The Lumberjack's Wife

Awhile back, I mentioned that mud in my house was the scourge of my existence.

I lied.  Awana patches.  They are the real scourge of my existence.

Do you have offspring in Awana Cubbies, dear readers?  Are you familiar with . . .

The Vest?

Except that does not look like my children’s vest.  On account of the fact that the pictured vest actually has patches attached to it.

Oh, my boys have earned patches.  There are patches in the car.  There are patches in a bowl in the kitchen.  There are patches on the floor.  There are patches everywhere . . . except on the vests.  You see, dear readers, I cannot sew.

I’ll give you a moment to recover from your understandable shock.

I blame my mother!  She won’t deny it, either.  She did not teach me one thing about sewing.  In fact, I don’t think she even ever showed me what a needle looked like.  In the interest of full disclosure, I am pretty certain there was a small, tomato-like thing that pins were pushed into at our house in the days of yore.  But I never saw it in use.

Many years ago, when the girls were in Awana Cubbies, I implored my sis-in-law, Lisa, to teach me how to sew.  She gave me excellent instructions and pretended to be impressed when I shouted for joy at my first stitch.

It was pretty dope.

But wouldn’t you know it, my girls kept earning patches.  So, one day, I had to put on my big-girl pants and try sewing the patches on all by myself.

The first step is threading the needle.  I look in the sewing kit . . . that Lisa purchased for me, might I add, trying to ascertain which needle would be best and which color of thread.

Did Lisa say to use the same color as the patch?  Or the same color as the vest?  I could not be certain.

I notice this little guy in my sweet sewing kit and I wonder what on earth he’s got to do with the price of cheese?

I decide that any color thread will suffice and I begin the attempted needle threading.

OH.

MY.

GOSH.

BECKY.

Needle-threading.  Not for the faint of heart.  That little loopy on the top of the needle is so small!  I would try and thread it and the end would get all split, so I would lick it and try to put it through and it would just not work.  I am not exaggerating in the least when I tell you I tried to thread that needle for FORTY-FIVE minutes.

I was ready to give up all my dreams of being a Susie Fantastic when I remembered The Google.

Oh, The Google.  My saving grace.

So, I Googled:  How to Thread a Needle and Google, my new BFF, promptly displayed an informative YouTube video for my viewing pleasure.

You know what this guy is?

A needle THREADER! You  know.  For to thread the needle!  Ah.  Brilliant.

So, I watch the DVD and try it on my own.  Nailed it.  It takes me about 35 minutes, but I sew on three WHOLE patches.  I was uEber proud of myself and went to put it on one of my sweet girls.

Imagine my disappointment when I realized that I had sewed the patch all the way through to the back of the vest.

Don’t you hate it when that happens?

So, that little sewing adventure took place about 3 years ago.  And now, I shall share with you my present-day sewing travails.

I have two boys in Cubbies.  This may surprise you, but I wasn’t too eager to get right on the patches this year.

But, I started to feel guilty when my boys kept asking when their vests would get the patches.  So, I considered my hot glue gun.  I called my marmie, because she is the reason I can’t sew in the first place, and she had a good thought: perhaps the heat of the dryer would melt the hot glue.

She is a smart one, no?

So, I resorted to ironing on the patches.

Oh!  Have I told you?  I’m also terrible at ironing.  It’s true.  I cannot tell a lie.

I ironed on all of their patches and within one week they had all fallen off.  Hence the patches in multiple locations throughout the house.

So tonight, I sat down determined to catch up on all these patches.  I spent five minutes trying to get the needle off the . . . . needle cylinder?  I don’t know what it is called.  And then I remembered AUNTIE DATENUTLOAF!

Auntie Datenutloaf is on an airplane flying to where I live at this very moment.

BAM!

Auntie Datenutloaf is an expert sewer.  And, true, she will most likely be disappointed in me and my lack of domestic skills, but she is my auntie and it is her job to help me out of tricky situations such as these.

So, I am sitting on my bed, needles, thread, and patches scattered about, blogging about how I am going to make my dear aunt sew patches whilst she is on vacation.

She will be most honored.

Can you sew?  What is your level of expertise?

Did you know what this was?

Do you want to teach me your skills?  Or skillz?

