yes.  These are my friends now.  My husband moved me out to the middle of nowhere and I am forced to find companions in rabbits and chickens.

In other news, there is a chicken feather on my carpet.

Sad, is it not?

Come on!  You have chicken feathers on your floors, too.  Don’t deny it.

Sadly, I do not have time to pick it up.  I have been busy with the homeschool planning.  I started to write out all the subjects and whatnot and had a minor panic attack wondering how I would get it all done.  I’m guessing I won’t, but gosh darn it, I am going to try!

To clear my head, I went outside and walked up and down the driveway a few times.  Then I spotted the trampoline and decided I would try that for the first time in about 15 years.

Not a good plan.

I felt like my brain was going to launch out of my head.  True story.

So, I went back inside to try and sort out this homeschool scheduling mess I had created.  I found a website called Donna Young that offers tons of free printable planners.  So, I have the girls’ weekly schedules planned out, but have yet to figure out how I am going to incorporate Handsome Dude into the mix.

My boy.  A kindergartener.  Seems like he is not old enough yet for such things.  I probably feel that way because the boy can’t seem to aim correctly into the toilet yet.  But I am sure he is ready for math.

On Monday, I was in the garden and I saw something moving out of the corner of my eye.

Be warned!

The next picture is kind of . . . gross.

I went over to investigate and found that there was a newborn rabbit flailing about in MY garden.

As Little Dude would say:  “What world is this in?”

ha.  He means, “What in the world is this?”

But, HELLO?!  Why was there a baby rabbit in the garden?  I ask you?  It was fine and not hurt in any way, so we picked it up and gently placed it in a little rabbit house.  Of course, David was not home at the time so I, Mrs. Dr. Dolittle, had to deal with the sitch.

It will be a blessed day when David decides to stop raising rabbits.

In other news, a friend might be coming over today.  I am a bit nervous because her house is all beautiful and serene.  Being in her house is like being in Pinterest.

I am sure she will be impressed with my house with the peach walls, chicken feathers on the carpet, and newborn bunnies in the garden.

Maybe I should tidy up?  Perhaps?

And now, I must answer some huckleberry questions that I received yesterday.

1)  A huckleberry is actually very delicious.  I don’t think it tastes like a blueberry at all.  It is sweet and tart.  We usually use them in milkshakes or sprinkle them on cereal.

2) I have never heard of anyone successfully growing a huckleberry plant.  They only grow at very high elevations.  This is why they are so desired.  People sell them for $40 a gallon.  I am not exaggerating.

3)  Not that I ever exaggerate.

And now, to conclude this well-organized post in which I have covered homeschooling, pumpkin flowers, rabbits, and trampolines, I shall leave you with a hilarious auto-correct text from my mother in law.

I have no idea what she was trying to say, but she was basically telling me she had a 5 gallon bucket to give me and her text read like this:

“I will get it to you swineherd.”

Swineherd!

Ha.

I shall take it as a compliment.

Yesterday, we loaded up the children and set off on an adventure.

The astute reader might notice that the boys each have sticks.  These were their treasured “drumsticks.”  And, yes.  They were as annoying as you might have guessed.

We were off to find the elusive, and highly valued, huckleberry.

Oh!  Are you new here?  Do you not know about the magical powers of “The Purple Gold?”  Well, then.  Allow me to enlighten.

Huckleberries are prized possessions around these here parts.  Crazies from all around live for this season and go traipsing about the woods, fighting bear and bird alike, to try and harvest these delightful berries.

Herein lies the problems:

1)  They only grow high, high, high up in the mountains.

2)  They are the world’s tiniest berries.  True, I have no facts to support that statement, but it works out well for me in this post to tell you that they are, so just go with it.

3)  You might pick for one hour and get one cup.  Then your 4 year old wants to come show you the ONE berry he found and trips down the hill and knocks over your bucket. Not that I know from experience.

