A Quickie Post

(as if any of my posts are ever quick)

Yes.  I already posted today.  What of it?

Since this blog is my way of recording our memories, I just wanted to hop in and jot down this little convo I had with Handsome Dude.

Handsome Dude comes in from outside.  He has remembered to take his muddy shoes off (win!).  He has neglected to remove his helmet (fail!).

My purpose in recording this little ditty with you all is to relay to you just how HARD it is to have any sort of dialogue with the boy.

Thank you.

HD:  That’s it, Mom!  I’m not going outside.  Ever again.

Me:  Okie dokie.

HD:  It’s the girls, Mom!  They are locking me up!

Me:  What is locking up?

HD:  Can I have a bagel?

Me:  Ok.

HD:  Can you deal with the girls?

Me:  What’s going on?

HD:  They are locking me up and then the leash and when Dad comes home he will run over my new bike with his WORKVAN.  MOM!

Me:  Ok, but-

HD:  Mom!  I need to poop!

Me:  Sounds good.

So off he goes, helmet still in place.  And then he comes back.  Unfortunately.

I kid!  I jest!

HD:  Was I gone a long long time?

Me:  No.

HD:  Did you wonder what happened to me?

Me: No, hey if you are-

HD:  MOM!  IS THAT DEER SMILING AT ME?

Me:  Um . . . no?

HD:  He is.  I know it.  Bye, Mom!

Me:  What are you doing?

HD:  Going outside, Mom!  To ride my bike!

He came.  He ate.  He pooped.  The end.

This is why I drink coffee, people.  This is why.

So, I took a gander outside and look at what my kids are doing!

Dang.  I’m totally going to get in trouble from the Mister about this.  He probably just organized the garage or something.

And, yes.  The observant reader might remember that in my first post today, I mentioned it was snowing.  And it was.  And now it is sunny and gorgeous.  This is how it is here.  We have come to terms with it.

That is all.  Carry on.

 

Posted in Uncategorized | 11 Comments

This Post Brought to You By the Letter E

Thank you for all your suggestions for the E post.  I am using them all and putting them in a lovely, list form.

I hope you have your party pants on.

1)  E is for Elk.  Elk.  You know, the animal?

(image source)

The astute reader might recall that David, my husband, is a hunter, and for the past two years he has harvested an elk.

Fun Fact:  Hunters say “harvested” but they really just mean “shot.”  FYI.

Over the past two years, I have lovingly prepared my family meals containing said, harvested elk.  But since I am grossed out by all things animal, I have refrained from eating the elk myself.  This has resulted in many, many taco bar nights.

Did you know you can eat an elk taco?!  It’s true!  I’ve seen it with my own eyes.

It bugs David to no end that I won’t even try the elk.  And I will admit, it seems a bit child-ish.  But, have you met me? It took me about 8 years of marriage to put on my big girl pants and touch raw chicken.  Before that, I used a lot of tongs to prepare dinners.  And, yes.  I am quite serious.

A few months ago, my sneaky sister-in-law prepared a lasagna containing a meat mixture of elk and beef, unbeknownst to me.

I ate it.  I may have even taken my bread and soaked up any remaining sauce with it.  Don’t pretend, dear readers.  You do that, too.

When my plate was good and clean, this was the convo that ensued:

David:  Did you enjoy the lasagna?

Me:  Yes.

David:  That’s interesting.

Me:  Why?

David:  BECAUSE YOU JUST ATE ELK!  HAHAHAHAHA!

I got punk’d.  Elk style.  But, I have since recovered from that tragic episode and would like to announce to the world that I, yes, I, Taylor Maliblahblah, prepared and ate elk on TWO different occasions this week.  True, I did mix it with ground beef, but I ate it and THAT is a feat in and of itself.

2)  E is for End.  As in, “Taylor ate elk?  It is the end of the world as we know it.”

3)  E is for Erin.  Erin is my cyber-friend who I met through blogging.  I would like to think that if we met in real-life, we would be real-life friends, but I don’t have that great of a track record with meeting blogging friends and having them, you know, ever contact me again.

I must be awkward and smelly or something.

4)  E is for Energy.  And Ewwww.  One commenter asked how I have the energy to keep up with my brood?