Feel free to share.  Or not.  The choice is yours.

We have been going to the big city a lot as of late.  My house is evidence of that.

Now, that’s just sad.  That is a cabinet that holds lunch boxes, and in a morning-packing-frenzy, a blue stuffed bunny became trapped and was left there all day.

Do not ask me why there is a bunny there.

Have you met my boy?

He’s odd.

Please notice the crayon and ruler.

Homeschooling.

Making mothers lose their minds daily.

So, yesterday we get home and there is a white rabbit on the loose.  The girls are really good at rabbit-catching, as all farm and ranch girls should be.

Sweet Pea used to be the rabbit whisperer.

But it’s actually Daisy Mae who does this task the best.

Daisy Mae just gets it done.  She does not shudder at the thought of picking up rabbits.  She just “mans up” and does it what it takes.  Just like her pa.

Sweet Pea might be like her ma.  Pray for her.

Disaster struck when I heard a rabbit start screaming.  Have you, dear reader, ever heard a rabbit scream?

Think of the worst sound in the world.  Then multiply it by a million.

I thought that maybe the rabbit’s legs were broken or something.  Unfortunately, David was not going to be home until after 10pm that night.  I was going to have to call on a neighbor to come put the poor creature out of its misery.

Because this is my life now.  Have you heard?

But, I, Teller Maliblahblah:Rabbit-Medicine-Woman, discovered that the rabbit was not, in fact, in need of such drastic measures!  Go me!

One of the nets had a hole in it that we were unaware of.  When the girls put the net over the rabbit, the torn part snagged the rabbit around the neck.  This was strangling and scaring the rabbit, causing it to scream.

So, I, being the good farm wife that I now am, got a pair of scissors and loosed the rabbit from its deadly entanglement.

Then it ran off and is still eluding us at this very hour.  I wash my hands of it.

But, hey!  Let us be proud of me!  I done good.  Real good.

***

Let’s do some COWs.  For this brings us merriment.

 Mindee‘s response to my awesome $20 fridge find:

$20????
You made very sure that that fridge has never been used to store dead human bodies or parts, right?
Right?

And, of course, I must give a COW to my Auntie Datenutloaf.

K. Have you ever heard of ACLs? Meniscus? Knee reconstruction surgery? MULTIPLE knee correction surgery? No bending all the way down and jumping up 4.2 million times to worship God – He will understand. No moving fridges, freezers, logs, or anything else that will damage a compromised knee.
Using bulldozer when kids are in another city – great idea!!!

It’s a good thing my Auntie is not a worrier, is it not?

She’s right.  God probably would understand.

DO YOU HEAR THAT PEOPLES AT CHURCH WHO MAKE ME LEAD WORSHIP AGAINST MY WILL?  I HAVE A BAD KNEE AND SHALL NO LONGER BE FORCED TO LEAD THE CHILDREN IN “GET DOWN.”  THANK YOU.

Auntie is referring to my five knee surgeries and her general, ongoing fear of the safety of my children in the above comment.  It amuses me.

Alright!  I gotta get all gussied up.  For we are, once again, off to town.

Maybe we just move back there?  Thoughts?

Yesterday was field trip day.  Don’t be jealous.  Not everyone can rush around in the morning, teaching math and language arts, fold laundry, chase boys, monitor the care and feeding of rabbits, and pack lunches for the car all by 11:30am.  Only us lucky ones.

It was pouring yesterday.  And I mean pouring.  If it were up to me, we would have stayed home because, quite frankly, I am not waterproof and after one errand in the rain, I look like a drowned rat.  But, my kids were excited to get all handsome on learning about the wonderful world of mammals, so off we went.

Look!  It’s a beaver!

No.  That’s Handsome Dude.  He is so tricky.

So, we get to the field trip (with several other homeschoolers) and the kids all sit down while a lovely lady gave them a little lecture on mammals.  There are some brilliant kids in this group and I am impressed by their knowledge of mammals.

And then, there’s my kids.

Lovely Lady:  Can anyone guess what other animal belongs in the dog family besides a wolf?

Little Dude (looking oh-so-proud of himself):  DOLPHINS!

Lovely Lady:  Well . . . no . . .

Little Dude:  THE SUN!

Fantastic.

