The Lumberjack's Wife

Some of you might remember that my in-laws, the Maliblahblahs, love to make and enjoy their own applesauce.

To become fully oriented in the ways of the applesauce tradition, the reader might choose to click on either of the following applesauce links.

The 2009 Applesauce Event

The 2010 Applesauce Event

David and I (but really mostly David, because applesauce does not tootle my horn as much as it tootles David’s) ran out of applesauce from last year many months ago.  All the other Maliblahblah’s have enough applesauce to get them through a cold, dark winter.  Therefore and henceforth, David and I were on our own for this joyous event.

And I use the term “joyous” quite loosely.  Quite.

So, without further ado, I would like to present to you:

How to Make Applesauce like the Maliblahblahs.

1)  First you need one of the original members of the Maliblahblah family.

Preferably David, Lisa, or Jackie.  But any charter member of the Maliblahblah family would do in a pinch.  I am not a charter member.  Don’t ask me.  I chat too much and don’t have a good enough work ethic.

2)  The astute reader might ascertain that getting a charter member of the Maliblahblah family might be difficult.  Tis true.  Just find someone who can work for hours on end, be extremely frugal, is physically agile and willing to climb trees, is cheap/brave enough to ask any Tom, Dick, or Harry if you can have their apples, and have a motto in life similar to: “Go Big or Go Home.”

3)  Find apples.  Millions of apples is ideal.  But here is the catch:  you can not pay one penny for any of them.  They must be free!  Otherwise you totally blow your frugal-ness.

4)  Pop Quiz Hot Shots:

Did David, Taylor, and the dudes stop at a trailer park on the side of the road and ask the manager if they could pick all their apples?  And did the manager, who donned overalls and a general “country bumpkin” look, laugh in their faces and say:

“Guys, you can have all the apples.  They are full of worms and tiny.  Have at it.”

And did we heartily pick them in the spirit of the applesauce tradition?

Yes.  Yes, we did.

5)  Buy a couple hundred quart-sized canning jars, lids, rims, sugar, and cinnamon.  This will cost you a small fortune.  Be thankful you got free apples at a trailer park.

6)  Coerce innocent friends into helping you with Applesauce Day.  You need more manpower.

Our lucky friends were David’s work buddy, Brad, his wife, Katie, and Brad’s brother Nate.

And I use the term “lucky” quite loosely.  Quite.

7)  Don’t get your panties in a bunch, readers.  We didn’t make them work for nothing.  We paid them with applesauce.  Which is worth more than fine rubies.

8)  Slice and core no less than one million apples.

Show your mama what you’ve done.  Go ahead.  Be proud.

9)  Cook the apples until mushy.

10)  Grind the apples.  This will separate all the peel, seeds, and hopefully worm carcasses (I kid!  I jest!)  from the desirable apple parts.

Note:  You must move at a breakneck speed.  Sweat will be on your brow, fatigue in your muscles.  Do not stop until the applesauce has been created.

11)  Pour all the applesauce into a huge tub.

Fill up with applesauce and dump in unheard of amounts of cinnamon and sugar.

Unheard of.

12)  Pour super healthy applesauce into jars.

Wipe the rims clean to prepare for canning.

13)  Are you tired?  Are you hungry?

Press on!  There is no resting on Applesauce Day!

14)  Put lids on jars.

Look!  It’s me!  Bearing the Maliblahblah name proudly!

15)  Take them to the back porch and can-can away!

David set up our porable 3 burner camping stove on the back deck.

Brilliant!

I canned 80 of the jars that very night we made the applesauce!

16)  Yes.  I am awesome.  Feel free to marvel at my abilities.  I’ll wait.

17)  We did have a minor hiccup.

A moth died in a sea of applesauce and was forever preserved there in the canner.

Shameful.

Oh, well.  We’ll just give that one to Jason for Christmas.

Remember Jason?

Jason is the Lumberjack’s youngest younger brother.  Keep up!

So.  We made somewhere between 119-124 quarts of applesauce.  Don’t be jealous.

Oh!  And when we were all done, I noticed that a hot jar damaged my table and there was a white-ish spot in the wood finish.

Bummer.

My inlaws are furniture repair peoples (Yes.  They strip regularly.) (Do you get it?) and I remembered Lisa once told me that if you take a hair dryer to the heat damage right away, you can dry out the moisture trapped in the wood.