People from our regions get all crazy-like when it comes to this berry.  Once they find their own huckleberry “sweet spot,” they never, EVER, share the treasured location with anyone else.

Ever.

Huckleberry Harvesting.  Vicious and cutthroat.

Who knew?!

So.  Yesterday we set off with great hopes to find our own “sweet spot.”  We took three wrong turns and were severely scolded by man with no less than 55 dogs and a handlebar mustache for driving on “bleepity-bleep” private property.

Oops.

Finally, David found the right road that would take us up the mountain. Up, up, up we drove for miles upon miles.  We saw what we thought was hucklberry brush and got out to check out the sitch.

We found green berries.

This was not good.

We must get back in the car.

Sweet Pea, full of pre-pre-teenage angst, sat in the car, unimpressed with our adventure.

Check out the dirty back window.

Classy.

David was getting pretty discouraged when we could not find the Berry of all Berries.  You see, dear readers, David lives for the Huckleberry.  Personally, if I never went huckleberry picking again, I would not shed a tear.  But this is the equivalent to Disneyland for him.

Why?  I cannot be certain.

But he is my beloved and I shall be his helpmeet.

After about four false alarms, we were ready to just about give up.  He was driving up a logging road when I saw a flash of purple.

I don’t think he believed me, but he put ye olde minivan, a fine rig for maneuvering up logging roads, in reverse and humored me.

And, guess what.

Bam!

I, yes, I, Taylor Maliblahblah, was the esteemed huckleberry finder of the day.

We picked and picked and picked with sweat on our brow and the sun on our backs.  We picked for an hour and half and we got . . . wait for it .  . . . wait for it . . . .

13 cups.

This is where you clap.

We were hot, dirty, and tired.  So, we loaded up and hit the lake!

This beach has a diving board.  All four of the kids had a blast jumping off of it.  Even the little boys!  The beach had a life jacket station, so they were able to jump off and swim back to the ladder to go again.

Sweet Pea

Daisy Mae, always the trickster, tried to push her dad into the water, but he took her down with him.

Handsome Dude, waving to his mother.

Little Dude, jumping off the diving board.

The water felt so good after picking those dreadful wonderful berries.  I went swimming and raced the girls.  I will have you know that I kicked their hineys.

After we swam, we stopped for ice cream.  Shocking, I know.  Then we went blackberry picking!  The blackberries were not quite ready yet, but we still found about 8 cups.

It was a fun-filled day.

And today, I am going to be busy freezing the huckleberries.  And sit in the freezer they shall, for we can never find an occasion worthy enough to actually eat them.

They are more precious than fine rubies.

Alex and Holly were in town  last weekend.

Do you know who Alex and Holly are?  Are you confused?

You are not alone.

It is the first time we have seen them since we became chicken entrepreneurs.  Alex asked if he could buy a dozen eggs from us.

He looked at them.

Alex:  Whaaaaat?  Did you dye them?

Me:  Yes.

Alex:  Really?

Me:  It is an extra service I throw in.  If you want plain eggs, it is $2 a dozen.  If you get the pretty Easter eggs, we charge $2.50 a dozen.

Alex:  Oh . . . .but these are already dyed so I have to buy dyed?

Me:  Looks like it.

Oh, man.  I kill me.

Lest any of you are left confused and bewildered, no, I do not dye eggs.  Different chicken breeds lay different egg colors.  And we have a plethora of chicken breeds.

Please. Try to keep up.

Oh!  And Alex is David’s brother.  He is best known for all of his wild shenanigans.

Like torturing my children.

And stealing Daisy Mae’s vest to get around an inconvenient, “No Shirt, No Service Rule” when he had a hankering for ice cream.

But, I digress.

Carrots!

We now have carrots from our garden.

Be excited.

Also, I have been meaning to show you this new canned chicken photo.  Because I am always so popular when I post the picture of the canned chicken.