Luckily, Sweet Pea and Handsome Dude both answered questions correctly and totally redeemed the Maliblahblah name.

Sweet Pea correctly identified the bone from a rabbit’s foot.  Go figure.

Handsome Dude correctly identified the tracks from a deer.  Go figure.

Look!  It’s another beaver!

No.  That’s Little Dude.  Keep up, people!

Next, Lovely Lady brought out an injured owl named Barbara.

Right before Barbara’s debut, Handsome Dude was starting to go into meltdown mode.

HD (whining):  When are we LEAVING?  This place makes my heart hurt!

Attention Peoples Who Are Planning On Having Offspring At A Future Date:  If, per chance, you ever are blessed to have a preschooler, please note that when they start complaining about stuff that does not make sense or would never, ever, happen, understand that they are LYING and just trying to get their way.  It is best to smile at the child, show them to their seat, and force them to listen to a delightful speech on owls, hurting heart and all.

Owl Information:  It’s good for them.

Turns out Handsome Dude was fascinated by the story of Barbara.

And later that evening told his dad every fact that Lovely Lady had mentioned.

Color me surprised!

***

After the field trip, we had to run errands because that is what us rural people do.  I have decided to try making my own dishwasher detergent.  I have not heard good things about these recipes, but here’s to hoping.

The recipe, which I got here, calls for:

1 box Borax

1 box Super Washing Soda

3 cups Epsom salts

24 packs of unsweetened Lemonade flavored Kool-Aid (Weird, I know)

You mix all the ingredients and use 1 tablespoon per load. You are also supposed to add something called Lemi-Shine to each load.

So, I get to Walmart, figuring they will have everything I need.  It is pouring rain, and yes, the first thing I heard when I walked through the doors was:

“Boy!  You sure got your hands full!”

Because, apparently, the general public has never seen a mother with FOUR children before.  So uncommon.

Walmart has two of the ingredients.  I am bound and determined to make this detergent today, so off we go to Fred Meyer.

Now, the most annoying part in all of this is that Little Dude cannot fit into his 5 point harness seat with his puffy, winter jacket on.  So at each stop we must not only do the carseat unloading, but also the jacket donning.  Which does not sound like a big deal, but trust me, after about 10 stops, the novelty wears off.

Fred Meyer does not have the Kool-Aid.  We had to go to about 5 stores, but we finally got all the ingredients.

I ran a load last night and so far, it looks pretty good.  I am not sure how much cheaper it is all going to be, so I will have to keep you updated.

And I know you want to be updated.  Don’t pretend this does not excite you, too.

***

Finally, Sweet Pea wrote a letter into a kid’s magazine and it is going to be published this summer.  She is pretty sure this makes her the bee’s knees.  The magazine asked me to send in her picture, so I thought I would share:

Happy Tuesday!

On Friday, my dearheart friend Amanda and her offspring came to visit us.  It was a gorgeous day and we banished all the children outside.  Yes . . . after about two hours we were met with some resistance by the aforementioned children, but Amanda and I held our ground, drank coffee, and kept closing the door on their sweet, protesting faces.

Don’t feel bad for them.  It was sunny and 63 degrees.  We won’t see that kind of weather again in these here parts until the end of June.

As we were chatting, I mentioned the dudes were spending Friday and Saturday night with David’s parents.

Amanda:  What are you doing with the girls?

Me:  Nothing.

Amanda (looking at me as if I were an insane, crazy person):  Why not?

Me:  Well, we have no plans.  We will probably just work outside.

Amanda:  So what?  A weekend without kids?!  Are you kidding me?

I just shrugged and went back to closing the door on my pleading children.  But then I got to thinking about just how BRILLIANT Amanda truly is.  I called my mother right then and there to pawn off the girls and BAM! I scored a weekend without children.

I KNOW!  I could barely believe my good fortune.

Next we went to church.  You might recall, dear readers, that David and I help out teaching elementary kids.  You might also recall that David is considered THE heartthrob to some of the ladies in the class.

Little Girl to me:  You see that man over there?  With the microphone?

(She was pointing to David)

Me:  Yes?

Little Girl:  I’m gonna go spank his bottom!

Me:  No.  You should not do that, sweetie.

Stay tuned when next week I shall make my debut speech to the children entitled:

Things We Should Not Ever Do in Church, or  . . . EVER.