And I did, and it worked!  So, there’s your helpful hint for the day.  You’re welcome.

In other news, we have a BEAR on our lands.

But I don’t want to talk about that.

Before I go, I must share with you my dressing room experience with the dudes yesterday whilst we were at The Goodwill.

I was trying on pants and these were the things my Little Dude was SHOUTING.

“Mom!  Do you have a baby?”

“Mom!  Those pants are too small!”

“Mom!  That not look good!”

“Ha, Mom!  I see your *unit*!”

Lest any of you are confused, he SHOUTED the actual name for the male private part.

Because he is delightful like that.

Happy Tuesday!

I know you have all been waiting on pins and needles to discover what Handsome Dude calls Silly-Roll.

Cereal.

Many of you got it right!  So, from now on, I am just going to ask all of you what on earth he is saying next time he perplexes me.  Perhaps you can handle some of his “deep-thoughts” questions.  Here’s one he asked recently:

“Mom?  When monies poop, where does the poop come out?”

Good luck and God speed.

That Handsome Dude.  He is a delight to my soul, I kid you not.  Oh, sure, he drives me bananas, but he is hilarious and warms my heart. Here is our conversation yesterday after I picked him up from preschool:

Me:  Did you get chocolate milk today?

(His school gives all the kids FREE milk or chocolate milk each day.)  (Don’t be jealous.  Not everyone can live in Ruralville.)

HD:  Yes!  My teacher give me chocolate milk.  And she said that I needed to tell my mom that she gives me chocolate milk at school, so Mom needs to give me soda pop at home.

Me:  Nice try, dude.

HD: *giggle, giggle, chuckle, chuckle*

He loves to help David work outside.  The other day he had his sister’s purple, sparkly watch on, because he is manly like that.

“Dad!  Let me check the time.  14:22 . . . 7!”

“Dad!  Hold on!  It’s 9:73!”

“Hey, Dad.  It’s 68!”

Random-Topic-Quick-Change!

So, before we moved, we had this elliptical trainer machine.

Hold the phone!  Are you new-ish to this blog?  Did you know I have not always lived in this Rural place?  It’s true.  I came from a land where you could walk just mere minutes to glorious places like:  the lake, coffee shops, and jewelery shops.  All peoples from all nations would rise and call me blessed and friends would come to call, imploring me to take them on walks around my fabulous neighborhood.

Ask me when the last time someone came to call in Ruralville was.

But, I digress.  We had this exercise machine.  And I never used it (shocking, I know), but I always had high hopes that I would.  So, we moved and stuck it in my room.  It is so ugly and I just wanted to get rid of it, but I soldiered on in hopes that someday, David would hook up the TV in our room and I could exercise and watch humorous TV shows.  Because I am certainly not going to exercise and just stare at the wall.  Lame.

For 15 months that ugly beast has sat in my room.  And on Wednesday, Mr. Satellite Guy came and set us all up.  I was so excited, I tried to ellipticize that very afternoon.

And, unbeknownst to me, the battery cover was missing since the move, rendering the machine useless.  15 months!  15 months of ugliness in my room with lovely peach walls!

Interruption:  Are you new-ish to this blog?  My Ruralville home has every, single wall painted a pleasant peach color.  Keep up!

Good news!  I was able to order a replacement cover and it shall be here soon.  And I will be super fit in no time, I am sure of it.

Let’s do a COW!

Look at me, remembering the COW twice in a row!

Yes.  Yesterday I had a TYPO, which was surprising since this blog is always so top-notch.  I wrote that I was going to “don my pears” when I meant “don my pearls.”  It happens.

Melissa Kaiserman

I don my pear every day. It’s called my body shape.

Ha!

Alright.  These kids aren’t going to teach themselves.  Off I go!

Happy Friday

PS- I forgot to tell you all about the fruit fly trap.

Option 1- Put an unpeeled, overripe piece of fruit in a bowl and splash some balsamic vinegar on it.  Cover it tightly with plastic wrap.  Take a pushpin or something and poke tiny holes into the top.

Downside:  The fruit flies are trapped alive.  So now, I have a bowl full of living fruit flies on my back deck because I am too scared to open it.

Option 2- Take a glass jar.  Put about 1 inch of fruit scented dish soap in it and about 1 inch of water.  I added some apple pieces, because I was feeling festive.

Perk:  FLIES DIE!