Well.  It takes a lot of coffee.  A lot.

Yesterday, I was brushing my teeth and Little Dude was *ahem* going to the bathroom.

LD (short for Little Dude . . . keep up!):  Uh-oh, Mom!  No paper towels!

He is referring to toilet paper.  Please, try to focus.

So, I bring him the toilet paper, but I am a bit perplexed as to why he needs it, as he is a boy and God gave boys an easier time of the liquid elimination process.

If you know what I’m talking about.  And I know you do.

So, Dude does his thing and then he begins to rub the toilet paper all over the wall.

Me:  Did you go potty on the walls?

Little Dude:  Well . . . I try not to, but I think so.

Me:  Dude!  You just need to go in the toilet!  Just the toilet!  Nowhere else!  Not on the seat.  Not on the floor.  Not on the walls.  Not on your shoes.  Just the toilet!

My words fall on deaf ears.  I have sat on many a moist toilet seat.  It doesn’t even bother me anymore.  I am numb, people.

Numb.

I just sigh and hope for better days.

5)  E is for Education.  Yes, I am homeschooling.  I am one of those people.  No, I do not wear long, denim jumpers and have hair down to my caboose, but there’s always time for that later on.

Homeschooling always goes smoothly and we never, ever have bad days.

Or something like that.

I have a love/hate relationship with homeschool.  There are, in fact, many wonderful blessings that come out of it.   I love learning along with my kids and spending more time with them.  But, the worst part, for me, is just a fear that I am going to fail them in some way.  Like, they will get to college and then phone me and say:

“Mom!  You forgot to teach us how to indent a paragraph!”

“Mom!  You forgot to inform us anything about our government!”

“Mom!  You forgot to teach us how babies are made!”

(Although that one would most likely be intentional)

Fun Fact:  Daisy Mae spelled her last name wrong this week.

Instead of writing Maliblahblah, she wrote Maliblahblah-blah.

But, I’m sure that won’t ever be a problem.

So, I am continuing on in this “fantastic” homeschooling journey, and claiming this verse:

“Commit to the Lord whatever you do, and all your plans will succeed.”

Proverbs 16:3

So, now, dear readers, I have a few questions for you:

1)  Are you “blessed” with a hunter in the family?  Do you eat game meat?  Are you still alive?

2)  I am hosting Easter dinner for 17 this year.  I KNOW!  I am looking for delicious rolls/breads/salads recipes.

Got any links you want to share?

HINT HINT

3)  Do you sit on moist toilet seats regularly?

4)  What’s an encouraging verse that you claim in your life?

5)  Look at your window.  Is it snowing?  Because it is snowing here.  Look at your calendar.  Does it say April 5th?

So does mine.

Happy Thursday!

 

Posted in Uncategorized | 30 Comments

D is for Daisy Mae

Yesterday, we had our homeschooling portfolio conference.  I shall not mince words with you:  I LOATHE portfolios.  But, alas, it is the path I have chosen on this joyous homeschooling journey of mine.

And I use the term “joyous” quite loosely.

Quite.

Sweet Pea’s portfolio presentation was first.  She is my studious one.  She is the child who was determined to read Little House on the Prairie in Kindergarten.  She, of course, could not, but it pleased her greatly to think so.

Sweet Pea did quite well and during the presentation, the teacher stopped her and said to me:

“Taylor!  You are too hard on yourself.  You are doing a great job at this and your kids are doing well!”

Well, glory be and the saints be praised!

But, perhaps, the teacher spoke too soon?  For we had not gotten to Daisy Mae’s conference.  Bless her heart.

Teacher:  Ok, Sweetie why don’t you tell me about this paper you-

Daisy Mae (interrupting and looking at her fingernails):  Oh, man!  I  need to paint my finger nails again!  Look!  The pink paint is chipping!

It was a proud moment, I cannot tell a lie.

A little farther in to the presentation . . .

Teacher:  Daisy Mae, could you tell me the difference between a want and a need?

Daisy Mae:  Well, I WANT a house with a POOL, but I only need a house.

Teacher:  What do all people need to survive?

Daisy Mae:  Food, CLOTHES!, and, um,  shelter?