I am the worship leader.  I stand on a stage and everything.  Please do not tell me I should try out for American Idol or anything.  I have heard it so much, it is, quite frankly, getting old.

We had to do this one song called “Get Down.”  The words go something like:

I get down, and He lifts me up.  I get down, and He lifts me up . . .

Now.  At some point in our church’s existence, somebody came up with the motions that all us “worship leaders” must do when we are “leading worship.”  This song requires that I, said worship leader, bend all the way down to the ground that then quickly jump up.  This motion must be repeated 4.2 million times in order to adequately lead the worship.

I discovered something about myself that night:

I have no quad muscles.

I did at one point in my youth.  But apparently, they are gone, because it is Sunday and if I even have to bend to sit in the chair to stare at Pinterest on the computer, my legs BURN.

Let’s move on.

There is a new Facebook group in our area where people can buy/sell things.  It is kind of like Craigslist, and actually, I have no idea how it is any different, but there are some pretty cool things on there.  David and I have been talking about getting an extra fridge for our garage.  Our kids go through a lot of milk and we will need a place to store our future eggs from our future chickens, because have you heard?

We are hillbillies.

So, a gal was selling a fridge on this Facebook group and only wanted $20 for it.  I, being the good Maliblahblah that I am, looked around on Craigslist and could find no fridge even close to $20, so I called my husband post haste.

I ain’t gonna lie.  He was proud of me and my frugal ways.

I was to arrange all the arrangements with the gal and HIS ONE JOB was to find a handtruck.

Oh, and drive the truck, load the fridge, strap the fridge in, and unload the fridge.  But the MAIN job was to find the handtruck.  Because, dear readers, my husband thinks I am stronger than I am.  And every time we have to move something, he assures me I am strong enough and alas, I am not, and then he gets mad and doesn’t talk to me and does it himself and we have to be perturbed with each other for like 4 hours all because HE DOESN’T FIND THINGS LIKE HANDTRUCKS.  Or able-bodied men.

So, we are driving the truck to church so that after church we can pick up this fridge and guess what David did not get?

A handtruck.  And, no.  I don’t really know what a handtruck is.  So don’t ask me.

So, the plan, according to this gal on Facebook, was for us to go to this vacant house with no power at 9pm and pick up the fridge and then drive by her house about 10 minutes away and give her the cash.  Which was not shady at all.

Thankfully, Jack and Lisa, our kin, met us at the vacant house where we were doing anything but breaking and entering, and helped us load the fridge.

And when I said “us” I, of course, meant helped David.  I just held the flashlight.

The problem was that when we got home, it would be just David and I to unload the fridge.  So, basically, it would be the end of our marriage.  Which is unfortunate.

On our kidless Saturday morning, we got right to our chores.  Wood cutting/Wood Stacking/Tree Trimming/Brush Clearing and all that fun stuff.

David was trimming trees

And I was trying to convince him that he should probably wear a helmet.

My job was to move the branches into a huge burn pile.  And, yes, burn piles are legal here, so simmer down.

These branches are huge.  Like small trees.  I was having quite the time of it, especially with my sore, worship-leader legs.

I asked David if there was an easier way.  And yes there was.

I, yes, I, Taylor Maliblahblah learned how to drive a bulldozer.

Look!  That’s me!

Clearing brush like a boss.

I am happy to report that:

A)  I did not break anything

B)  David did not fall out of a tree

C)  David moved the fridge all by himself and we our marriage did not dissipate as a result of it

D)  My legs STILL hurt

E)  I miss my kids.

Happy Sunday!

I am bound and determined to be Susie Homemaker.  And everybody knows that one of the things a Susie Homemaker must do is cut her family’s hair.

This I do.

However, it is also required that Susie Homemaker does a GOOD JOB at the aforementioned hair cutting.

This I don’t.

The other night, I decided to cut my boys’ hair.  My number one goal is to give them a “handsome cut.”  With scissors, not clippers.  Little Dude turns into a monster when you try to cut his hair, so he gets buzzed, it cannot be helped.  Handsome Dude, who knows he is handsome, is willing to sit for a bit so he can look that much more charming.  I finished his cut and was all proud of myself.  I may have even boasted to my beloved regarding my styling awesomeness.

