The Lumberjack's Wife

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!

1.  I believe I have an ear infection.

2.  I did not fall asleep until 2am.

3.  Today is Field Trip Day/Going to Town Day/Grocery Shopping Day/Trying to Sneak in School at My Parents’ House Whilst in Town Day/Awana Day/Every Other Errand Known to Man Day.

4.  This seems fitting for today:

(source)

5.  I am guest posting today over at Sweet Peas and Buddies.  Guest Posting makes me wee nervous.

ATTENTION DAD:

DO NOT BE ALARMED!  THERE ARE MULTIPLE BLOGS IN THE WORLD, PROBABLY MILLIONS, IN FACT.  I HAVE WRITTEN A POST FOR TODAY AND IT IS JUST IN A DIFFERENT LOCATION.  EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OKAY.

Alright.  That being said, please come and visit me over at Sweet Peas and Buddies.

CLICK HERE.

Guest posts make my tummy feel all nervous-like.

Please go see me over there . . .  I would greatly appreciate it!  Thank you!

Happy Tuesday.

UPDATE:  I published this and just realized today is Wednesday.  Is that a foretelling of how today will go?

Happy WEDNESDAY.

I ended up getting sick.  Let us all have a moment of pity for me.

Thank you.

Luckily, I fell ill during the weekend whilst my noble husband was home.  Snow fell the entire day on Saturday.  This completely ruined Mr. Lumberjack’s life.  You see, dear readers, Mr. Lumberjack needs to be doing something.  And that something has to be ridiculous . . . or, to him, it is not worth doing at all.

Oh, sure.  I had several ideas for things we could do.

Spring cleaning?

Organize our important papers?

Go through the closets?

No.  He will have none of it.

On Sunday, however, the snow ceased to fall.  And a world of possibilities opened up for him.  Regrettably, Sunday was the day I felt the worst.  Like the kind man that he is, he sent me off to bed and said he was taking the kids outside.

To do what, you ask?  I simply cannot say.  I’ve learned, dear readers, that it is best not to inquire of such things.  For I usually won’t approve and will spend the rest of the day bemoaning the fact that we are now truly hillbillies.

As I was “resting,” the children came in one by one, each slamming the door and leaving a trail of muddy boots and wet jackets behind them.  A couple of hours went by and my Lumberjack had not come in.

It was well-past lunch time and I, the poor sick dear that I was, had to get up and feed the children.  I was a bowl full of sunshine as I pulled out some leftovers, left them on the counter and said,

“These are your choices.  I am making nothing else and you are eating nothing else until dinner.”

Because I am warm and loving, didn’t you know?  I tried looking out the window to ascertain what in the world my husband was doing.  I could hear the bulldozer and deduced that he was plowing the driveway.  And that, dear readers, is fine and nothing to get in a huff about.  Even if I was sickly.

As I was doing the dishes, I looked out the window and noticed this:

My husband’s truck wench working ueber hard to pull something up.

And I went back to doing dishes.  Because, dear readers, this is life here.  I was not surprised in the least to see my husband had gotten himself stuck somewhere.  Then I had to laugh that I thought it was completely normal to see such a site.

I followed the line to see what my manly man was up to on such a lovely Sunday afternoon.

The dozer.  Of course.  But why, pray tell, is my husband bull dozing the back 40 and not the driveway?

I know not.

As he was trying to pull the dozer out of the snow, I noticed the dozer tipping.  I totally thought it was going to fall over and crush him.  But every time I rush out there with my safety concerns, he laughs at my foolishness and says:

“Yeah.  Whatever, Teller.”

So, I went back to sweeping.  As per my usual custom.

As I was cleaning and feeling generally sorry for myself, Sweet Pea, bless her heart, entertained the boys with stories, songs, and prayer time.  Because she is trying to do a better job than I, apparently, with the rearing of the boys.

That’s Little Dude praying.  His prayers are pretty cute and usually just involve a rundown of the day.