Ok.  NOW I must teach the children.  Goodbye.

Do you ever get the urge to just drive to the city and sign all your kids up for school?

Me neither.  That’s crazy talk.

In other news, Little Dude has broken two pairs of Handsome Dude’s glasses in the past two days.  Because he is well-behaved and even-tempered.  One of the pairs was the new ones that David had bought Handsome Dude, against my will.  The seller of said glasses boasted that these glasses would be:

Indestructable!

Childproof!

Little Dude-proof!

But, alas.  They are all bent and a lens is missing. I would show you a picture, but David, being the rockstar that he is, took them with him to the big city to get all fixed up.

Apparently, no glasses are a match for a boy who gets miffed when big brother takes away the BIG truck.

Take that Handsome Dude!  Hi-Ya!

I went to pick Handsome Dude up at the bus stop yesterday.  A teacher rides with the preschoolers to and from school.  This warms my heart as I have always maintained a Safety First! motto in life.  (I still cut my kids’ grapes.  Mmmm-hmmm) But anyways, as I was standing near the bus door, the teacher called to me:

“Um.  He is pretending to sleep and won’t get up.  Can you come and get him?”

So, I had to get on the bus (which has car seats!  oh be still my safety-loving heart!) and locate my Handsome Dude.  He was fake-sleeping, and I know he was fake-sleeping because he was giggling and peeking and snoring all at the same time.  And when I went to pick him up, since he was too “asleep” to actually stand, his body went all limp.  Which was convenient.

Isn’t he just precious?

I wonder if they think he is all there, you know?  I mean, the boy calls the bus The Magic School bus and says gross food makes him sausage and he likes to eat mac and cheese, which is really slices of cheddar.  Oh, and he also enjoys “silly-roll.”

100,000,000 (meaningless) points to anyone who can figure out what Handsome Dude means when he asks for “silly-roll.”

Put on your thinking caps!  I know you can do it!

Flies!  Flies are attacking me!  What is the life span of a fly, I ask you?  Because these flies need to die.  I am happy to report that I killed all the fruit flies.  I made my own trap!  Because I live in the country and must do strange things like heed warnings from my neighbor Jungle, breed rabbits (not that they need help with the breeeding.  hardy har har), and make homemade fruit fly traps.

Speaking of rabbits, and I know you love hearing about the rabbits don’t lie, Sweet Pea walked up to me the other day and showed me this page out of the “Rabbits for Dummies” book.

Before we continue, I must warn you that the following picture should be flagged for adult content.

Proceed with caution.

Are you ready?

I am still giving you time to delete my blog from your life.

It’s ok.  I will understand.

OK.

Here is the page that my CHILD shoved in my face:

I KNOW!  I nearly died a thousand deaths.  I am sorry, but I just had to share the horror.  How does my tiny baby girl know how to find such things in books?

She was like “Mom?  Remember when we were at the fair and you couldn’t tell if the rabbit was a girl or a boy?  This could help you!”

I told you people it wasn’t so easy to tell the gender of a rabbit.  When will you ever listen to me?

But in case you needed to know, here are the surefire steps in determining a rabbit’s gender.  According to Rabbits for Dummies.  Of which I am.  A dummy.

1)  Gently place the rabbit on his back in your lap.

Creepy.

2)  Using your thumb and forefinger (ew), spread apart the hair on the-

And that’s just where we are going to stop.  Because I DO NOT WANT to spread apart any hair.  Thank you.

I am trying to be my husband’s “help meet” with this whole rabbit business.  But, honestly.  That is just wrong.  I prefer the good old “guess and check” method for rabbit gender discovery.

Did it give birth?  Girl.  Check.

Oh!  David just called!  Because he loves me and misses me and needed to hear my singsong voice.

Actually, he was just asking for me to bring the food ads when I come to town so we can go shopping for his upcoming hunt/camp trip.  He is a frugal lumberjack.

Yes.  He feels the need to leave me and my lovely self for a week so he can go fill our freezer up with more elk.  Because that’s just what we need around here.

More elk.

Could we be any weirder?

But, I digress.  I asked him if he could email me a picture of the obliterated glasses with his intellectual phone.  And he did!

My girls are currently doing Wii fit, which reminds me that I have not Zumba-d today.  So, I am thinking about exercising here now in a bit before I don my pears and go to town.

Alert:  I am just thinking about it.

And I don’t have pearls.