You thought I was going to post the old, horrific photo, didn’t you?  DIDN’T YOU?

Nope.  I have a new one.

Chicken Noodle Soup.

Or, as I like to call it:

“Dinner for when Taylor is not home and David is in charge.”

Why did it turn orange?

Why?

WHY?

So.  We had a bit of stress this week.  We had renters leaving Thursday morning and new renters coming Thursday afternoon.  I knew about this a couple of months ago, so I recruited my mother to take the day off from work to watch my cherubs and my sister in law, Amy, said she would come to the house and help me.

David cannot take a Thursday off in AUGUST!  That is crazy-talk.

Earlier this week, I started to feel sick.  Like, I knew I needed to go the doctor, sick.  But my husband is on some crazy schedule of leaving around 5am and coming home between 8 and 10pm,  and I had no desire to load the aforementioned “cherubs” up and drive the 45 minutes to the doctor.

However!

I knew that Thursday was my crazy rental cleaning day and I needed to be up to par for that.  I won’t go into details, because it might make me blush, but it was something that an antibiotic would clear up pretty quickly.

Around 5pm, I decided to rest for a bit and see how I felt the next morning, when lo and behold, David, my husband, called me.

Yes!  He CALLED me!  Before 8pm!

David:  You still feeling sick?

Me:  Yeah.

David:  Alright.  I will be home in an hour.  I am taking you to the doctor.

That’s right, folks.  MY husband, David Maliblahblah, was quitting work at the slothful hour of 5pm, to drive all the way home, load us up, and drive all the way back to where he was just working to take me to the doctor.

And I didn’t even ask.

I became terrified.  What if I was not really sick with what I thought I was sick with?  What if my extremely exhausted husband had to drive all around the world, only for me to hear the doctor say that I was fine?

Oh, the horror.

I am happy to report that I was infected with what I thought was ailing me.

And the kids all cheered for “Daddy’s Dinner,” which was Frostys and Fries from Wendy’s.

So.  That was Tuesday night.

Wednesday, I still felt sickly, but was on the mend.

Thursday was the dreaded cleaning day.

My parents just put their house on the market this week and their house is the cleanest house in the world.  No joke.

So, I had to warn the cherubs to not make a mess.  Because, have you met them?

I got to the house before Amy and lo, and behold, the washing machine was broken.  David had gotten to the house before me to start a load and noticed it was not working.  He took it all apart and removed items such as:  a box of floss, coins, and hair clips.  He thought he got it working again, but, alas, it was making strange noises and no longer draining.

I called David and he asked if Amy and I would be up to buying a new washing machine.

?

Because apparently we look THAT muscular.

Amy, that dearheart that she is, took all the bedding and towels to the laundromat and I stayed behind to clean the house.

While Amy was washing laundry and making friends at the laundromat, I was receiving calls from my girls to inform me that Little Dude was being extremely naughty for his Grams and could I please talk to him?

Me:  Dude.  Are you being naughty?

LD:  Hi, Mom!

Me:  Are you being naughty?

LD:  Nope!  I’m a good boy!

Me:  I want you to listen to Grams for m-

And he hung up on me.

But did I have time to deal with that boy?  No.  No I did not.

I had to start the lawnmower.

Oh, yes.

I, yes, I, Taylor Maliblahblah, started the lawnmower all by myself.

True.

It took me a good ten minutes and I had to use ALL of my muscles.  But I did it!

I am happy to report that Amy and I got the house all cleaned up by 3pm.  David somehow managed to get a new washing machine in there before 5pm and the renters were none the wiser.

We are like the Rental House Dream Team, are we not?

Oh!  And if anyone wants to buy a cute house that rents well in Downtown Wherever We Live, let me know!

Later, dudes.

Life has been busy, as usual.  On Sunday, we went to the beach for Jason’s birthday.  Little Dude has decided to become a fish in the past few weeks and works on his sweet, swimming skills.  Or skillz, if you prefer.

