The Lumberjack's Wife

I thought I might take a moment to remind you all just why this blog is entitled “The LUMBERJACK’S Wife.”

Before Sweet Pea and I left camp on Friday night, David was in charge of harvesting the wood for the campfire.

I can assure you that this task did not begrudge him one bit.  When David goes for campfire wood, his motto is:  “Go Big or Go Home.”

Case in point:

Stand down, readers!  I know the picture is a bit blurry! Daisy Mae was the photographer.  You can rest assured that if I was the photog, all images would be crystal clear.

This tree was about 30 feet.

You may ask:  “Taylor!  Why on earth does your husband do such things?”

Well.  Because he can.

Look!  Here I am in a picture!

I am the mother near the truck in the jean not-so-short shorts removing my wanna-be-Lumberjack, Little Dude, from the line of action.

So, that’s all the pictures I have from the camping trip because Sweet Pea and I left soon after that.  (In case you missed it, our dog died tragically right before we got to camp.  You can read about that here.)

Sweet Pea and I had a really nice time together just the two of us.  I realized just how easy, peaceful, and CHEAP life is with just one child.

We went shopping.  I did not have to use my angry eyes or have anyone ask me about my “unit” in the dressing room.

We ate lunch.  It was less than $7.

We went to the library.  I did not have to shush anyone.  AND I got to visit with an adult.

I stopped for coffee.  And I bought her a special drink, too.  (I know.  Mom of the Year, right?)

I cooked dinner.  We shared one chicken breast.

We went to the movies.

It was a much needed one on one weekend for us.  And neither of us had to help anyone wipe their bottoms.  Score!

I was supposed to get into the shower ten minutes ago, so we are going to have to switch this post to a list fashion.

Please.  Hold on to your pants.  Things are gonna get pretty crazy.

1)  Sister Meagan came to visit with her dog, Ellie, last week.  Here is a picture of the dudes with Ellie.

Ellie was such a good dog and very well-behaved for a pup.  I told Meagan she needs to find us a pup and train her for a few months and then give her to us.  She didn’t really answer, but I am sure she loved the idea.

2)  I feel like we need to take a moment to recognize the awesomeness of Handsome Dude’s Space Man Goggles.

They have not broken.

Ever.

Holla, Space Man Goggles!

3)  Remember how I told you that we, as a family, grab our nets and chase animals about our lands?

I was not lying.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

It’s what we do.  It’s who we are.

4)  Peter the Cat feels like we have created the ginormous garden just for his own personal use.

He attacks the corn hourly.  And look at me with my big girl gardening pants on!  There is stuff actually growing out there!

Teller the Gardener!  Who knew?!

5)  The kids are showering Tank the Dog with extra love, on account of losing his sister this weekend.

Although I fear extra food is the last thing he needs.

6)  We buried Miley near the garden and put an arbor over her.

We are thinking we need some sort of climbing plant to grow on the arbor.

Thoughts?

In other news, David’s grandmother is turning 90 and there is a big bash for her this weekend.  My girls are supposed to do a presentation on how much the world has changed since Grandma was born.

And since I never procrastinate or get too busy to remember things I have committed to, I thought maybe you guys could throw out some ideas on how the world has changed since the 1920’s.

Perhaps?  Maybe?  Please?

Please Advise.

Back in February, the girls asked us to let them get some dogs.  We found two black labs, a brother and sister, named Tank and Miley.

The girls fell in love immediately with these two dogs.  Everyday around lunchtime, they would take the dogs on a walk and play with them.  Those dogs were two of the happiest dogs in the world.

Tank and Miley knew they belonged to the girls.  Everywhere the girls went, they went.  If the dogs had to be put outside to, you know, go to the bathroom, they would definitely let me know that they felt inconcenienced to be away from their girls.  And as soon as I would let them back in, those two dogs would race throughout the house until their girls had been located.

Sweet Pea and Miley had a particularly special relationship.  They would cuddle and read together and Sweet Pea would often get out of bed and sleep on the floor with Miley.