PS- Silly-Roll!  Define it!  Go!

PPS- My girls just asked me if I was born in 1974.  *tear*

It is Tuesday.  And here are today’s top stories.

1)  I finished watching Lost.  All I can say is, “eh?  Come again?”  I stayed up until 2am Saturday night watching it.  Obsess much?

2)  Actually, I stayed up until 1am watching it and then I had stayed up for an hour longer googling:

“What on earth happened during the last episode of Lost?”

Clearly, I was lost.  (pun quite intended.)

3)  My mother-in-law texted (yes!  texted!  she’s so hip!) me and said, and I quote:

“Was wondering if we could get some or all of the kids for some or part of this weekend?”

Exsqueeze me?  Baking powder?  (Name that movie)  No!  You cannot have my mother-in-law.  She is for me.

4)  Since my last post, my dad and I have been texting (yes!  texting!  he’s so hip!) each other Chuck Norris jokes.  It is our new form of bonding.

Chuck Norris.  Bringing families together since 2011.

Lovely reader, Katie Brn- who mysteriously has no vowels in her last name, making her a phonetic anomaly, shared this lovely joke:

Chuck Norris had a bet with Superman on who was the strongest. The loser had to wear their underwear outside their pants.

Ha!  I liked it.

5)  Fun Fact:  I don’t even really know who Chuck Norris is.  Is he a real person or a movie character?

I cannot be certain.  But I like the jokes nonetheless.

6)  You know what’s really fun?  Sitting next to David on the dock while he is fishing and watching him try to be uber serious and all pro-fisherman like. Did you know that you are not supposed to talk while fishing?  Anyways.  What’s loads of fun is to wait until he is deep in thought and spearing a worm and shout:

“No, I won’t make out with you!”

Name THAT movie.

6)  David LOVES me.  See?

His joy overfloweth.

7)  I was Zumba-ing today and Handsome Dude came in for a bit.  Yes!  I have Zumba-d for 5 days in a row now!  No!  I do not look any better!

Anyways.  He was watching the ladies on the Zumba, and one of the ladies’ belly was showing.

Scandalous!

HD:  Mom!  Look at her belly!

Me (trying to salsa and whatnot):  Huh?

HD:  Her belly!  It looks so different!

And he’s touching the screen and trying to figure out how a belly could look so . . . trim.  So.  I’m gonna guess that my belly does not look like Zumba girl’s.

Bummer.

Happy Tuesday!

It’s Sunday afternoon!  And you know what that means.  I am supposed to be doing my co-op lesson plans.  Which, of course, we all know, means I blog.  Because I like to impress people who are counting on me.

Sister Meagan decided to surprise us all by coming for a quick visit this weekend.  We all congregated at the Matriarch and Patriarch’s house for a night of food, fun, and fellowship.

And because I know you always want to hear the latest, I must update you on my father.  My father has discovered an app that spits out Chuck Norris jokes.  I didn’t know my dad knew what an app was.

But, anyways.  Turns out he does and randomly throughout the night, he would just bust up laughing and share with us a little joke, at Chuck Norris’ expense.

Please.  Don’t gush over my awesome photography skills (or skillz, whichever you prefer) again.  Honestly, its getting embarrassing.

“Chuck Norris doesn’t sleep.  He waits.”

“Little known fact:  Chuck Norris invented the C-section when he roundhouse kicked his way into the world”

No! I do not know what a roundhouse kick is.  Do you?

Let us move on.

At one point, I sent Little Dude into the bathroom to wash up.  Sister Meagan snuck up on him and took the following photos of him, unbeknownst to Little Dude himself.

Here he is, quenching his thirst.

Yet, not washing his face.

Here he is talking to himself in his “creepy bunny voice.”

(There is another mirror on that wall that he is looking into)

And not washing his face.

Here he is, attempting Zumba.

But, alas.  Not washing his face.

And finally, here is Little Dude perfecting his Chuck Norris’ roundhouse kick.

But it appears as if he has still not washed his face.  Which is strange because my children always listen to me.

Actually, Little Dude kind of reminds me of cheerleader Will Ferrell.

source

Thoughts?

So, while we were eating dinner, my stupid blog comes up.  And I don’t like to talk about it, because it is lame, but I am the one who writes it, so I have only myself to blame.

Mom:  David, you really should read Taylor’s blog.