Teacher:  Ok, and don’t forget air to breathe.

Daisy Mae, looking amazed and using her best valley-girl voice:  GOOD one!  I would have never thought of that one!

Teacher:  Well, thank you!  Now, can you tell me three wants that you have?

Daisy Mae:  Yes!  A sparkly purse, the mall, and the place where you get pedicures!

Teacher:  Ok.

Daisy Mae:  I LOVE pedicures!

Yes.  This is my child, the fruit of my loins.  She is 8 and has to suffer through living in the “crunchie” (country) as she calls it, when she would much rather spend her days at the spa.

Lest any of you think we pamper and spoil the darling, part of her birthday gift was a trip to the mall for a pedicure with her Grams.

Of which she enjoyed.  Greatly.

***

D is also for Dude.  As in Little Dude.  As in the boy who is testing my patience daily.

I was so proud of him for staying quiet during naps the other day.  Because, have you heard?  The boy has not SLEPT during a naptime since, like, November.

But I shall prevail!

I shall persist!

Naptimes are THAT special to me.

So, I go downstairs to check on the lad and I have discovered he has taken apart the woodbox during his “naptime.”

He’s a sneaky fella, isn’t he?

He heard me coming down the stairs, and tried to act like nothing was amiss.

Little Dude:  What, Mom?  What?  I was just fixing this!

The boy also has a terrible habit of going and standing in mud puddles.

Just . . . standing in them.  For no good reason other than to make me drink more coffee in an attempt to survive his “curious” years.

He just stands there!  In the mud!  With the clothes and the shoes!  Do you know how much laundry this equates to?  Laundry shall be the death of me, I kid you not.

So, I took away his pants and shoes and told him he was inside for the rest of the day.  This did not please him, but I cared not.

Next thing I know, my “obedient” child was wandering around the driveway looking like this:

He found some sharp-looking shorts in a drawer and stole his sister’s shoes and off he went.

Little Dude:  What!?  What, Mom?  What?!

In the interest of full disclosure, I do love the boy greatly and he is not naughty ALL the time.

We had a lovely mother/son date yesterday while all the other kids had activities to attend.

We hung out at the library.

And, yes.  I do believe he is “putting out the vibe.”

***

Ok.  D was for Daisy Mae and Dude.

What should E be for?

PS-I heard the requests for the David/Psycho/Newborn story and I shall include that in a different letter later on.

Happy Wednesday!

Posted in Uncategorized | 20 Comments

C is for Camping

For some unknown reason, the good Lord blessed me with a husband who loves to go camping.  And, along with that husband, there came an entire family . . . they also love to camp. 
I mean, I guess camping is alright . . . but let’s put it this way:  If someone were to tell me that my husband suddenly grew a strong distaste for camping overnight and we would never go camping again,well . . .  I would not shed a tear.
My idea of camping is a quiet, relaxing trip.  Perhaps we would sit by the fire and read?  Maybe sit by the lake and read?  Maybe just sit anywhere?  But, no.  This family I married into . . . they are too adventurous to just sit around.
This is our main camping group:  all of my inlaws plus my parents.
We go on hikes.
Exhausting hikes, as my husband is so aptly demonstrating.
David:  Hey, Alex!  Did you bring your gray Carhartts?

Alex:  Of course I did, Bro!

David:  Did you bring your white t-shirt?

Alex:  You know it!

David:  Let’s wear them for our hike!

Alex:  Sounds good, big bro!

David:  Did you know that I have the most wonderful wife in the world?

Alex:  Yes.  You are truly a lucky guy.

(Or something like that.)

We go fishing.  But in order to go fishing, we are required to hikes miles upon miles (ok, maybe 2 miles) to secret, hidden mountain lakes.
Fishing is always exciting for little boys.
Fishing is, however, disgusting for my kin.  As my mother, is so aptly demonstrating.
We must search endlessly for huckleberries.  Oh, how I loathe the huckleberry picking.  You search for hours and this is your harvest:
See?  Bountiful.
But, perhaps the most vexing component to this whole camping nonsense is my husband’s parachute.
What’s that?  Your husband does not have a ginormous parachute that he insists on hauling around to each and every camping trip and nearly kills you each time you are FORCED to help him set it up?
Well, dear readers.  Allow me to share with you how a typical “parachute install” goes.
1.  First, I complain.
2.  Next, I point to the sky and challenge my husband to find me one raincloud.
This, however, is an exercise in futility.  For, you see, dear readers, my husband is known by his fellow campers for his parachute.  And he cannot disappoint the people.
Even if his darling wife sees no point in it.
3.  We exchange “words.”
“Words” such as this little convo from a parachute “incident” from awhile back:
Me:  What do I do?

