The Lumberjack's Wife

Our ginormous tree is still not decorated.  We ran out of lights and had to purchase many new strands.  As a result, our budget is now blown for the month and we will be feasting on nothing but beans and rice, rice and beans. (Name that Financial Guru.)

When we informed Daisy Mae that we would not be decorating the tree tonight, she fell on the ground and wailed:

“All my life!  All my life, Mom!  I have waited to decorate this tree ALL MY LIFE!  I can’t TAKE IT anymore!”

Such drama.  I wash my hands of it.  I think we might decorate the tree tomorrow night.  Or we might see if Daisy Mae will explode.  Tough one.

The girls had a piano recital on Sunday.

Here they are, feeling confident, per usual.

My girls have uber different personalities.  Sweet Pea (pink vest) gets a little more stressed out and concerned about such things.  She sits and taps her legs, chews her lip, holds her sheet music tightly, and checks the program over and over to make sure she won’t miss her turn.

She gets up there and says the title of her song.  The title is spoken with such speed that it cannot be understood by human ears.

Here is Sweet Pea announcing the song selection to the crowd:

Did you hear it?  Did you?

I missed it.

She does well for her performance, but it kills me because I feel nervous for her . . . because I know she is nervous.

True Story:  When I was a young lass, I would get quite nervous for piano recitals.  My hands would be violently shaking and I would be unable to play anything.  My mother resorted to giving me sedaditves before each performance.

So Sweet Pea takes after me.  Poor dear.

Daisy Mae, however,  likes to keep things loosie goosie.  She doodles on the program and prattles on and on to her grandparents.  Her loving family members have to remind her that it is time to play her song.  She’s never quite sure where her music is, but she’s sure it will turn up eventually.

She played her songs out of order.  When her older sister informed her of her mistake, Daisy Mae just grinned with her darling dimples and giggled:

“Oops!”

The only thing worrying Daisy Mae on Sunday was whether or not her mother would be able to give her a curly pony tail.

Nailed it.

Handsome Dude had his preschool music program tonight.

He is the four year old who looks like a seven year old and is wearing glasses.

Hold the phone!  My boy!  Wearing his glasses!  In one piece?!  That’s crazy talk.

I was getting Handsome Dude all ready for his debut tonight.

“Mom!  Stop doing that to my hair!  My girl (his teacher) doesn’t want me to look so handsome!”

He’s a humble guy, you know?  When we got to the school, he decided to show us the ropes.

“Ok, ever-buddy!  No running in the halls!  No screaming in the halls!  No LELL-ing (yelling) in the halls!  And ever-buddy listen to teacher!”

And this has nothing to do with anything, but I want to remember it forever and so I am writing it down in this very blog that you are reading.

Handsome Dude calls scissors “Rock Paper Scissors.”  Because that is obviously the simpler choice.

“Mom!  Can I use Rock Paper Scissors?”

“Mom!  Teacher says I have to hold my Rock Paper Scissors wee carefully.”

So precious.

***

We were all dressed and decent at the same time on Sunday, so I informed my beloved that we should take a photo for the annual Christmas card.

I’m pretty sure Handsome Dude is not grabbing his crotch.  I think he is just posing.

Little Dude is probably telling me my brown hair is “icky.”  Because he is pleasant like that.

Little Dude.  “How YOU doin’?”

Handsome Dude.  He’s wondering how much longer these pictures are going to take and he’s pretty sure that if he looks really far ahead of him, he can see the end.

No.  I didn’t try to correct him.  Just like I don’t correct him every morning when he steps on the scale and asks me if he is still four.

You must choose your battles wisely, folks.

No!  He’s not grabbing his crotch!

Sweet Pea has kept the same sassy leg pose the whole time.  FYI.

David!  He’s totes putting out the vibe.

And THAT dear readers, is the picture that will make it onto our Christmas card.

For it will do.  Yes.  It will do.

Goodnight.

For the past few days, we have been trying to decide what to do about a Christmas tree.  We usually get a tree from a grocery store for about $20, but have noticed that those trees die immediately upon arrival.

Yesterday, I called around to some local tree farms.  We could go to a farm, cut our own tree, and enjoy complimentary cocoa for anywhere from $50-$130.  The guy who quoted me $130 should be slapped.  But we could go for the $50 trees, I guess.  Plus, we could all sip cocoa, so that would be merry.