He thinks he is swimming, but he is basically doing belly flops and then giving his mother a heart attack when it takes him a bit of time to resurface.

He “swam” for a long time yesterday.  After the party, we stopped for ice cream on the way home.

Because we feel having an ice cream cone right after eating birthday cake isn’t excessive at all.

Here is Little Dude, enjoying his frosty treat at 5:30pm.

And here is Little Dude around 6pm.

When we got home, we tried to wake him up, but to no avail.

Somehow he ended up in the middle of the living room floor while we went about unloading the car and putting things away.  Finally, I gave up and took him to bed, even though I was worried he would be up and ready to party soon.

Not so!  He slept until 8:15am.

Yesterday, I lost my marbles and decided to make and can two batches of strawberry jam, fix one batch of runny blackberry freezer jam from last year, and pressure can 4 quarts of green beans.

Did you know you can fix runny jam?  It’s true.  Click here if you don’t believe me.

By the end of the day, my back was killing me.

Sweet Pea asked me why I don’t just buy jam.  I am thinking she is my most brilliant child.

***

Alright.

I have been getting lots of questions regarding the private and personal lives of chickens.  And since I am clearly the expert on all things farm and ranch-y, I thought I would give you a bit of a chicken tutorial.

You are so welcome.

*Warning*

This post might need to, *ahem*, be flagged for adult content.  Consider yourselves warned.

Chickens.

Chickens is the umbrella term for all the fowl that are currently residing at my property.

A chick is a baby.

A pullet is like a teenager.  Maybe?  What do I know?

A hen is a female chicken.

A rooster is a male chicken.

If you are one of my boys, you call the male the “Daddy Woo-Ster” and think all the big eggs are laid by him.

But don’t listen to my boys.

They live in their own worlds and pinch each other in compromising places when they are excited.

Roosters don’t lay eggs!  I repeat.  Roosters do not lay eggs.

Now.  I have heard some confusion on the whole egg sitch.  So allow me, your farm and ranch expert, to shed light on this mystery.

I have gotten a few questions about the mysterious ways of the poultry.  One person thought that hens only laid eggs if the rooster had, *ahem*, visited them.

False.

Another asked if the hens laid eggs and the rooster went around somehow “sprinkle-fertilizing” the eggs.

False.

The hens lay eggs no matter what, if they are the right age and all that nonsense.

If you have a rooster, there is a good change your eggs are fertilized.  The “Daddy Woo-Ster” struts his stuff around the chicken yard and acts like The Ladies Man.  He, *ahem* “visits” the ladies as he pleases.  Then the hens lay an egg every day or every other day.

If the egg is gathered right away, it is just an egg.

Imagine that.

If the egg is kept warm under the hen’s feathered hiney for about three weeks, it magically turns into a chick.

If you do not have a Daddy Woo-Ster, you would still get eggs, they would just never turn into baby chicks, no matter how long they sat under the feathered hiney.

And if you are a hen who stops laying eggs, you must fear for your life.

You might find yourself in one of Teller’s Special Cans of Mystery Meat.

And lest any of you are confused, there is NO WAY I am ever going to be able to eat the canned chicken.

Nope, nope, nope.

This concludes today’s edition of:

Life Lessons by Teller

I hope you are all a bit wiser.

***

On a completely unrelated note, this is what Handsome Dude asked me the other day:

HD:  Mom?  Can you make me a turkey sammich for wunch?

(That would be turkey sandwich for lunch, for those who don’t speak HD)

Me:  Sure.

HD:  But can I have a turkey sammich without the turkey?

Me: What?

HD:  I NOT LIKE TURKEY!

Me:  Dude.  What do you want on your sandwich?

HD:  Bread.  White stuff. And Trees.

Allow me to translate, dear readers.

The boy wanted bread, mayo, and cheese.

This is why I drink coffee.

Later, dudes.