Last night, we loaded up to go camping.  The dogs ride in the back of the truck.  I have never been a fan of dogs riding in the back of a truck, but we have no other options.  Tank and Miley have never tried to jump out and are pretty mellow, so it has always worked out ok.  When we got to camp, Sweet Pea noticed that Miley was no longer in the truck, but Tank was.  The girls and I got out of the truck to walk back up the road to see if we could find her.  Jason and Amy pulled up right after that and they had already seen her, and she had already passed away.

We think she was up on the side of the truck and when we went over a small bridge, we must have hit a bump and she fell out.  We think she died instantly.

The pain I had to see my Sweet Pea was just so horrible.  I was sad for Miley.  She was a great dog and had quickly become a part of our family.  But breaking the news to Sweet Pea that she had died was really hard.

 Sweet Pea is nine and things like this affect her more.  David drove back and got Miley.  He offered to bury her at camp or take her home.  Sweet Pea asked to take her home.  David told her we could make a pink cross for her.

Sweet Pea just kept asking to go home.  I don’t blame her . . . I wanted to go home, too.  She tried to be brave and cheer up, but she would just keep disappearing into our trailer.  When I would come to her, she would cry:

“I just can’t do it!  I just can’t.”

To make things trickier, we were camping with David’s work.  (Jason works at the same company David does)  David was in charge of the trip and it was really not possible for him to leave.  His truck was needed for a big river float the next day so it was looking pretty impossible for me to get Sweet Pea home.  Jason and Amy offered their car for me to take her home in, and I am extremely grateful to them for that.

Please be praying for my kids, especially Sweet Pea and Daisy Mae.

So.  We went to the dump the other day.  Or the “refuse station,” if you are more proper-like.  And I am not. The dump can be an exciting place.

I’ve spoken before of “dump-shopping,” no?

Well.  Here in these parts, people will leave items out of the garbage that other people can take.  I think it is kinda gross, but have you met my husband?  Getting free stuff at the dump makes his heart sing.  Although I would be lying if I didn’t say I was pretty joyful when he brought me home 40 mason jars that someone just FOOLISHLY abandoned.  Mason jars are more precious than fine rubies.

Teller needs mason jars.  So she can fill her pantry with preserved meat.

Oh, the horror!

Bored Hillbilly Tip #1:  Go the dump and get yourself something snazzy.

Last time he was dump-shopping, he found an old fishing net.  Fishing nets are all the rage at our house.  We use them to catch fugitive rabbits.  And wouldn’t you know it, but as soon as we came home from our Dump Shopping Adventure, we used the “slightly-used” net to catch four baby bunnies.

Catching bunnies is surely a treat!  The whole family gets involved.  I am sure we look completely normal running around the lands with large fishing nets and hollering for excitement of it all.

Bored Hillbilly Tip #2:  Git yerself a net.  Catch yerself a hare.

Sister Meagan came over this week.  She got to experience farm and ranch life at its finest.

At one point, we noticed the dogs “chewing” on a hen.

Fantastic.

We got the dogs away and I went out to deal with the poor bird when I noticed the poor bird was no longer lying dead in the driveway.

Odd.

Sister Meagan and the girls spotted the not-so-dead hen hiding between the house and our aluminum fishing boat.

Oh!  Fun fact.  David has this aluminum fishing boat that he NEVER uses.  We just move it around from place to place so it can add curb appeal to our house.

Bored Hillbilly Tip #3:  Find a boat at a garage sale.  Buy it, but don’t plan on using it.  Insist it stays with you always, just to miff your wife.

So the hen was alive, albeit grumpy-looking.  I, being the experienced farm and ranch wife that I clearly am, decided to move the boat.  My plan was to move the boat away from the house and then get a . . . wait for it . . . fishing net to grab it and carry it back to safety.

Bored Hillbilly Tip #4:  To spice things up a bit, use your fishing nets to catch poultry as well.

Who knew fishing nets were so versatile?

*Excuse me while I interrupt this post to speak to my beloved*

David!  Here’s an idea.  GO FISHING.  Take the boat and the fishing net and GO FISHING.