Then I saw this out my kitchen window whilst doing the dishes.

My husband.  Trimming trees on our property.  Because he can.

My husband is not uber festive.  So this season does not excite him.  He is, however, very lumberjack-y.  Therefore, and henceforth, we decided to all get bundled up and just pick out a tree on our property, knowing full well that it would be a little Charlie Brown-ish.

The kids started out with high hopes.

But don’t let those smiles fool you.  Soon, there will be much weeping and gnashing of teeth.  It would seem our kids are lacking the endurance and patience needed for Christmas tree hunting.  Except for Little Dude.  He got carried most of the way and just kept loudly proclaiming:

“It’s Christmas!  It’s Christmas, Daddy!  Woo Hoo!”

We walked around our lands for about an hour.

The kids were exhausted.  The kids legs stopped working.  The kids were wee thirsty.  The kids could not go on any longer.  The kids were freezing.  The kids were bored.  The kids could use a little snack.  The kids no longer care about Christmas.  The kids don’t really see the need for a tree.  The kids wonder why they had to move to the country?

The kids saw deer poop.  The kids liked this.

Daisy Mae dropped to the ground and announced to everyone that she had died.  As we all passed her, lying dead on the deer-poo covered ground, we wished her well and thanked for the few years we had together.

Handsome Dude was aghast that we would just leave his sister to die in the woods.

“Wait, Dad!  Mom!  I think I saw her move!  She maybe not dead!”

sob*wail*sob

Handsome Dude took a stick and gave the not-so-dead Daisy Mae a fierce poke, to ensure her deadness.

Daisy Mae, who miraculously resurrected herself from the dead, jumped up and whacked Handsome Dude.  And the two of them screamed and cried for all the injustice in the world, while the rest of us remained unimpressed.

Except Little Dude.

“Look, everyone!  Its Christmas!  Woo Hoo!”

We started to head back towards the house when Sweet Pea shouted that she had found THE tree.

David and I looked at it and knew full well that we could do no better.

So.  We decided to make it our own.

We headed back to the house where I started to make the hot chocolate and David and Daisy Mae went back to chop the tree down.

David pulled the tree into the house.

 And it was a smidge bigger than we recalled.  But if we suck in our stomachs, we can squeeze by it and still get to the kitchen, no problem.

And we were worried that it wouldn’t be “full.”

The mammoth tree fell over no less than 8 times as David was trying to position it.  I suggested we bungee cord it to the wall, and that suggestion rendered no response, so I am guessing he was just mad that he didn’t think of it first.

He got it all situated and we sat down to dinner.

And while feasted on my delicious meal, the tree came crashing down.  No one even blinked or said anything.  We just went back to eating.

We were numb.  Numb, people.

After dinner, David made some tasty cookies.  The girls and I got to work on our popcorn garland.

I think I am going to need a lot of garland for that tree.

We ran out of lights, so the tree is not decorated.  But good news!  The tree has not crashed down for about 12 hours!

And that was our night.  It was joyful AND triumphant.

It has been gorgeous here lately.

Look at that!  December and everything!  Auntie Datenutloaf, who lives in sunny southern California, tosses around the idea of moving here every now and again.  But she is afraid of this . . .

. . . and our winters that tend to last from November to June.  But look, Auntie!

It CAN be pretty here!  Upon occasion.

The kids are driving me looney tunes today, which is to be expected since it is Friday and you all know how much I love the home school/ laundry/house cleaning routine.  One of my pupils, who shall rename nameless, has cried over everything today.

Said child missed a problem in math.

*tears*

Said child was given a book for required reading that looked WAY TOO HARD, MOOOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*more tears*

Said child was told the sentence she wrote was sloppy.  And this child knows darn well that every sentence ends with a punctuation mark.  Mmmm-hmmmm.

*a plethora of tears*

Said child was told to redo the Latin worksheet.  Seeing as how it was all wrong-ish.

*well-spring of tears and snot*

So.  I sent them all outside for recess.  And I do believe it is a chillsome 30 degrees today.