But the next morning . . .

Seriously?  Can you see all the cut marks?  Awful!  Dreadful!  Susie Homemaker would be so disappointed in me.

Attention Homemakers Who Are Worthy of the Title:  Do you have any tips for me on hair-cutting?  I need help.

In other news, let’s talk about mud.

Mud.  It is the scourge of my existence.  It has defeated me and I shall never recover.  Since David is a bulldozing maniac, all are lands are filled with mud.  Need I remind you that I have four children and two large-ish dogs?

I found a bunch of this matter on my carpets.

Is it poop or mud?  You be the judge.

If you go with the former, you could also be the judge of whether or not it is:

A)  Dog Poop

B)  Rabbit Poop

C)  Deer Poop

This was my bed after the dudes sat on it.

Good times.  Good times with mud.

It is a gorgeous, albeit muddy day here in Ruralville.  It is a sweltering 50 degrees, so Daisy Mae broke out the shorts and flipflops.  Because she has good thinking skills (or skillz if you prefer).

The astute reader will take time to notice the mud and recall that I was justified in saying that mud was the scourge of my existence.  But I digress.

Little Dude asking me for new pants.

Because he “accidentally” got mud over them.  Notice him standing by his father’s equally clean work boots.

Notice his father left his work boots on the carpets.

Notice how Little Dude cannot put his socks on correctly.

Notice Little Dude’s bum.

Notice how the front door has been left wide open.

This is because Daisy Mae has announced summer’s arrival.

And now, a few random bits of nothing.

I hope you have your party pants on.

1)  This morning while the boys were getting dressed I heard much wailing and gnashing of teeth.

Little Dude:  James!  James!  James!  I want James on my bum!

Handsome Dude:  Sorry!  It’s my turn!  James is on my bum! Ha!

This convo shocked me.  And rightfully so.  Turns out they were fighting over Thomas the Train underwear that featured a train named James.  Good times.

Yes.  We have community underwear.  Don’t you?

2.  Mother called me from work today on speaker phone.

Mom:  Taylor!  Can you hear me?  You’re on speaker phone!

Me:  Ok?

Mom:  I need to know if you know what a Jell-O shot it?

Me:  Um . . . Am I going to be in trouble if I say yes?

Mom:  So you know what it is?

Me:  Yes.

Mom:  Shoot.  I just lost a bet.

Me:  Does it help if I tell you I have never had one?

Mom:  Now I have to buy someone lunch.  Alright.  Bye.

3.  Was not that convo from my mother odd?  Can we not all agree?

4.  Luckily, David just told me what Jell-O shots were last week when I suggested making Jell-O with Sierra Mist.

You learn something new every day.

5.  I was helping Daisy Mae with a lesson today.  As I am wont to do.  The question was true or false.  I asked her the question.

Daisy Mae:  That’s right, so false!

6.  If anyone wants to nominate me for any homeschooling mom awards, let me know.

7.  Handsome Dude is currently singing a song he made up all by himself.

It goes:

“What does Mommy love?  Snacks!”

8.  I was a bit miffed at him, since I am so healthy and rarely eat junk.  But then I saw the salsa in the fridge and got all handsome on some chips and salsa.

Well-played, Handsome Dude.  Well-played.

9.  A bounty hunter called David this weekend to inform him they are performing a stakeout at our rental house for some alleged illegal activity.

So, that’s fun.

10.  This is the sort of Tom Foolery that goes on in these here parts:

Sweet Pea weaved Handsome Dude’s glasses into a blanket.  Because, have you heard?  We love to go get glasses repaired.

Alright.  I must go.  I am sure there is something and or someone to clean/wipe/feed/discipline.

Oh, look.

Mud.

That’s odd.

Please be advised:  I completely and unabashedly stole the phrase “The Scourge of My Existence” from my pretend-friend Erin.

I am sure she is cool with it.

Yesterday was “Going To Town Day.”  A lovely day, if there ever was one.  And, yes, we did make a trip to get the glasses repaired, for what is this blog without broken glasses?  After a long day filled with homeschool co-op, piano lessons, and numerous errands, I was eager to start the long drive home.

Right before I left town, Handsome Dude conveniently informed that he had to go potty WEE BAD.  I really, really, REALLY did not want to stop.