That is all.

***

 As soon as I lifted the boat, which was not light, the bird crawled underneath it.  Which was a problem.  So, Sister Meagan had to come and help me lift the boat and we basically made things worse by leaning the boat on the poor chicken’s neck.

Don’t judge us!  We couldn’t see!  We couldn’t see!

The chicken lived and as soon as we lifted the boat again, it dove under a pig trough.

What’s that?!  Oh!  Have I not told you?  My husband brought home a very large, orange pig trough about two years ago.

Why?

Because he can.

It sits next to the fishing boat.

Bored Hillbilly Tip #5:  Find a pig trough.  Bring it home, for no other reason than because it was free.

Maybe I should plant flowers in it or something?

So, anyways, Sister Meagan and I felt bad about the hen, but we were afraid we were causing her more harm, so we let her be.  We went and checked on her a bit later and she looked not-so-alive.

Bummer.

Well, we went to town that night and got home late.  I informed my husband of the dead hen’s location and he went to retrieve it.

And good news!  The hen was alive!

See?!  I AM a good farm and ranch wife!  I AM!

I know, I know.  My life is weird.

Well, we don’t do such crazy things everyday.  This week we went to water park with Aunt Amy.  Amy and I were matchy-matchy with our gray and white striped tanks.

I fear Amy wants to be just like me.

See?

We don’t LOOK like hillbillies . . . . do we?

Oh, man.  Sometimes I wonder if I will ever get used to this life.

I gotta go.  David left some more chicken meat for me to preserve today.

*sob, tear, wail, moan*

And then, we are going camping.

Holla!

So.  We can all agree that boys are odd, yes?  Well, pray tell, has this soap phenomenon happened to anyone else?

This is seriously the soap I found in their tub.

?

There is a bee smashed into it.

A BEE.

Let’s move on.

I think I may have crossed a line with my rural living last night.

Oh, yes.  I think I did.

I, yes, I, Taylor Maliblahblah, took pieces of raw chicken flesh from the very chickens my husband plucked and butchered, crammed pieces of meat into pint jars, and pressure cooked them into something that I am trying to convince myself I will actually one day eat.

But I probably won’t.

Now, I have heard your warnings, dear readers, about the dangers of pressure canners blowing up in one’s face.

I am happy to report that I did not become yet another “Pressure Canner Fatality.”

I do, however, have these unsightly jars in my pantry.

I mean, really.

It was all fun and games until I realized I am probably going to have to eat it.  I shudder at the thought.

Just to make up for it, I had to can something pretty right after the whole chicken flesh ordeal.

Raspberry jam.

Nailed it.

I texted my mother in law and told her I did the pressure canning of the chicken.

Her response?

“Wow, what a woman!  You’ve come a long way, baby!”

Bam!  Proof that I was not meant to live this life.  And, simultaneously: Bam!  I am officially a Maliblahblah now.  Pretty sure none of David’s siblings have canned raw flesh before.

And did my mother in law just call me “baby?”

Meanwhile, back on the ranch . . . .

David’s truck has not been driven in awhile.

Case in point:

We found a beehive when we opened the door.  My poor Handsome Dude was stung twice earlier today while standing by the truck-we didn’t know about the hive then.

Oh!  And in other awesome news, our minivan’s automatic door was acting funny.  David had to remove this from the door track:

Why, yes!  That IS a mouse.  I’m glad you asked!

Boy oh boy.  My blog is full of delight today.

So, tell me dear readers.  Which picture grossed you out the most today?

Was it:

A)  The Boy’s Soap:

B)  The Homemade Canned Chicken

or

C)  The Dead Mouse from our Minivan

Please be advised:  one should not be eating while reading this blog.

Thank you.

The girls informed me the other day that they would like to go out to the garden and have themselves a little harvest.

“Mom! MOM!  MMMOOOOMMMM! Please can we go get some stuff from the garden?  Please?  PLEASE?  We have the perfect basket!”