I care not.  As is evidenced by my blogging/popcorn consumption activities that are commencing as we speak.

I have a confession to make: I have gone back to the creamer.  It had to be done.  I have four kids, you know?

I tried.  Truly, I did.

Is it too early to get a fresh Christmas tree?  Because last year’s tree was kind of a bust.

A slight fire hazard.  I believe we got that one from the store the Saturday after Thanksgiving last year.  My sister-in-law also got her tree from that store and took it back because it was so dead.

You can take back Christmas trees!  Who knew?!

The kids want to cut down our own tree.  This has never gone over well in the past and has caused marital discord between my beloved and I.

Herein lies the problem:  I want a tree that looks good.  And he’s just a guy with a truck and a chainsaw who wants to go home.  So, we always drive around and spend no less than $200 on fuel, only to end up at the store to buy one that will die a slow and painful death all over our carpet.

What to do, what to do . . .

In other news, the kids and I have decided it is time to deck the halls.  David is most unfestive this time of year.  Does this surprise you?  We find it necessary to do something to the deer mount or the rabbits.  We are certain he will be pleased with our merriment.

We are thinking the deer needs a red nose? Or the rabbits need Santa hats?

What say you?

My boys are racing around the house with Barbie RVs and flashlights, hunting for toenails.  I was not aware that we had an abundance of toenails on our carpet.  Not sure what to think about that.  I don’t think I will.

I went to see Haircut Lisa last night.  There are two main “Lisa’s” in my life.  I have a sister-in-law, Lisa.  She sneak-attack-fed me elk, so I might need to shun her.  I also have a Haircut Lisa.  Haircut Lisa has cut my hair since I was six.  She has seen me through plenty of hair-related strife.

I decided to go brown.

Now.  Everyone from my original family has brown hair, and it is a lovely shade.  I do not have this lovely shade.  Perhaps I was adopted?  I cannot be certain.

Here is a picture of me, my Marmie, and Sister Meagan, aka Martina.  Sister Meagan loves me and finds me charming, especially when I call her Martina.

Lest any of you are confused, I am the one with the not-so-brown hair.

And now, here is my new hair.

I sent this picture to Bimlissa and asked her why she never told me that I smile crooked.  Have I always done this?  Have I recently suffered from a stroke?  And forgot?

Bimlissa took awhile to answer me.  Her silence on the issue was a bit unsettling.

Bimlissa said I looked funny because I was taking my own picture.  But herein lies the problem:  I didn’t take this picture.  Daisy Mae did.

Me to Sweet Pea:  Does my mouth always look like that?

Sweet Pea:  Yes.  It has always freaked me out.

Me:  Really?

Sweet Pea:  Yes.  It looks weird, Mom.

Little Dude does not like my hair.  He told me it is brown and lucky.  And lucky means yucky, FYI.

Handsome Dude told me he wants the other hair Mommy back.

David doesn’t make eye contact with me and says:

“It’s different.”

So, there you go.

The elk!  Maybe it was the elk that made my mouth go all askew!  I knew that wild meat was trouble.  And speaking of askew, did you know that if you google “askew” the whole page goes askew?  People are amazing.

I attempted to capture Little Dude’s “Creepy Bunny Voice” today.  Because I know you have all been waiting with bated breath to finally hear his weirdness.

It’s not the best video, but he is basically talking in his weird voice the whole time.

The video was intended for Sister Meagan, but I decided to share it.  Please ignore the homeschool supply cabinet that is oveflowing behind me.  Usually, I am the epitomy of organization.

Is it just me, or is Handsome Dude HUGE for his age?  He is only four and keeping him in pants is exhausting.  Perhaps capris will become uber manly soon?  One can only hope.

Handsome Dude woke up from his nap this afternoon, loudly screeched/moaned/wailed, and then flopped on my bed and fell back asleep.  Such a shame.  He’s so pleasant, you know?

Nap time for Little Dude might be coming to an end.

I shall have this day for mourning.

Little Dude is only 3!  All of my kids napped until at least 4 1/2.  For I loveth naps.  But Little Dude is displaying a pattern of resistance these days.  Here is an example of how a typical nap time with Little Dude goes.

Me:  Go to sleep.

Little Dude:  O-Tay, Mom.