LJ (short for Lumberjack . . .keep up, people!):  Just hold the pole while I tie down the parachute.

Me:  It’s moving!  It’s moving!

LJ:  That’s fine.  Just hold it straight.

Me:  It’s not going to hold.  Kids!  Everyone sit at the picnic table!

Kids:  Why?

Me:  So we don’t crush you.

The girls listen, the boys do not.

My parenting skills amaze even myself.

Me:  David.  This is going to fall.

LJ:  No, it is not.

Me:  Yes.  It is.

Now, something has gone amiss with the parachute and it is covering my face, limiting my visibility and breathing.

Most importantly, I cannot see my children and I am holding up a huge log that is about to fall and crush my babies.

Me:  It’s falling!  It’s falling!

LJ:  Just let it drop!

Me:  The kids?  Where are the kids?!

LJ:  Just let it drop!

I held on for as long as I could and I pulled about 4 muscles trying to get it to stay up.

Using all my might, I was able to hold it up for about 6 more seconds, and then it came crashing to the ground.

And I did what any mature wife would do.

I unearthed myself from under the massive parachute and loudly informed my husband:

“I NEVER WANTED THIS KIND OF LIFE!”

LJ:  Ha!  Look everyone is staring at you now!

Yes. It was true. The whole campground was watching us.

One man was even taking pictures with his camera phone.

***

So that was fun.  But, it’s true.  I never did want this kind of life.  Yet, here I am.  A camping regular.  And good news!  We might have our first camping trip in a couple of weeks.  Because it is so normal to go camping in April.  Especially when it snowed here two days ago.

Good times, my friends.  Good times.

Alright.  So “C” was for Camping.

What should “D” be for?

Thoughts?

Happy Tuesday!

 

 

Posted in A to Z Blogging Challenge, Uncategorized | 35 Comments

B is for Batman

I have decided to join in on this A to Z blogging challenge.  I’m a little late to the party and I missed out on posting one for the letter A.
A is for Accept my Apologies, please.
So, today we are starting with the letter B. 
B is for Batman.

Back in 2009, our town had a terrible storm in the middle of the night. This was back when we lived in town in the adorable house the David built for me.

Oh!  Have I not mentioned that my husband ripped apart a house built in 1910, rebuilt it according to my specifications for seven years, and then promptly made me move to Ruralville as soon as the cute house was complete?

Yes? No? Yes?

It doesn’t matter.  Just know that in a town about 45 minutes away from me, there sits a cute house that I both love and hate.

I love it because it is mine.

I hate it because it is STILL mine and we have to deal with renters.

Renters.  Not for the faint of heart.

But, I digress.  Let us get back to the story at hand, shall we?

So.  There was this storm. David and I would sleep with our window open in the summertime and the thunder woke me up. It was wretched, terrible thunder. The kind where you begin to wonder if the end is near. I was surprised the kids slept through it all. I was not surprised that the Lumberjack slept through it.

“Pssst-honey”
“Huh?
“I’m scared.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t you hear that thunder?
“zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz”
Story.
Of.
My.
Life.
The next day, I was tidying up the house for the 47th time that day, because, have you heard?  We have four kids. I glanced out the front window. Strange . . . there were some leaves slammed up under the open window frame and stuck in the screen. I went to grab them.

Wait a sec . . . hmmm?

Now, dear readers. My neighbor had always droned on and on to me of her terrible time with bats. I would complain about my mice infestation (don’t judge me), and she would complain about bats in her laundry room. I thought she was nuts. Bats? Downtown? Near my house? Right . . .