And, so, I let them.  Because I am nice like that.  And I had not one clue that two girls could get that excited over a basket.  They went and put sundresses on and made a whole event out of it.

What’s that?  Oh!  You thought we just grew weeds in our garden?  No.  You have been misinformed.  We have some lettuce, raspberries, strawberries, cilantro, spinach, and sugar snap peas that are ready for the picking.

And weeds.

We have had an incredibly busy week.  Just ask my husband who was running around in his unmentionables looking for just one clean towel for to dry himself off after his shower yesterday morn.  Never in my life have I been so far behind on laundry.

No towels.  I am such a failure.

The weather has been nice and warm this week.  This kids discovered a fun way to cool off.

We met my friend, MindyLou, at the park and met her SUPER, CUTE, ADORABLE baby boy. (Holla, MindyLou!)  We went to Vacation Bible School all week and have been blowing through our gas budget like it ain’t no thang.

Yesterday, we met my sis in law, Lisa, and her two little girls at the beach.  My smart phone had alerted me earlier that very day that there would be severe thunderstorms and flash floods.  We were thinking my smart phone was not-so-smart when we arrived at the beach and saw blue skies and sunshine.

We were enjoying ourselves and having a pleasant day.

But, then:  disaster struck.

Daisy Mae was climbing up some big wooden post to get to the dock and jammed her finger.

So she came to me, wailing for all the injustice in the world, and told me she burned her finger.  This was a mite confusing, seeing as there was no fire source nearby.  I figured out that she jammed it and tried to calm her down.

But, then.  I had to take Little Dude to the bathroom.

Oh, joy of joys!  The beach bathroom with a curious, not-at-all-in-a-hurry, 4-year old boy!  Super clean and fun!

Little Dude:  (singing)  I am going poooooooooootty!

Me:  Shh!

Little Dude:  Oh!  Now I need to go poopy, Mom!  Yup, yup, yup!

Me:  Ok.

(tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock)

(That was my way of relaying to you that time was passing slowly.  Did you comprehend?)

Me:  Are you done?

(I asked him this because he is singing and touching things)

(Oh, the horror)

Little Dude:  Ummmmm . . . . nope!  There is still more.

Me:  Ok.  Can you try to finish up?

Little Dude:  IT’S SO WEE HARD!

Me:  Shh!

Little Dude:  Maybe it’s stuck!

Me:  Can we try later?

Little Dude:  No.

(tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock)

(See?  It worked so well the first time in relaying to you the passing of time, I decided to do it again!)

Little Dude:  All done!

But then, we have to put the swim shorts back on, because, alas, he had two legs stuck in the mesh netting that lines his awesome Cars swim trunks.  And of course, he is stepping in the fantastic, not-at-all-creepy, mystery liquid that is covering the bathroom floor.

Is it water?

Is it pee?

We may never know.

So, we are done with the bathroom (darn) and return to see that Daisy Mae has taken a turn for the worse.  Oh!  And fun fact:  my smart phone WAS smart after all because at the same, exact moment, a dark thundercloud covered the lands and, yes:

Flash flood.

Mysterious wet bathroom floor, injured and dramatic 8-year old, and lightning.

It was the perfect storm.  Literally.

We get in the car and Daisy Mae is handling things well.

“I can’t live like this!  I just can’t, Mom!  I can’t!  I am going to DIE!”

Boy.  She sure has a high tolerance for pain.

Lest any of you are worried sick over Daisy Mae’s condition, she was completely fine within 15 minutes of assuring me that death was upon her.

So, we got ourselves all gussied up, headed to church, and got home around 9:45 pm.  Only to discover we had no power.

Does anyone remember how my mother and I made our own Mason jar candles?

I don’t wanna brag, but they pretty much saved the day.

Little Dude was thinking life with candles and flashlights was pretty exciting and having a grand time.

But, then.  He tried to turn on a light.

LD (wailing):  ITS NOT WORKING!

Me:  What is wrong!?

LD:  I tried-I tried-I tried-I TRIED to turn on a light and nuffing happened!  NUFFING!  NUFFING!!!

