The Lumberjack's Wife

I couldn’t sleep last night.  I have this knee problem, you see, and when there is any sort of change in weather, my whole leg aches something fierce, because I am a senior citizen.  So, I came out to the living room to kill time and millions of coyotes starting howling.

Millions.

Now THAT’S creepy.  Where are all those coyotes during the day?  Are they watching me?  Hunting me?  Let us hope that they are sleeping.  I am too lazy to investigate the life habits of coyotes right now.

Pop Quiz, Hot Shots:  Do you say coyotes like this: Ki-Oh-Tees or Ki-Otes?  Because I say it the first and most distinguished way and my husband says it the latter, more inferior way.  And I like to believe that I am right.

I was about to wake up my husband, aka my protector.  But he was in his nightly coma and would have acted all insane.  I already had the bum knee and the coyotes hunting me issues going on.  I did not also need an insane husband.

So, I took a Tylenol PM.  This is always a mistake.  And this morning I am still trying to come out of the Tylenol PM fog.  It’s a two cup of coffee morning.  Just like every other morning.

But none of that is what I am going to talk about today.  I must talk to you about my friend, Rita.

That’s me and Rita gettin’ all handsome on each other in the middle.  I’m on the left, she’s on the right.  The gal on the far left having trouble with her eyes is Shelly.  The gal on the far right is Rachel.

I love Shelly and Rachel from the depths of my innermost being.  But they are not important for this post, so just focus on Rita.

Sure.  A classier blogger would have cropped out the people not needed in the picture.  Not me.

You assume I know how to do such things.

This picture was taken on a trip we went on.  We all work in children’s ministry with scads of other wonderful people and we would go on these trips to conferences so we could become even more wonderful.  As if that were possible.

Kidding!

Kind of.

So.  We are all at the same hotel and, unbeknownst to us,  there is a prankster in our midst.  Said prankster acquires admittance to a room with three of our fellow conference goers.  She take an alarm clock and turns it on to the most obnoxious radio station and blasts the volume.  She sets it to go off at, like, 4am, and hides it under one of the beds.

Is this not cruel?

So.  I wasn’t there, of course, but the alarm goes off at 4am, and the guys in that room were scrambling and hollering and trying to figure out where the noise was coming from.  When they discovered that they had been punked, one of them threw his fists in the air and shouted:

“Rrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiittttttttaaaaaaaaaa!”

As in “Rita.”  Keep up.

I found this to be hilarious because:

A) It did not happen to me.

B)  Who comes up with this stuff?  So mean, yet so funny.

C)  Rita?!  Rita was like the quietest and most sweetest gal in our group!  Why did they blame her?

It was not Rita.  But I shall forever call her

RRRRRIIIIIITTTTTTAAAAAA

and shake my fists in the air when I see her.

This has been going on for, like, three years.  I am sure she still finds it cute and charming and loves me for it.

Would you like to know who hid the alarm clock under the bed?

This fine lady:

Who’d a thunk it?

She’s a feisty one, I tell ya.

I am pretty sure the guys in that room still think it was RRRRIIIITTTAAAA!

You may ask, “Taylor!  Why are you talking about this Rita?!”

Well.  I get to go on a date with this Rita today.  We are clearly brilliant and are taking our 8 children to an amusement park so they can be all amused while we visit.

8 children!

What were we NOT thinking?

But first, and this may come as a shock, I must stop at the glasses repair place.  I know, I know.  Surprising.

In fairness to Handsome Dude, it is not he who is breaking his glasses these days.

It’s this guy:

Do not be fooled by his boyish good looks and uber cool footy pajamas.

He’s vicious and when he is mad at his brother, he rips the glasses from his head.

My boys.  So well-behaved.

Anyways.

I just didn’t want you to all think it was Handsome Dude who was always breaking his glasses.  I mean, it USED to be Handsome Dude.  But for the past month or two, it has been Little Dude.

And, yes.  He gets disciplined for this.  But Little Dude likes to get in trouble for something for 9-12 months before finally clueing into the fact that he isn’t going to get away with it.