I was beginning to think my neighbor was not so crazy after all.
I am brilliant.
I graduated with honors from both high school and college.
(Surprise!)
Obviously the horrific thunderstorm also brought high-speed winds (of which I never heard) that slammed this flying rodent into my window where it eerily superglued itself to my screen as it came to its final resting place.
I decided that I must take pictures of this epic event because no one will believe this.
(No one did)
I even posted it on The Facebooks.  Yes.  I post unnecessary information on Facebook because I am certain my friends care.  I am one of those people.
My kind Facebook friends all informed that this creature was more than likely alive,
which made me want to scream and run and place . . . . seeing as how I had gotten pretty close to the “dead, harmless” bat so I could capture this memory in time.

It is moments like these when I am so glad that God has blessed me with my husband. My man will come home and get me out of this mess. What does he care? Once, while on a “romantic walk” together, my manly-man hunter husband successfully hunted a grouse, gutted it right then and there, slapped the breasts on the bbq and ate it for dinner.

Hands off, ladies.  He’s all mine.

So, the Lumberjack came home. He seemed unimpressed with the fact that there was a bat on our window, nor with the fact that I had turned it into Facebook Bat Drama 2009. He said not a word as he grabbed the broom. I grabbed the camera, feeling fearless. He smacked the “dead” bat, who floated back up into the trees, very much alive. I snapped the picture just in the nick of time.


I was a little jumpy. Sorry.

Posted in A to Z Blogging Challenge | 16 Comments

Cow Patty

David brought home a movie the other night.  We usually get a Redbox, because it is so CHEAP, but sometimes Redbox does not work out great for us if we aren’t coming back to town the next day.  Because, have you heard?  We live out in the middle of nowhere-ish.  I added the -ish out of respect for the peoples who actually live out in the middle of nowhere and are tired of my complaints and general fit-throwing.

You’re so welcome.

But, good news! (Please, try and pretend you care)  David hath found a video store in the city that gives you $1 rentals for F-I-V-E days.  It is all very exciting for us, can you tell?  He brought home “Where the Red Fern Grows,” and who knew Dave Matthews, of the band aptly named The Dave Matthews Band, was an actor?

Not I.

I will admit that I have never seen this movie.  Nor have I read the book.  I know, I know.  Shame on me.  Well, I think David made a poor choice in film selection because my girls were certainly not emotionally ready for a movie of this nature.

DM (short for Daisy Mae . . . keep up, people!):  ALRIGHT!  THAT’S IT!  I’M DONE.

David:  What are you done with?

DM:  THIS MOVIE!!!  I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!

David:  But you don’t even know how it will end!

DM:  HOW CAN IT END WELL?  THE DOG IS DEAD! DEAD, DAD!  DEAD!

Oh, yeah.  This post may or may not contain spoiler alerts.  My apologies.

David:  Just give it a minute.

So, Daisy Mae gave it a minute.  But she was not having it.

DM:  NOW THE OTHER DOG IS DEAD!  WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, DAD?  THAT’S IT.  I’M LEAVING.

Fun Fact:  Daisy Mae never really leaves.  She just causes a lot of drama and/or noise and flops around for show.

David:  I promise.  It will have a happy ending.

*Five Minutes Pass*

Daisy Mae is blotchy-eyed and covered in snot.

And still shouting.

DM:  NOW THE MOVIE IS OVER!  OVER, DAD!  THAT WAS NOT GOOD!

David:  What are you talking about?  It had a good ending!

DM:  WHAT WAS GOOD ABOUT IT?!?!

David:  The red fern!  There was a red fern between them!

DM: WHAT’S THAT GOT TO DO WITH ANYTHING?!?!

So.  Maybe we need to go back to flicks such as, oh I don’t know, Little Mermaid for that one.  She no likey.

In other news, have you hard of The Spotify?  It’s pretty neat-o.  I opened up an account, but little did I know that whenever you play songs, all of your Facebook friends are alerted to any song you are listening to at any given moment.  Because Facebook is certain my friends need to know these things.  So, I found out how to listen to music without all my friends’ newsfeeds being flooded with such nonsense.

David.

David has discovered The Spotify.  David does not believe in Facebook, or generally setting up his own accounts for anything.