She is hinting that because of that whole secret code thing he is supposed to say to me.

David:  I do.

Me:  Liar!

David:  Taylor.  I know I am supposed to say some sentence to you.

Me:  Then why don’t you say it?

David:  Because I know it bugs you.  Just wanted to see how long you could go without saying something about it.

Darn.  So, he does read and I don’t get new clothes.  Such is life.

Alright.  I’m going to put on my big girl pants and actually get ready for co-op tomorrow.  Because I am an adult now, and these are the things I must do.

Farewell!

PS- Chuck Norris is the reason Waldo is hiding.

Item #1:

Me, being the fitness guru that I am, have decided to try Zumba.

Don’t laugh.

At first, I was intimidated by the whole idea of Zumba.  But my girls told me that my mother-in-law does it, and that encouraged me.

Funny story.  David’s brother, Alex, called me last Christmas (like on Christmas Eve) asking for gift idea for his family members.  Because I am super knowledgeable and my in-laws are always coming to me for advice, didn’t you know?  Any-who, I told him that Jackie (my mother-in-law . . . keep up!) liked Zumba and he could get her a punch card at the gym for some classes.

So off Alex goes to the gym to buy the card.  He makes his purchase and then looks at the young, helpful, female employee-

Alex:  What exactly is Zumba?

Girl, who may have possibly been trying to flirt with him, but I cannot be certain:  It is a sensual, exotic dance workout . . .

Alex:  STOP!

Alex is still in therapy trying to recover from the thought of his mother doing exotic dance at the gym.   I kid!  I jest!

So me and Zumba are not friends thus far.  I mean, it is fun, but I can’t help but feel I am turning it into a country line dance or something.  I don’t got rhythm. I can’t salsa.  But I can march, so that’s something.

We’ll see how long it lasts.  (Hint:  not long)

Item #2:

Fruit flies.  Fruit flies are everywhere, dudes.  I don’t know from whence they came, but they won’t leave.  I have no rotting fruit.  I repeat, I have no fruit.  I have set up 5 homemade traps and they are working, but not fast enough.

We also have regular flies because my children were born without the gene that informs them to CLOSE THE DOOR when they go outside.

Going into my kitchen is like a warzone.  I dare not open my mouth and I complete my tasks swiftly to get the heck out of there.

Yes!  I have a clean home.  Why do you ask?

Item #3

My phone.

Usually, on account of the vast amounts of children running through this house daily, I text or email to communicate to other humans.  But occasionally, I must actually speak to someone on the phone.

Everytime I talk to my mom, this is what she says:

“Taylor!  I cannot understand you!  It’s like you have the entire phone in your mouth and are eating it while you are speaking!”

Because that sounds like exactly what I would be doing.  Eating my phone.  But now, my mother polls friends and family to ask if they have trouble understanding me.

And everyone does.

And that information is really pointless, but I felt it was worth blogging about.

Flies!  There are flies everywhere!  How do I get rid of them?

Please Advise.

Item #4-

Hunting season is coming.

And I don’t want to talk about it.

Item #5-

Let’s do this.

I know, I know.  Nobody even knows what this is anymore.  This is the COW.  Which stands for Comment of the Week.  Of which I am fantastic at updating.

Diana at home made me laugh this week with this comment:

This is a test. this is only a test. this is a test of the “do Lumberjacks read the blog their beloved’s blog who spends 20 precious minutes of her day slaving over” system. in the event that the Lumberjack does read the blog, this message will be followed by a trip to the mall. not the dump mall. a mall with cute clothes that show off young elbows. thank you for your patience during the administration of this test.

Ha!  DAVID!  YOU AREN’T READING THIS!  Lame.

Ok.  “Diana at home” is, I believe, my friend MindyLou’s sister.  MindyLou sought me out and BEGGED me to be friends with her.  It was sad, really.  But joke’s on me because once she hung out with me . . . she never wanted to hang out again.

David has a grand time with that one.

“Oh!  Maybe you aren’t as fun in real life!”

“Heard from Mindy?”

“Boy!  You must be really boring!”

I’m not bitter, though.

And for the record, that was awhile ago, and I bug MindyLou every now and again and make her socialize with me, just to hush that husband of mine up.  And she does, out of pity.  Bless her heart.

Happy Weekend!

The following is a conversation between us and Little Dude.  Please make sure you have enough caffeine in your system before proceeding.  Thank you.