Me:  Do not get up.  Do not play toys.  Do not turn on your light.  Do not talk to your bunnies.  Just go to sleep.

Little Dude:  O-Tay. Give me “free” kisses.

“Free” kisses refers to three kisses, and actually refers to about 15 kisses, for the lad enjoys it when his mother kisses him furiously on the cheek numerous times in a row.  And I oblige because he is my last baby and Sweet Pea might slap me if I tried that business with her.

So, I go upstairs and continue with educating the girls.  One of my favorite past times, didn’t you know?

I hear a toilet and race downstairs.

Little Dude (shocked to see me): What!  What, Mom!?

Me:  You are supposed to be asleep!

Little Dude:  I have to peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Me:  You were supposed to do that before.  Go to sleep.

Little Dude:  O-Tay.

I go back upstairs and then I hear some rumbling.  Back downstairs, I find Little Dude has found his whole entourage of stuffed bunnies and puppies and has invited them to join him in his crib for story time.  And yes, the boy still has a crib.  He is my last baby, you know.

Little Dude (shocked to see me):  What!  What, Mom!?

Me:  No playing.  Bed.

Little Dude:  O-Tay.

Back upstairs I go, only to hear someone playing the piano downstairs.

Little Dude (shocked to see me):  What!  What, Mom!?

Me:  BED!

Little Dude:  O-Tay.

By now, we are done with school and I am trying to tidy up my house.  Which is odd, because it is usually so clean.  The phone rings and it is my beloved calling to alert me of his impending arrival.

Don’t get too excited, folks.  He’s just gonna come home and go hunting.  For he is a hunter man.  Have I mentioned this?

While I am on the phone, I spot Little Dude in a completely different bathroom then the one he was in previously.

The toilet is full of toilet paper and the boy is naked from the waist down.

Little Dude (shocked to see me):  What!   What, Mom!?

Me:  Dude!

Little Dude:  O-Tay.

And that, my dear friends, is the tragedy of my life.  The loss of nap time.  I think I am just going to have to switch him to quiet time in his room from now on.  He could use some more bonding time with his puppies and bunnies.  And yes.  He still talks in his creepy bunny voice.  And no.  I don’t have time to record it for you.  Plus, every time I try to record something, I say one of the kids’ factual names.  And THAT is against the rules.

***

I am tired today.  I stayed up until 1:33am reading a book, which was genius on my part.  I have this fantastic, not nerdy at all, set up for night time reading.  I have a flash light app on my phone and I prop it up on my chin.

There are a few problems with this plan:

A)  My chin mysteriously changes settings on my phone.  Once, it added a shortcut to reach one of my Facebook friends.  And this was a Facebook friend that I don’t really know.

Oh, come ON.  You have those sorts of Facebook friends, too, readers.  The “who is this person and why is Facebook telling me it is their birthday?” Facebook friends.

So, my chin kept starting to try and message this not-so-much friend.  Which would have been awkward.  Since we don’t really know each other.

B)  I often drop my book on my face.  Last night, the book corner hit so hard that I had to check if it left a mark.

C)  It didn’t.

D)  Sometimes, I read until 1:33 am.  And then I still have four kids and a full day of home school.

***

Tomorrow is December 1st.  This is brilliant news because December 1st is the last day of rifle hunting.

Oh, boo.

Now, David is still not sure if he will continue with the bow hunting, so who knows if the end is near.  The man is relentless.  He also informed me of plans to build a ginormous tree stand/house, complete with a floor and windows next summer.

My husband is a man-child.

He also drinks a jumbo mug of hot cocoa with 274 marshmallows on top every night for his bed time snack.

See?  Man-child.

Aaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnndddddddddddddd . . . I love him.

Also, word on the street is we might get vision insurance on December 1st.  Not that we ever need help with the glasses.

Someday, I’m going to do that photo tutorial you have all been begging me for.

Someday.

So.  It’s a bummer when your laptop’s power supply stops working.  And it takes you forever and a day to get a new one.  Hence the lack of blogging as of late.  But here I am, all is well.

Thanksgiving.

We went to David’s parents house first for Thanksgiving and had a most enjoyable time, per usual.  Jason and Amy, the happy newlyweds, came.