My boys.  So intelligent.

Alright!  I’m off to get all handsome so I can get all handsome on my trip to see . . .

wait for it . . . .

wait for it . . . .

RRRRIIIITTTAAA!

(Only the astute reader could keep up with that last sentence)

Later, dudes.

You may ask, “Taylor!  Why this picture?  What is its purpose?”

Well.  See that little boy?  That is my cousin.  BUT.  Do you see that young lady in the background?

Do you?

THAT is my mom.  And my cousin had put this picture up on the Facebooks, and I was like, “Oh!  That’s my mom!”  and then I was like “Dang!  I am like 11 years older than her right now than she was in that picture!”

Trippy.

I would like to state for the record, that I have never, ever, worn a dress just for kicks and grins like my mother there did.

She’s so fancy and refined.  Sometimes, and only on the most special occasions, I iron my jeans before heading into town.  But let us move on.

We went to the fair this weekend.  The girls each won a ribbon for their rabbits.

Here is Sweet Pea with her bunny, Daisy.  Not to be confused with Daisy Mae.

And here is Daisy Mae with her rabbit, Thumper:

Thumper and Daisy are award winning rabbits.

See?

So, we went to the fair and it was the hottest day in the entire universe.  So, naturally, my husband and I decided we needed ice cream post haste.  Because we are concerned about our waistlines.

Fun Fact:  My husband has lost 10 pounds and he has no clue how it happened.

Funner Fact:  If I lose 8/10ths of an ounce, I throw myself a party and gain 2 pounds all in good fun.

Most Funnest Fact of All:  The buffer zone between me and my husband’s weight is shrinking.  I need to lose weight.  Or sneak lard into all his meals.

What on earth was I droning on about?  Oh!  Yes!  Ice cream!

So, we buy the ice cream and they don’t have Moose Tracks OR waffle cones.  You can imagine my disappointment.  But then, I saw a different ice cream stand boasting of waffle cones and the Moose Tracks.  So, I handed my inferior Cookies and Cream to Handsome Dude and ran to the other line.  Because I love Moose Tracks THAT much.

So, there I am.  Standing all alone in line for the Moose Tracks, when I hear this convo behind me.

Convo is how cool people, such as myself, say conversation.

Keep up!

Guy #1:  I’m going to get Moose Tracks.

Guy #2:  That sounds like how someone would describe my underwear.

Charming, I know.

Guy #1:  Shhh!  You are going to gross out this lovely young lady in front of us.

That’s me!  I’m the lovely young lady!  Who knew?!

Guy #1:  She’s never going to want a man after hearing your talk.

Oh, brother.  They are basically talking right to me.

Me:  Oh, I have a man.

Guy #2:  Oh, good.  We were afraid we would scare you off.

Me:  Nope.  I have four kids.

Guy #1, who is now my bestest friend:  No!  You can’t have four kids!  You look like you are 19!

A-HA!

Look at me and my 30-year-old-self-gettin-an-ice-cream-cone-and-lookin’-like-I-am-19!

Holla!

So, I paid $4 (outrageous) for a Moose Tracks and me and my youthful self walked off to find my kin.

I found them.

Yes.  My pictures are terrible.  Just leave me alone.

Here is a picture of my boys milking a pretend cow.

Is it cute or disturbing?

You be the judge.

The Bouncy House!

It done collapsed when my children were in it.

But I am pretty sure they weren’t responsible.

Let us discuss Sister Meagan.

Here she is.  She makes that owl look good.

Sister Meagan is moving far, far away.  She’s gettin’ all handsome on a new city.

After the Fair, we had a little goodbye dinner for her and here is a picture of her with all of her nieces and nephews.

Daisy Mae wrote her a little letter.  For to say farewell.

Fantastic.

Happy Monday!

A Friday List

1)  I am in a full-on war with the iron in my well.  And I am LOSING.