David:  Did you get your haircut?

Little Dude:  Yes.  LISA.

David:  Did Lisa cut your hair?

Little Dude:  YES.  Not our Lisa.  Udder Lisa.

He has an Aunt Lisa and a Haircut Lisa.  Keep up!

David:  Is she nice?

Little Dude:  No.  He’s cute.

Me:  He’s cute, huh?

Little Dude:  NO.  He’s a girl.  Not a boy.  And he has brown eyes.  I love brown!

Too bad Haircut Lisa’s eyes are blue.  Is it bad that my 3 year old is already noticing beauty in the female gender?  Yes?  No?  Yes?

I don’t wanna brag, but he does think I am wee handsome.

In other, equally disturbing news, David and I went to the kids’ Awana Parent Night.  We were sitting in the sanctuary, minding our own business, when Daisy Mae comes running through the room with a grinning boy chasing her.

Grinning!  And chasing.  And grinning.  Oh my lands, I am not ready for all this.

Random Topic Quick Change!

We have satellite TV.  Yes we are some of THOSE people.  We also have the DVR and, as a result of this, our kids are major TV snobs whenever they are at my parents’ house.

“Fast forward the commercials!  Fast forward the commercials!”

My parents have NO CLUE what a DVR is, nor how one might fast forward commercials.  I have tried to explain it to them, but to no avail.  ANYWAYS, we have the satellite TV and our receiver thingie-ma-bob broke.  It just plumb broke.  So they shipped us a new one and David was trying to set it up last night.  He was, of course, having trouble, because technology is not on our team, so he had to call the help line.

I love David’s approach to calling customer service.  I feel all of you should do as he does as well.

First, he is greeted by the computer lady who wants to try to troubleshoot our problem, even though she is not a real human.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that.”

“Let’s try again.”

“I think you said, ‘No.’  Is that right?”

Fake Computer Lady.  So annoying.  Well, David just starts pushing zero repeatedly until he gets a factual person.

He is on hold for 2 years and then he finds out our remotes no longer work with our new receiver.

And, they would be happy to ship him some new ones for $20.

David:  Yeah.  How long have I been a customer of yours?

Friendly Associate:  Excuse me?

David:  How long have I been a customer?

Friendly Associate:  Um . . . let’s see . . . 5 years, 2 months, and 26 days.

David:  Yeah.  I’m not paying for remotes.

Friendly Associate:  Let me transfer you.

Now.  If it was me, they would just inform me that, oh yes, I was paying for the remotes, and I would be reading them my credit card number at that very moment.

But somehow, David gets transferred to some guy who is sending the remotes for free, plus upgrading us to something that starts with an H.

HDMI?  HDMTV?  H . . . I don’t know.  Do you?  But apparently, its all the rage.

PLUS, they are going to fix a different problem we have that they were going to charge us $150 for last time we asked.

FOR FREE.

All because he said:

“Yeah.  I’m not gonna pay that.”

Apparently my man has muchos authority.  Excuse me while I swoon.

Speaking of David, I am sad to announce that he has not told me the secret code yet.  Therefore, he probably does not read my blog after all.

*tear*

And I won’t be getting new clothes.  Which is a crying shame.

Are you confused?  Are you wondering what a secret code is?

You are not alone.

Alright!  I must go!  But before I do, I have to tell you something humorous about Handsome Dude.

It was chilly this morning, so I made him don a sweatshirt before meeting up with the bus.

Handsome Dude:  But, M000000000000000000000m.  It will be too hot for me.  It will be too hot on the Magic School Bus.

Yes.  That’s right.  He believes he rides the Magic School bus to school everyday.

Oh!  And right before he went to school, his nice, clean shirt had brown dusty stuff all over it.

Me:  What’s on your shirt?

HD:  I not know?

Me:  Dude.  Where were you?

HD:  It was dirt from the carpet!

Me:  No, I don’t think so.

HD:  YEEEEEESSSSSSSSS!

So, he was probably lying, but I had no time to care and I just changed his shirt and got him to the Magic School Bus.  About 3 hours later, I am cleaning the kitchen and there is brownish stuff everywhere.  EVERYWHERE!  And it smelled like cinnamon.  I was perplexed.  Could not figure out what had happened, for the life of me.

Sweet Pea was taking clothes out of the dryer (holla!).

Me:  Do you know why there is cinnamon all over the kitchen?