Me:  So . . . what’s new with you guys?

Jason:  Amy is NOT pregnant!

Sheesh.  Get asked that much there, Jas-Bud?  And now, because it is Monday, I must now share the ever so popular photo of Jason, that you all know and love.

After we had our feast, we loaded up the family and headed to my parents house for feast #2, because we like to watch our waistlines like that.  My mother has already decked her halls and there are roughly 27 Christmas trees of various shapes and sizes in her humble abode.

Little Dude (with a twinkle in his eye):  Christmas!  Christmas came to Grams’ house, Mama!

Yes.  Yes, it did, son.

My mother’s Thanksgiving table:

Excuse me.  I believe I ordered the LARGE pinecone.

After our gluttonous feast, we decided to go to see The Muppets movie, much to David’s chagrin.  Am I the only one who thinks “chagrin” should be spelled with an “sh?”  What is the matter with people?  Within the first five minutes, the entire movie screen was flooded with grown adults singing and dancing in the streets.  This caused David to murder me with his eyes, because apparently it is all my fault.

We had popcorn at the movies.  Between us and my parents, I believe we consumed about 4 tubfuls.  Because we like to watch our waistlines like that.  Take that, Weight Watchers!

At the end of the movie, the muppets sang some Mahna Mahna song, similar to this one:

Daisy Mae, who was apparently feeling spunky after helping in the partaking of bottomless sodas and popcorn, decided to entertain us all with a little ditty about what she thinks David does while hunting.  She would hold pretend binoculars, do a funky dance and sing:

“Mahna Mahna!  I see a deer! Mahna Mahna!  I’m going to shoot it! Mahna Mahna!”

It was humorous.  To us, at least.  David was still murdering me dead with his eyes.

Black Friday.

I stayed the night at my parents’ house on Thanksgiving, all for the sake of shopping.  Because all adult children should stay the night at their parents’ house again at least once.  One time, Sister Meagan was coming home and mother called to warn her that, due to other house guests who would be staying there, she might not have a bed.

Sister Meagan:  Oh, that’s cool.  I can just sleep with you and dad.

Sister Meagan.  Getting all handsome on the family bed.  For the record, I don’t think she did.  I hope.  David decided that I would be sleeping with my parents, because he finds himself to be hilarious. I did not, thank you very much.  I slept in my own room.  And it had a Christmas tree.  And I had my own bathroom.  And it had a Christmas tree.  So that was festive.

So mother and I went shopping and we meandered into Victoria’s Secret.  These things tend to happen.

Me:  David is going to think this is fantastic.

Now, dear readers.  Of course I was meaning he would find it hilarious that we were at THAT store, since he also assumed we would be sharing a bed.  (but we didn’t, I promise).

Mom:  Oh!  Does David get excited when you shop here?

Me:  Ew!  No!  Ew!  Mom!

And that concludes today’s edition of:

“Conversations I never wished to have with my mother.”

On Friday evening, we went to David’s sister’s house for dinner.  She served lasagna.

David:  Did you like you lasagna, Taylor?

Me:  Yes.

David:  Because it had elk in it!  Ha!

So, there.  My long-running streak of abstaining from elk was thwarted.  I was punk’d.  Elk style.

On Saturday, we celebrated my mother-in-law’s 60th birthday by going to the water park and Pizza Hut.  Because everyone’s mother-in-law likes to race all her grandchildren down water slides when she turns 60.  I for one, was uber excited to don a bathing suit in November.  And yes, the Maliblahblah family pushed the limits, as they are wont to do, and did receive several whistle blows from disapproving lifeguards.

And that concludes my Thanksgiving-ish recap.  I hope you all had a fantastic times with your families!

Well.  That’s fun.  It took me almost two hours to drive home last night, as opposed to the usual one hour.

David was able to plow our driveway in record time last night.  He used his uber manly bull dozer and was done in about 45 minutes.  And our driveway is totes going to be ripped to shreds by the time spring rolls around (which comes around the end of June here)  (because we live in a tropical area, didn’t you know?).

Last year, I used to don my long underwear and help him with the driveway.  Together, we were able to get it done in about three hours using a snow blower and a 4 wheeler with a plow.  And now I am wondering if plow is spelled plough?  But probably not.  I homeschool, so I am pretty sure I excel at spelling, grammar, and the like.  Plow it is.