There comes a point in every mother’s day where she just cannot handle the thought of loading children into car seats any longer.  But, I digress.

I tried to map out places on the highway in my head that I could stop and have him pee on the side of the road if need be.  But then I was horrified at the sort of hillbilly I had become who would even entertain such a thought.

Plus, it was raining, and I’d prefer to not get my hair wet.

I decided to go to the grocery store.  Because we always need milk anyways.  Handsome Dude took care of business and off we went to grab the milk.  I, being the brilliant gal that I am, decided to get TWO gallons of milk, so I would not have to send my husband to the store again the next day, as I am wont to do.

We drink a lot of milk.

Handsome Dude thinks he is a man these days.  He informed me that he is nearly ready to cut down tress and bring in firewood.  I do not believe him because the boy cannot even get toothpaste on his toothbrush correctly.  But I let him have his moment.  He is quite the little gentleman and offered to hold the milk for me.  I thanked him for his kindness and handed one of the gallons over.

HD:  No, mom.  I hold BOFE of them.

Me:  No, it is too heavy.

HD:  Mom!  MOM!  MOOOOM!  I am almost 5!  I am stronger, right?

Me:  Just one.

So, we were waiting “patiently” in line, I with one gallon, HD with the other.  Daisy Mae was being uEber annoying by giving Little Dude a piggy back ride and insisting they talk in creepy-bunny voices.

There was an older lady in front of us.  She looked at the commotion behind her and just smiled.  Bless her heart.

Then Handsome Dude dropped his milk.

Did you know that plastic can break?  Neither did I.

So.  Milk is splashing everywhere.  Handsome Dude looks horrified.  I am angry, but trying not to blow because it was just an accident.  But seriously.  AHHHHHHHHH.

The older lady in front of me was nice as can be.  Amazingly, enough.

Older Lady to Handsome Dude:  Well, sir, that was just an accident, wasn’t it?

Me:  I’m sorry, I hope we didn’t get milk on you!

Older Lady:  I am just fine.

And she turns and there is milk all over her jeans.

Me:  Oh, I’m sorry.  It does look like there is milk on your pants.

She looks at her pants and smiles at me.

Older Lady:  You know what?  I bet my washing machine will fix that right up!  It’s not a problem!

And that’s exactly how I needed her to respond.  Because somedays, it is just hard to be a mom.  Somedays, I feel like a failure.  Somedays, I feel like I just cannot do it.

Because . . . have you read my blog?

But she did not scold me, lecture me, criticize me, or become annoyed with me.  She treated me with grace and kindness.

She’s also my new favorite grocery store stranger ever because not once did she say any of the following phrases:

“Boy, you’ve got your hands full!”

“Are those kids all yours?!?”

“Why aren’t they in school?”

“Does the little on there have the same dad?”

So, thank you, grocery store stranger, for being kind to us.

And not questioning my son’s paternity.

Like the stranger last week did.

***

And while we are on the topic of feeling like a failure as a mom . . .

Little Dude.

Oh, boy.  He is testing the limits lately.

Last night, we put him to bed.  About an hour later, we hear the piano keys pounding.

Which was shocking and all because our kids are so obedient.

David sneaks downstairs to startle him.  Because that’s the kind of parents we are.

David:  What are you doing?

Little Dude (shocked):  What, dad?  What?

David:  It’s BEDTIME!

Little Dude:  But, Dad!  I need to do my piano lessons!

?

What is up with this kid? Such a punk.  He’s lucky he’s cute, too.

Me:  We are going to plant a garden this year.  What should we plant?  Potatoes?  Carrots?  Corn?

Little Dude:  Yum!  Yes and berries and cinnamon rolls!

I would totes love a cinnamon roll tree in my garden.

Later, dudes.

Would you like to see what my husband does in his free time?

Trims trees.  Can you see him up there?

How strange is he?

He is bound and determined to trim every single tree on our property.  Apparently, it makes things look nicer?  I cannot be certain.

I think he is even planning on trimming the trees that we never see.  Why?  Maybe to impress the deer.  Who knows?  David and I are rarely on the same page.  Keeps things spicy.