We have been busy little food preservers these days.  Oh, yes.  So hold on to your pants and prepare to be dazzled!

Amy came over and, as Jason put it, we “jammed harder than a rock band.”

Plus we had cute aprons.  We are THAT cool.

Amy and I feel like we are truly earning the right to represent the Maliblahblah name.

We may or may not have shared in a celebratory hug once we discovered that all the jam had set up properly and all lids were sealed nice and tight.

Jam making.  Not for the faint of heart.

Our green beans are on.  Daisy Mae, who is a true Maliblahblah at heart, went out to the garden and gathered some beans.  She then helped me cut up the beans and pack them into quart jars to prepare for the pressure canner.

I have used the pressure canner thrice now and have had no disasters.

Be impressed.

The boys went and gathered blueberries from our garden.  They were extremely excited.

And is Handsome Dude pinching Little Dude’s chesticular area?  I ask you?

Yes.  I believe he is.

It is time for a COW.  Because I am really good about remembering to do a COW once a week.

This week’s Comment of the Week was probably the best comment I have ever received.

Back in April, my blogging friend, Kendra, aka The Queen of the Brussels Sprouts, suffered from several mini-strokes.  She has been recovering in a hospital and has had a miraculous recovery.  She is still recovering, but she is now home.

My heart skipped when I saw her name come through.  She wrote:

“hi friend
i am home again
it was good to laugh at your posts again….”

I am so glad she is home!  She is such an amazing lady and I pray for her continued recovery.  You can check out her blog here.

Happy Weekend!

The three older kids have been participating in a free sports camp the last three days, so for the past three mornings, Little Dude and I have been BFF.

Meet Little Dude.

He is four years old and quite spunky.

Oddly enough, Little Dude could care less that the three others are going to have oodles of fun without him.  He never seems to care about being left out.

Little Dude also talks nonstop.  It is quite charming or annoying, depending on what mood I am in.  Yesterday, LD and I stopped at Target.

Yes!  Me!  At Target!  Who knew?!

He tried to talk me into buying him some Angry Birds pajamas.

LD:  Oooooh!  ANGER-EE Birds!  Mom!  Look!

Me:  Sorry, dude.

LD:  Oh, man.

So later when I saw the ANGER-EE birds notebook on sale for $1, I let him pick one out.  Which immediately bumped my status up to Mother of the Year.

And what is the deal with Angry Birds, I ask you?  I have never played that game.  It looks kind of dumb.  Almost as if all you do is fling mean-looking birds at objects.  But what do I know?

Next, LD and I did some thrift store shopping where I found several items of clothing for yours truly.  WooHoo! Back in the days of yore, I would never be able to find decent clothes for myself at thrift stores.  Now, it is basically all I wear.  Which begs the question:

Did my style-sense get worse or did thrift stores get better?

Hmmmm.

Taking LD into fitting rooms is a treat.  I have learned to always wear a tank top and try to never try on pants in front of the lad.  This is because he is constantly shouting and wondering where my *ahem* unit is.

Little Dude.  Not quiet.

LD:  Oh, Mom.  That not look good.  It’s like-it’s like-it’s like-it’s like it not fit you.  Like you are too way bigger.  Right, Mom?  RIGHT?  MOOOM?!  RIGHT?  You are too BIGGER, RIGHT?

Fantastic.

Little Dude.  Not good for the self-esteem.

So, we picked up the other children.  Yesterday was the last day of camp and we had to all come back that evening for a parent night.  If the kids brought back their homework, they would be entered into a drawing for a free bike.

Handsome Dude took this to mean that he was, most assuredly, getting a new bike that night.  He lives in a special, happy world.

Next, we had to rush off for Handsome Dude’s kindergarten inventory.  Yes, I know.  It is confusing.  I homeschool, but we are also in a program where we must meet with a contact teacher.  Just accept it.  This post will read much easier if you do.

Handsome Dude started off the session with much hope and promise.  But then, his attention span started to wane and his attitude tanked.