Sweet Pea (without even looking up):  No, but that’s probably what happened to HD’s shirt, Mom.

Dang.  I’m only 30 and I’ve already lost my mind.

Later Dudes.

My Tiny Tim post yesterday has left many of you bewildered.  I need to shed some light on something for you:

I usually only have like 20, maybe 30 minutes to blog.  After I carefully take photos, edit them, upload them, write a meaningful, thought-provoking post, spell check, grammar check, and check for make sense-ed-ness, I am plumb out of time.  So sometimes, and this may shock you, my posts are confusing.  And lacking in sense.  Or purpose.

Lest any of you are confused, I don’t do most of those tasks I listed up there.

Anyways.  Let’s clear some stuff up, shall we?

Issue #1:

Tiny Tim.

See?  He’s tiny.  Hence the name.  I don’t touch rabbits, but my farm and ranch girls do.  That’s Tiny Tim on the right (duh) and his bro/sis on the left.  We call it a bro/sis, because we are unawares as to what the gender might be.  We’ll call a shim.  You know.  She/him.  Shim.

Issue #2:

My elbow.

Many of you were concerned (and I thank you) about my elbow, but also could not see it in my beautiful, high-class photograph.

It’s in the shadow on the floor, people.  Please.  Try to focus.

Since you were all so concerned, here is a picture of me with my real elbow.

I totally look like a tired, weary,  30 year old homeschooling mom, don’t I?  I will be accepting all makeup/hair/beauty suggestions.  Thank you.

Yes.  My elbow looks fine.  I have made a miraculous recovery.

Issue #3

Melissa/Bimlissa

My dearheart friend Bimlissa, who MADE me start a blog, stopped commenting awhile ago.  I was forlorn!  I was dismayed!  I was paranoid! So, I said something about her not reading my blog and she assured me she was, and I was like,  why don’t you comment, and she was like, I don’t know what to say, and I was like,  you could just say hi, and she said she could do that, and could this sentence be any more of a run-on, I ask you?

So.  My Bimlissa shows me love by commenting: “Hi!” Every now and again.  So, if you see her pop in and say “hi”, just know it is Bimlissa living up to her end of the bargain.

Isn’t she the greatest?  Well worth the fee I pay her to be my friend.

Issue #4:

Erin.

HEAR YE, HEAR YE.  ERIN HAS BEATEN ME IN WORDS WITH FRIENDS.

Also:  Joyce beats the snot out of me weekly.  And everyone else I play.  I am not good.  But this does not surprise you.

****

Let’s talk about Sister Meagan!  She’s getting all handsome on a new city, so I don’t see her face no more.  However, I can reminisce.

Sister Meagan and I have a niece.  When said niece was about 2 or 3 years old, she was spending the night at my parents’ house, where Sister Meagan still lived.  For the purpose of this post, we shall call my niece, Niece.  Because that is convenient for me.

My mom, who goes into a coma after 8pm, asked Sister Meagan to help put Niece to sleep.

Meagan:  I don’t know how to put her to bed!

Mom:  She’s likes if you sing to her.

Meagan:  What song?

Mom:  zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

So, Meagan goes in and asks Niece what song she would like to hear.

Niece:  The mockingbird song!

Moments later, my mom is woken up by the sounds of Niece screaming and crying and wailing:

“That’s NOT the song!  That’s NOT the song!”

Poor Sister Meagan is frantically singing this song, louder and louder:

“Mock . . . yeah!  Ing . . . yeah!  BIRD . . . yeah!  Yeah . . . Yeah!”

(Name that movie)

Mom:  Meagan.  She means “Hush little baby, don’t say a word.  Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.”

Meagan:  Well, that’s the only mockingbird song I could think of!

Now that’s funny.  You cannot deny it.

Alright!  I hope with all my heart that this post does not confuse you.  Truly.  I do.

Oh!  I mentioned before that David is now an email subscriber of this blog.  But I don’t think he really reads it.

I did catch him reading it one night.  But he fell asleep in the middle.  Does it help if I tell you that before he fell asleep,  he was reading with an ever-so-slight-smile upon his face?

No?  Yes?  No?

So.  Let’s test him.  David!  If you are reading this, please say the following sentence to me, your beloved.

“Taylor!  Let me take you to the mall and shower you with many gifts of non-Ranchwear clothing!”

We shall see, dear readers.  We shall see.