David has created his own Spotify playlist on my Spotify account that is linked to my Facebook account.  Are you keeping up?  And, as you can imagine, his playlist is chock-full of country western music from at least fifty years ago.

You all remember Running Bear, don’t you?

I beg, nay plead with David to please make sure and mark “private session” when he is using The Spotify so that my friends do not think I listen to Convoy by C.W. McCall.  Because, I can assure you, I do not.

David never remembers to mark private session and I am pretty sure my reputation is suffering as a result of it.

His latest guilty pleasure?

A song called Cow Patty.

?

I may have to cancel my Spotify account. I have a reputation to keep up, you know?

In the interest of full disclosure, David has since dedicated a new song to me since the night he called into the radio station and had them play Running Bear for me.

For those of you (like everyone in the world) who have never heard that song, it is a song about two people who die in a river.

David the Romantic.  Excuse me while I swoon.

Anyways, awhile ago he told me that the following song was his  NEW song to me.  And I would like to submit that we all forget that the whole Running Bear incident ever happened.

I’ll take it!

Lest any of you are confused after watching the above video, no, I do not do yoga.  Nor would I look like that gal while attempting to do yoga.

Happy Weekend!

Posted in Uncategorized | 20 Comments

A Mediocre Tutorial on the Makings of a Wreath

I thought I would share with y’all how we made the burlap wreaths.  Because I know you have been drooling over them since I showed them to you and were desperately awaiting the moment when I would show you the light.

Get ready to have your socks knocked off.

Don’t deny it, people.

THAT is THE coolest wreath you’ve ever had the pleasure of looking at.

(Raise your hand if you can tell we are on spring break and I have a little bit of free time on my hands)

So, my mother found this idea via The Pinterest.  She finds some cool things on Pinterest, although in the interest of full disclosure, she did recently pin this:

(source)

So you might want to take that into consideration.

Alright.  Burlap Wreaths.  Let’s do this.

First off, this is the link to the blog where we got the idea.  Please do not think for one second that I could possibly come up with this idea on my own.

Because, I can assure you, I could not.

Materials Needed:

Wreath (we used a straw one)

Hot Glue Gun (my mother used tacky glue, but she is an odd duck.  See picture above)

Burlap (about 2 yards)

An ink pen (But you won’t use the ink side.  You will use the other end.  Please try to focus)

1)  Wrap burlap around the straw wreath and glue it into place.  The piece of burlap will be about 3 inches wide and 60 inches long, probably depends on the size of the wreath form you are using.

2)  Cut many, many, MANY squares out of your burlap.  The squares should be about 3 1/2 inches.

3)  If it all possible, show up late to the crafting party so that your mother and aunt will have already cut out the squares for you.  Holla!

4)  Grab a pen.  Take the pen and wrap a square around the pen, so that the pen is in the center of the square and put a dab of hot glue on it.

5)  Using the pen, stick glue onto the wreath form.

6)  Repeat 4.2 million times.

7)  The gal who came up with this idea used two different colors of burlap.  You should check out her blog for more ideas or if my FANTASTIC tutorial was lacking in the helpfulness department.

So there you have it.

An astonishingly beautiful wreath made by yours truly.

You can put your socks back on now.

PS-

And you thought I only decorated with these fine beasts:

Perhaps I shall hang my lovely wreath on the deer’s nose?

Thoughts?

I have also made a coffee filter wreath, and it has brought delight unto my soul.

Plus it was cheap.

You can check it out here if you so desire.

 I’m linking up to Simple Homemade.

Posted in Uncategorized | 10 Comments

Mailboy! The MAILBOY is here!

A Wednesday Morning List:

1)  We are on Spring Break over here and

IT

IS

HEAVENLY.

I have not driven anywhere since Sunday, so my gas tank is taking a break.  I have caught up on some organizing, as futile as THAT may be.

I’ve thought about exercising, but the actual exercising did not suit my fancy.

(source)

I started completely ripping apart my homeschool plan in an attempt to come up with a new one that will rock my world.  But I am sure it won’t.

I even got to talk on the phone to a live friend for over an hour while three kids played and one kid ran around naked.

Name THAT kid.  Go ahead.  It’s not tricky.

Spring Break.  It should happen every day!