“And thank you-thank you that we go ‘side.  And eat wunch.  And read books.  And Mommy not talking to us?  And A-men.”

Ha!  And mommy not talking to us . . . Poor boy.  My throat hurt!  I did not want to talk!

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I noticed new sounds coming from my husband’s giant playground.

He hath loosed himself from the treacherous snow and was off to do . . . whatever it is he was doing.  Which was certainly not plowing, since that is nowhere near the driveway my friends.

You see him looking at me?  That is not the look of loving adoration, which is how he usually looks at me.  Nay.  It is a look that says:

“Why on earth must this woman photograph and record every mundane detail  of our lives?”

But I care not.  I have not left the house in 8 days and I need SOMETHING to do.

I think he is trying to level the land so we can prepare it for chickens.  Because, have you heard?  We are totally making the switch to complete and utter country folks.  It was inevitable, folks.

***

Later he came inside.

David:  Why aren’t you in bed?

Me:  Um . . . we have four kids?  They need care?

David:  Well, I will take care of them.  Go to bed.

Me:  What are you doing out there?

David:  I thought I was a gone-er.

Me:  Why?

David:  Did you see the dozer?  It almost fell on me!

Marrying David.  Not for the faint of heart.

***

In other news . . . I saw this humorous little thing and put it on my sister’s Facebook wall and tagged my mother in it.

(source)

Because it exactly like being in their house.  And usually, we have to call Meagan, aka MegaTech, to let us know what my parents’ passwords are.

Amazingly, mother saw this on the Facebook and wrote:

“What’s WIFI?”

Now, dear readers, I do not know if she was serious or not, but it was epic.

Happy Monday!

Last time we chatted, Little Dude wasn’t a bit sick.  This has changed and the poor chap is weak and weary.  You know how I know he is sick?

Because he is TAKING A NAP IN WHICH SLEEPING IS INVOLVED.  I’m really quite worried.  A trip to the ER might be in order.

Let us discuss the dogs.  Tank and Miley, if you will.

They feel they belong to the girls and only the girls.  The other night, the girls were in their room with the door closed.  The dogs were in the depths of despair, standing forlorn outside their door, just staring at it.

Tank is especially protective of his girls.  If David goes to load the fire late at night, which is near the girls’ room, out comes Tank, struttin’ his stuff, barking at the obvious intruder.

If I go to the bathroom( which happens, oh, 4.2 million times in the middle of the night because I have had four children and that’s that),  up the stairs comes Mr. Ferocious to inform me that I am also an intruder.

If the lights are off, Tank barks.

If a rabbit breathes, Tank barks.

If a leaf falls, Tank barks.

If nothing happens, Tank barks.

If, however, a rabbit is loose, Tank goes back to sleep.  Tank is too lazy to actually be a dog.  He just enjoys feigning to be one.

Tank has gas.  It is getting to be a problem.  I spend all my time near him with my shirt covering my face.  And, as Erin cleverly mentioned, he should be called Gas Tank.  Let us all share a giggle because Erin is punny.  And we love her, yes we do.

So, there you go.  The Dog Update.  Let’s move on.

Last night, I decided to read the Bible to the kids.  The girls had been doing a lesson earlier on John 11, which is the story of Lazarus, so I decided to read that story.

As I was reading, I come to the names “Mary” and “Martha.”

HD (bewildered): Mar-FA?

Me:  Yes.  Martha.

HD:  Oh!  Mar-FA!  Like that talking dog!

(source)

Me:  Huh?

Sweet Pea:  It’s a TV show, Mom.

So that was humorous.  We went on with the story and it named Thomas, the disciple.

HD:  Thomas??

Me:  Yes.  Thomas.

HD:  Oh!  THOMAS!  Like that nice, blue train!

(source)

In completely unrelated news, I am pondering whether or not it would be beneficial to keep the boy back from kindergarten next year.

Because, yikes.

Happy Friday!