She would ask him a question, and he would pretend like his body no longer contained a skeletal structure and slowly slump to the ground.

She would ask him a question, and he would ask her why she had to keep asking him questions.

She would ask him a question, and he would reply:

“Um, could you hurry up?  I gotta go win a bike.”

She would ask him to write a letter in the alphabet, and it was almost as if his hand was so fatigued from all her incessant questions, that he could not even hold the cumbersome pencil in his tiny, not-at-all dramatic, little hand.

He certainly is precious, is he not?

Amazingly enough, and you had better sit down for this, Handsome Dude is a perfectly normal kindergarten boy.

Color me relieved.

After THAT fun meeting, we drove to my parents’ house to kill time until HD had to go collect his new bike.

My mom is Super Grams and has a swimsuit for each child at her house.  So, the kids changed and we walked to the park, which also has basketball hoops and a splash pad.

Oh, to be young and walk down the street in my swimsuit and bouncing a ball.

We went to the parent night, and I am sad to report that, no, Handsome Dude did not win a bike.

Which was odd, since he clearly was supposed to win.

We drove home and Little Dude talked the entire time.  Which might shock you.  The boys do this one thing every time we drive to and fro:  they yell at me to beat the cars.  They feel like every drive to town is a race and they get quite miffed if there are any cars ahead of me.  In any lanes.  Ever.

It’s fun.

And you would think they would get tired of this game, but, alas.  They never, EVER do.

LD:  Mom!  Beat that car, Mom!

Me:  I can’t.

LD:  Why?

Me:  Because I can’t go that fast.

LD:  Oh, cuz the police man will take you to jail?

Me:  Yeah.

*And then later on, when I did actually pass someone*

LD and HD, screaming for joy:  YYYYYEEEEAAAAAHHHHH, MOM!  YYYYYYEEEEAAAHHHH!  YOU BEAT THAT CAR, MOM!

And as we actually pass the poor soul . . . .

LD:  HA HA HA!  You too slow!  We BEAT you!

Seriously.  They never tire of it.

LD:  Look, Mom!  It’s the moon!

Me:  Yup.

LD:  Beat that moon, Mom!  BEAT IT!

Me:  I can’t.

LD:  Oh, no!  The moon is beating us!  IT IS WINNING YOU, MOOOOM!

Me:  I’m going to listen to the radio now.  I want you to be quiet.

LD:  BUT YOU HAVE TO BEAT THE MOON

I turn the radio up.  Luckily, it is a song I know and sometimes, a mom has got to tune out her children and sing her heart out.

Even if that song is “Everybody Hurts” by REM.

Me (singing in a not-so-pretty voice):  Everybody hurts . . .

LD:  MOOOOM!  MOM!  I have to talk to you

Me:  Not now, dude.  Mama needs to sing.

LD:  But, MOM!  MOOOM!

Me:  No!

LD:  Yes!

Me:  NO!

LD:  But the song is about ANGER-EE birds!  Listen!

And he thought that when Mr. REM sang “Everybody hurts”, he was actually singing “Angry Birds.”

Because that would make sense.

Me:  No, he’s not saying that.  Now quiet!  I want to listen to the song!

LD:  BUT, MOM!  LOOK!  LOOK, MOM!  I HAVE AN ANGER-EE BIRDS NOTEBOOK RIGHT HERE!!!  SEE, MOM!  LIKE THE SONG!  SEE?  SEE?  SEE?

Me:  Yes.  I see.

LD:  OOOOH!  BEAT THAT CAR, MOM!

Usually that precious boy falls asleep on the way home.  But not last night.  He stayed awake to the bitter end.

And here is after we pulled up at home.

Showing me his ANGER-EE face.

Just like ANGER-EE birds.

Right, Mom?

Right?

RIGHT?

MOM?

MOOOOOOMMMMM?

Happy Thursday!