It was fun.

Luckily, I am married to a hot, electrician, wanna-be lumberjack/farmer, who doesn’t scold me for not having a fresh towel for him in the morning.  Said husband somehow used our camp trailer’s generator to bring some power into the house, thus allowing Little Dude to peacefully go to sleep when we could turn the hallway light on.  You know.  So the monster could not get him.

I knew I married that David Maliblahblah for a reason!

Happy Weekend.

Raise your hand if you fear that, at some point in this sure-to-be-exciting post, I might mention weeding.

Hmmm . . . . only time will tell.

We have been busy bees here at the Maliblahblah homestead.  Here is a list!  For I know lists please you so.

1)  Our vacation rental biz is booming.  This is excellent news when it comes time to make two house payments.  This is terrible news when it comes time to clean the wretched thing.  It is completely booked out for the next 5 weeks with not one break in between guests.  It is sure to be exhausting.

Let the records show:  I am thankful that we are able to do it.  Even if the cleaning part is loathsome.

2)  The kids have been at Vacation Bible school every night this week.  It is glorious, and they are loving it as well.  Sweet Pea is, most assuredly, every VBS teacher’s dream student.  She takes it quite seriously.  She leads her siblings in a “worship practice” session before they head out, so as to ensure they all remember the songs, and she spends her spare time memorizing extra verses.

The other night on the drive home, she memorized the entire Lord’s prayer.

This shows that:

A)  She is the bee’s knees.

B)  We have a LONG drive home.

3)  Jason and Amy brought David and I huckleberry milkshakes one evening when we were cleaning the rental.

Huckleberry milkshakes.  Like sweet nectar to our souls.

In case you are behind the times, huckleberries are a prized possession here in our homelands.  They could probably be used as currency.  True story.

4)  People sell huckleberries for FORTY dollars a gallon.  See?  I wasn’t lying.

5)  We have found about five total raspberry bushes amidst our property!  David has a jolly good time picking fresh berries from his land to sprinkle on his morning cereal.  It pleases him.  These are the reasons he moved us out here.  To live off his land, you know?

6)  Perhaps if we found hidden acres of huckleberry brush, we could afford to pay someone else to clean that rental, eh?

7)  We are still weeding our ginormous garden.  It’s true. But, hark!  There is an end in sight!  I think we have about 10 rows left to weed and Preen.

And now, I would like to close with a story.

The other morning, I was looking out my window and noticed Tank the dog making his way around the rabbits and chickens with something in his mouth.

This is never good.

He made a big loop and came right to the front steps and dropped off his find for me.

A newborn, baby rabbit.

And it was still alive.  Darn it all.

Stand down, Readers!  I did not want the baby to die, but now I got to put on my Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman pants and try to be all life-saving.  And I don’t know how to save a newborn rabbit!

Have you seen a newborn rabbit before?  It is not precious.  They look like hairless, infant rats.  But that is besides the point.  We had ourselves a true farm and ranch emergency.

I called to the girls for help, because there is no way I can handle this sitch on my own.  I was not made for this life, you know?  Daisy Mae and I both got the peepee shivers at the thought of picking up the baby rabbit.  I used my awesome Mom-manipulative skills (or skillz, if you prefer) to talk Sweet Pea into picking up the rabbit.

Sweet Pea wants to be a veterinarian when she grows up.  I told her these are the things she must do.

Don’t judge.  You would do it,too.

So, I gave her a washcloth and she wrapped the “precious” baby up in it while Daisy Mae and I tried to figure out where this baby came from.

There were no holes in the fence.

There were no rabbit nests that the dog could get into.

We have NO idea where this rabbit’s nest is.  Nor how the dog could have possibly acquired this find.

Sweet Pea decided to be all heroic and noble and whatnot and try to talk me into letting her care for the rabbit.

Yes.  She would create a nest for it, somehow create some sort of nipple small enough for the baby to drink milk, and name it “Chance.”

I told her there was no way a newborn rabbit would survive under our care.