Yesterday was “going to town” day.  Always exciting, and a good reason for me to don the largest earrings I own.

Large earrings.  I enjoy them.

I had a dr appointment for my unmentionable areas and my sis in law had a dentist appointment, so we coordinated childcare.  My whole day was centered around getting the buy one get one free holiday drinks at Starbucks, because I was predicting my appointment to be a total downer.  And I was right.  I showed up around 11 am to get deliciousness in a cup to ease the horrors of the events I had just persevered through when, much to my chagrin, the deal was not in effect until 2pm.

Lame.

So, we hung out and I forced Lisa, who is more woman that I shall ever be, to teach me the art of cutting hair.

I, yes, I, Taylor Maliblahblah, learned how to cut all FOUR of my children’s hair.

BAM!

(see?  I TOLD you I like large earrings.)

My husband, the frugal man that he is, shall rise and call me blessed.

Little Dude was having issues with hair getting all over his face during the deed.

He was displeased.

I only have one “after” shot, because I am slothful and lazy.

Not too bad, my friends.  Not too bad.

The kids made a snowman with their cousins.  Or, more accurately, a snow lady.  They named her “Fragile.”  On account of her always falling apart.

This was the best shot I got.  I tried, people.  I tried.

Alright.  I am off to do laundry, organize homeschool curriculum, and form raw elk flesh into Lil’ Cheddar Meatloves.

Please.  Try to contain your jealousy.

PS-Guess who’s glasses just broke at this very moment?

Go on.

Guess.

I made these homemade rolls for dinner tonight.  For I am Susie Fantastic, didn’t you know?

(recipe)

100 (meaningless) points to anyone who can guess where I found the recipe.

Hint:  It starts with a “P” and ends with an . . . “interest” . . . . and I may or may not have become obsessed with it.

David walked in as I was rolling the dough into the uber cute little roll balls.  He looked all excited-like and asked me if I was making cookies.  You can imagine his disappointment.

David didn’t even try one of my rolls (lame), although the kids loved them.  Except for Handsome Dude.  They made him sausage, you know?  But everything makes him sausage.  Except for Tootsie rolls.  And he says Tootsie wrong, which isn’t surprising.  He substitutes the “oo” sound for the short “i.”

Changes the meaning a bit, eh?

Dinner is over. I am blogging.  Willie Nelson is singing.  David is making cookies.  Such is life.  I probably won’t have a cookie, since I am a total health guru and all.

I am feeling a little blue tonight, a little forlorn, if you will.  It happens.  So, let us talk about things that will cheer me up.

Things I find humorous.

1)  This picture.

Because I like to look at it and say:

“What is UP with Sister Meagan’s hair?”

Plus I totally look 30 in that picture, which is fantastic and all.  I look like I need a shawl.  And my mom has lost tons of weight and now I probably double her in size.  So that is fun.

2)  Have I mentioned David is making cookies?  I am excited.  I will have four one with a glass of milk.

3)  Skim milk.  Obviously.

4)  My husband just told me my eyes glisten whilst I am at the computer.  I will take it as a profession of his undying love for me and my 30-year old beauty.

5)  Little Dude keeps sneaking upstairs to watch High School Musical 2.

(source)

He takes out his train DVD and pops that one in when no one is looking.

6)  Suddenly this picture makes a lot more sense . . .

7) I would like to send this card to a few Facebook friends.

(source)

LOL.

8)  Attention Dad:  LOL stands for Laughing out Loud.  FYI.

9)  Update:  I am currently eating a cookie.

10)  With SKIM milk.

11)  I had to take the girls in for their home school portfolio conferences this week.  Just go with it. I don’t have the time to explain.

Sweet Pea was doing a cheer for the teacher and she had to spell out “Victory.”

Sweet Pea:  “Give me a V!  Dot the I!  Curve the C!  T-R-O-Y, T-R-O-Y!”

12)  Clearly, I am the world’s best homeschooling mom.  VicTROY is mine!

Alright.  That’s all I got.  Feel free to share something humorous with me, to ease my woe.  Or I can just eat more cookies.

And I will.

Farewell!