2)  We have had a lovely time visiting with Auntie Datenutloaf.  And no, Datenutloaf is not her name for reals.  Or realz, if you are ueber hip.  When she comments on this very blog that you are reading, she signs her name as Datenutloaf.  Therefore and henceforth, that is what I call her.

Auntie caught up all my Awana’s patches and told me not to feel badly about them being so hard because she said they were the most annoying things in the world to try and sew onto a vest.

She caught up on my mending.

She taught me how to make my own patches out of old jeans.

She taught me how to patch my boys’ jeans when they are brand new so the knees last longer.

She has empowered me, and apparently, she has inspired my girls.  They are enjoying their week without school and decided to try and make clothes for their dolls.

The girls had a secret convo and it was decided that Daisy Mae would be the one to come and ask me for permission.  This was all Sweet Pea’s doing because she is the oldest and oft abuses her power.

Daisy Mae (nervous and fidgeting):  Do you, like, um, have any, like, clothes that we can, you know, cut up, and, like, um, maybe, um, make doll clothes out of?  Um?  Please?

Me:  You don’t have a sewing machine.

DM (short for Daisy Mae . . . keep up, people!):  I know.  We don’t care.

Me:  Go downstairs to the camping clothes and you can pick out two things each to cut up.

DM:  Seriously?

Me:  Yes.

DM:  SERIOUSLY?

Me:  Seriously.

DM shouting to Sweet Pea:  SHE SAID YES!  MOM ACTUALLY SAID YES!

No.  I am not a mean mom who always says “NO.”  Why do you ask?

Daisy Mae made a skirt.

The astute reader might proclaim: “But, Taylor!  That looks like she just cut the sleeve off of an old shirt and is passing it off as a skirt, when, in fact, it is merely a sleeve!”

True, readers.  True.  But have you met her mother?

Let’s go easy on the child.  She has a rough road ahead of her.

Sweet Pea got little more detailed than Daisy Mae.

Brought a tear to my eye.

3)  Little Dude is always playing in the loft.  He feels the need to get out all of his cars and trucks and line them up daily.  Why?  We cannot be certain.  But it is his purpose in life and he takes it quite seriously.  Since Little Dude is in the loft, he is the first to spot if any visitors arrive at our humble abode.

And whenever UPS comes, he shouts in a sassy, sing-song voice for all the world to hear:

Mailboy!  The Mailboy is here everyone!  Woo-Hoo!”

Its odd.

4)  You might recall, dear readers, that Handsome Dude had a little mishap with his leg earlier this year.  You might also recall that he REFUSED to take a shower, because, apparently, showers are evil.  So for WEEKS, I had many tribulations trying to clean the boy with the giant leg injury.

Well.  Since the boy has turned F-I-V-E, he has declared baths for babies and he now showers daily.

?

He gets out of the shower, dresses himself, “combs” his hair, and “brushes” his teeth.  Then he gets out the vacuum and does a few lines in the living room, for good measure I suppose, then asks if he can ride his bike.

All because he is F-I-V-E now.

5)  Since I am feeling all inspired in the homeschool department, I decided to do a little mini-lesson with the boys.  The dudes have been interested in clouds and weather lately, so I decided to do a little project with them that I saw on Pinterest.

Oh!  Have I mentioned Pinterest before? Remind me to tell you about it sometime.

So, this gal says that you take a glass, fill it with water.  Then you put shaving cream on the top for clouds.  You tell the children that when clouds get really heavy, they rain.  Then you put in a few drops of blue food coloring and the children see rain.

Since I am Susie Fantastic and all, I had everything on hand and decided to do this inspiring project.

And we waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Finally, it was naptime and I told the boys that it might rain after naps.

But, no.  It did not.  The boys remained vigilant, however, and kept checking to see if it had rained yet.  During dinner, they brought it to the table.  At the end of dinner, about 6 hours after we started this project, the clouds rained, or more accurately, dumped an enormous amount of blue dye into the water all at once.

Little Dude:  Oh!  I see!  So after it rains, the world turns blue!?

Preschool Homeschool:  Fail.

Alright!  I’m off to enjoy another day of FREEDOM!

Tootles!

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