Have you read this blog?

Finally, Daisy Mae and I found a nest with other newborns hidden under some straw and Sweet Pea gently put “Chance” in with that group.

Seriously.

This is my life.  Be envious.

All seems well with Chance.  I think we have a crazy, mama rabbit because David found another newborn flailing about outside the nest.

The only thing I can reckon (that’s farm and ranch speak for “figure out”) is that Crazy Mother Rabbit decided that Chance was unworthy of her care and tossed him out.  Perhaps Tank the Dog is really the hero for bringing Chance safely to our doorstep and not eating him for breakfast?

I cannot be certain.

Happy Wednesday!

The other day, Sweet Pea was comparing my tan to hers.

Sweet Pea:  I wish I were as white as you.

Me:  What are you talking about?

Sweet Pea:  I hate being so tan.

Um, yeah.  For the record, I am totes tanner than her, that Pipsqueak, on account of all that wretched weeding I do.  I am like a bronzed, weeding goddess.

Sweet Pea:  I love white, white skin.  You know whose skin I love?  Melissa’s.  I wish I were as white as her!

Ha!  And that would be Bimlissa.  And is anyone still here who even knows who Bimlissa is?  Is Bimlissa even still here?  Is anyone reading this at all?

Poor Bimlissa.  And, fun fact!  Bimlissa isn’t even all that white.  So, I don’t know what is up with that child of mine.

Let’s move on!  Some updates, if you will.

1)  Remember Hatch and Company?  Well, those little chicks we hatched on our counter are growing up.

They are four whole weeks old.

We started with 15, and now we are down to 9.  I have come to one of two conclusions:

A)  This is farm life.  Animals die.  So be it.

B)  Our property is where animals come to die.  Cursed are we.

2)  I, yes, I, Taylor Maliblahblah, had to remove two dead, baby chick bodies all by myself.  This is a huge accomplishment for me, because, have you met me?

I used the dustpan with a long handle from my handy, fireplace tool set.

It was a wretched experience and I hope to never repeat it again.

3)  David butchered five of our freeloading hens.  I was not his helpmeet during the process, but I was outside while he was doing the deed.

What was I doing, you ask?

Weeding.

He did it quite humanely  and I now have five clean, little chicken bodies in my freezer.  Which leads me to believe he expects me to cook them.

4)  The day he asks me to pluck a chicken is the day I move back to town.

5)  From now on, we are saving the chicken feet for a friend.  She fancies chicken feet to make her special, scrumptious chicken broth, but she lives in an apartment in town and, alas, they are hard to come by.  Imagine that.

I told her she needs to switch lives with me.

6)  Chicken feet broth!  Who knew?!

7)  Here is a recent picture of my garden.  Like you care.

I have 20 rows left to weed and Preen.

8)  Look!  I have a watermelon plant!

Be impressed.

Although, a little birdie told me that the watermelons need four full months of hot sun to fully ripen.

So, yeah.  Probably not going to have any sort of watermelon harvest here.

9)  So, funny story.  We have been weeding this garden and gathering raspberry starts from my ma-in-law and trying to get some sort of bountiful crop going and David was driving up the driveway and noticed this:

Raspberries!

(And weeds.  Shocking, I know.)

Ha!  We have raspberries along our weed-infested driveway.

I wonder what else we got out there?  And how have we not noticed these red beauties before, I ask you?

10)  Today is the day in which we celebrate Sister Meagan’s birth.

When Sister Meagan was a young lass, my parents bought her this obnoxious cassette that went like this:

“Hey, Meagan!  It’s your birthday!  I’m in charge of the stars and I’m here to say: ‘Hey, Meagan! You’re the big star . . . Today!’  My name is Zoom and I live on the moon and I came down to earth just to sing you this tune!  Hey, Meagan! You’re the big star, today!  Happy Birthday, Meagan!  See you next yyyyeeeaaarrrr!”

Now.  We, the late 80’s/early 90’s children that we were, would listen in awe to this magic tape that somehow knew Meagan’s name.