Today was just a lovely day.  I hardly did a thing.  Oh, I had grand plans to make my own hand soap and plan out the remainder of the school year . . . but it just didn’t happen.

Instead we had friends over for lunch.  Yes.  We have friends.  Why do you ask?

Afterwards, the boys wanted to go on bike rides.  Handsome Dude is a speedy little guy on a bike, so David took him on a bike ride.  Little Dude thinks he can ride a bike, but, alas.  He cannot.  So Little Dude and I took a walk.

Taking a preschooler on a walk with you is precious.  SLOW . . . but precious.  He must notice and discuss everything.

Today’s hot topic?  All the “ribbers.”  Which were not actually rivers, but just the melted snow.

He went the entire way with his boots on the wrong feet.  Before we left, I asked him if I could help him properly attire his feet.  He would have none of it.  He assured me things are comfier this way.

Look who we ran into on our lovely walk!

Handsome Dude!  The astute reader might notice that the boy is not wearing glasses.  This is because all three pairs are currently broken.  Such is life.

It appears as if David took Handsome Dude  through some mud puddles.

It’s a good thing my HOMEMADE laundry soap works so well.  How weird are we?  Homemade soap indeed.  David and Dirty Dude went back to the house while Little Dude continued on our Walk O’Ribbers.  We met a neighbor on a tractor.  He was friendly, as most neighbors on tractors are.

Little Dude to Neighbor:  The snow-the snow-the-snow . . . the sun melt the snow and it turns into ribbers and the deers drink the waters in the ribbers of the snow!

Neighbor: Eh?

Oh, well.  Not everyone can speak “3 year old”, can they?

David and company came back on the 4 wheeler.  Just to show us they can lap us, I guess.  Little Dude bailed on me.

David was proud of himself for remembering a helmet for Handsome Dude.  I have implemented new safety rules as of late, because that’s what moms do.  I asked him why Daisy Mae didn’t have a helmet.  He thought that as long as one of the kids had helmets on, he was good to go.

?

Nice try, Lumberjack. I sent him back up the road to fetch more helmets.

Check this out.

How hillbillies, such as ourselves, spend their weekends.

Riding a 4-wheeler with a garbage can attached.  The garbage can is so the kids can recycle aluminum cans.  Remember . . . they are saving up for a horse?  Because that is precisely what we need.

Happy Sunday!

David was reading my blog the other night.  Which is odd for him.  He was laughing.

Laughing, people!  Laughing.

The only other time he laughed whilst reading my blog was one time last summer.  I remember it well.  I was canning peaches.  Because, have you heard?  I’m super weird.  I had gotten all excited-like to hear his amusement, only to discover he was laughing at the comment Erin had made.  Oh, for the disappointment of it all.  So, when I discovered him laughing at something I had actually wrote, I had to go back and read the post to see what was so funny.  And while I was reading the post (of which I didn’t find all that funny), I noticed a major typo that no one caught.

Ha!

I was discussing my husband, and his general insaneness, and mentioned his WENCH.

When,  in fact, I believe I meant WINCH.

A wench.

AKA:What I don’t want my husband to have.

Normally, if I made a teensy-weensy mistake, you people are all up in my face letting me know about it.  You let me down, people.  You let me down.

But it’s all good.

***

Today was another day full of homesteading fun.  I went on a tour of our lands with my wench-less husband so we could plan out our future garden and chicken coop.

I gotta admit, people, I am excited.  This garden is going to be epic.  I have great plans to make it look like this:

(source)

I’ll probably even get that hat and everything.

I’m certain gardening will be a breeze and it shall cause me no strife.

I’m also pretty jazzed about this chicken coop.  I can only hope I will get over my fear of touching a live chicken.  David said I could paint the coop red.

RED, people!  RED!

I’m living the dream.

After he told me about my RED chicken coop, I got on the Pinterest to get some ideas, and oh my lands, there are chicken coops out there that are nicer than my house.

(source)

I am all a-flutter.  I am about to go and show my dapper husband all of my Pinterest finds.  I can only hope he will get the same twinkle in his eye as I have in mine.

Wish me luck!

PS-This is for all those the two people who have read my blog for awhile and remember my great fear of recipes containing the horrific words “active dry yeast”  . . . .

Look at me with my big-girl-breadmaking-pants on!

Holla!