True.  Whenever “Zoom” said Meagan’s name, the voice was different, but that’s beside the point.

It was magic.

Meagan listened to this tape all day, every day for about 5 years.

True Story.

She has always been a bit needy.

I would like to state that I never got such a tape.

Happy Birthday to Sister Meagan!  Get all handsome on some cake and whatnot.

Look at me!  Posting like it ain’t no thang.  This is because I was a rebel with a capital R and only weeded two rows in the garden instead of my goal of six.

Garden!  New plan:

Weed a row.  Sprinkle with Preen.  I was advised to sprinkle the Preen and was promised that no new weeds would grow after the Preen was sprinkled.  This had better be truth because I am slowly losing my mind.

And there will be dirt permanantly in my fingernails for all eternity.

I have 28 rows left to weed and Preen.  Wish me luck!

So, let’s see.  What’s new . . .

1)  The girls have been good little weeding helpers.  It is true.  We have been taking out the cd player and listening to Adventures in Odyssey as we weed.  Good times.

2)  David got home at, wait for it . . . . 6:17pm last night!  Par-TAY!  He usually gets home at 8pm or later in the summer.  We took advantage of this rare treat, packed dinner, and hit the beach.

The girls, as if they could not be any cooler.  They found a log, named it Big Beef, and had a grand time going on “log rides.”

And, hello!  Gardening reference!  I have a Big Beef Tomato plant in my STUPID, WEEDY garden.  So, there you go.  Fun fact.

3)  While the girls went on reckless log rides, the boys went fishing with the patriarch.

They each caught two fish on their own!  No trickery on David’s part was needed.  They are true fisherboys.

4)  I caught no fish  and swam on no logs named Big Beef.  I did, however, eat red vines and was bitten by no less than 4.2 million mosquitoes.

5)  I harvested lettuce from my own garden and fed it to my family.  And they lived.

Yes.  Stand in awe.

6)  We are in the process of determining which hens are laying eggs and which hens are being freeloaders.   This is not an easy task, my friends.  We have converted some old rabbit hutches into temporary chicken coops and the little ladies have a few days to produce an egg or its, and excuse me for lack of a better term, off with their heads!

7)  Stand down, readers!  This is all my husband’s doing.  If it were up to me, I would probably own the Happy Hens Retirement Community and go into debt feeding geriatric hens.

8)  I visit said hens daily and beg, nay, plead with them to please, please, PLEASE produce an egg.  Because I am so not ready to cook a real chicken.  Oh, sure.  I cook chicken all the time.  But, you know, the normal ones from Costco that come all clean and feather-free in a freezer bag.

Chicken Farming.  Not for the faint of heart.

9)  I am getting a bit nervous about teaching Handsome Dude kingergarten.  Here’s a little sampling on the dudes and their differences.

Handsome Dude (age 5)

Me:  Dude, let’s practice writing your letters.

HD:  Ok!

Me:  Let’s write your name.

HD:  OK!

Me:  Oh!  You are holding your pencil wrong again.  Let’s try it this wa-

HD:  IT’S TOO HARD!  I CAN’T DO IT!  NO!  NO!  NO!

And the boy is in the fetal position under the table.

True story.

Little Dude (age 4)

LD:  Mom!  What should I spell?

Me:  Um, bat.

LD:  Ok.  B . . . A . . . T !  What’s next?  Oh, I know!  ZOO.  Z . . .O . . . O because two “O’s” say “ooooh” right, Mom?  RIGHT?  MOM!  RIGHT?

Me:  Right.

LD:  Mom!  M . . . O . . . M!

Raise your hand if you think I should trick the boys into thinking it is really Little Dude starting kindergarten this year?

10)  To put my mind at ease, I started the boys on a little Math U See today.

I am happy to report that BOTH boys did excellent and got a 100%

Handsome Dude

Little Dude

Lest any of you other homeschooling marms think I am all that and a bag of chips, please, let me inform you that I will probably forget all about my new plans to teach the boys math until mid-September.

Remember.  There is still weeding to be done.