Exhibit A:

Why, yes!  I am glad you asked.  That IS the soap dispenser for my washing machine.  You see the part that is orange?  That is supposed to be white.

Mmmm-hmmm.

Exhibit B)

Please notice the white towel that has been laundered in Ruralville water for over a year.  Then notice the white blanket that is new.

Can you see it?  Ok.  the picture isn’t that great.  But TRUST me.  The towel is turning orange.

And don’t even get me started on scrubbing the shower.

2)  I made grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch today.

Me to Handsome Dude:  Would you like a grilled cheese sandwich?

HD (short for Handsome Dude . . . keep up!):  I not want a girl cheese.  Can I have a boy cheese?

3)  It is official.  The TRIPLE batch of jam I made this week failed.  It is too runny.  Who needs 3 batches of strawberry syrup?  Certainly not me.

VA Girl commented and told me to go to this link to fix my jam.

Dear VA Girl,

I loveth you.  Thank you.

Love,

Taylor, aka Maker of Runny Jam

I am so going to attempt to fix it.  Not today, though.  Wouldn’t be prudent.  Gonna need to gird up my loins and count to ten.  And buy more pectin and wide mouth lids.

4)  Handsome Dude’s glasses have been repaired.  Again.

See the shrink wrap?

David took them in for me and Duane, our optical specialist and new bff, told him that he made it just in time to get new ones again before the warranty.  We know Duane is a liar liar pants on fire because the warranty was up on the 18th.  We also know that Duane is da bomb and shall forever hold a special place in our hearts.

Duane might need to get some of my homemade runny jam, made with love and absolutely no talent.

5)  My girls are getting bit by summer boredom.  I am tempted to start school with them.  Except I’m not.

Today, they have taken up sewing whilst listening to a book on CD.

6)  A little birdie told us that the girls’ rabbits earned ribbons at the fair.  Take that, Susie Fantastic!

7)  The birdie also mentioned that all bunny entries won ribbons.  But that is neither here nor there.

8)  I have finished making all my freezer meals.  I made 40-45.

Look at me with my mad cooking skills (or skillz.  whichever you prefer).

Some people are deeply perplexed as to why I am doing this. No.  I am not pregnant. No.  I do not think the end of the world is coming. (how does that one even make sense?)

I am just trying to make homeschooling go easier this year.

To get myself started, I visited this Deb’s blog and read the book Don’t Panic!  Dinner’s in the Freezer.

9)  Hey, Lumberjack!  Don’t Panic!  Dinner’s in the Freezer!

10)  I am going to say that every night.  And he will find me delightful.  Because we are married and what choice does he have?

11)  I made a gazillion meatballs yesterday.  Part elk/part beef.  I am hoping to trick myself into trying them later on.  Because I still haven’t tried the elk.  The beautiful part about a meatball, though, is that you can easily push them off of your plate if you get cold feet.

12)  Check this bad boy out:

Oh!  Erin!  I’m sorry!  Did I beat the snot out of you?

That’s a shame.  Better luck next time.

13)  Did you notice Erin and I had 11 Words with Friends chats?  This is because Erin doesn’t believe in texting.

That’s right.

She’s a non-texter.

I always knew I couldn’t trust her.

14)  This post has no point.

15)  I’d better stop now.

Where has the summer gone?

 I ask you? 

 Did you know that it is almost SEPTEMBER!?  And September means the start of school and hunting and all things fall-ish?  Just saying “Hunting Season” gets me all excited like.  Not. 

It’s been a busy week.  And since I am certain you care, I shall now update you on our riveting lives. 

You’re Welcome.

On Tuesday, I had to load up the truck and take the kids and their rabbits to the fair.  I have never, EVER, entered anything into the fair.  David, the former 4-H champ that he once was, had promised to meet me there and take care of it all.

But, alas.  He was running late.  So I somehow managed to maneuver the dudes while holding a cage.  The girls had to carry in the other cage.  We passed by a friendly older gentleman who looked at the boys and said,

“Hey, there!  Can I have one of your rabbits?”

Little Dude just yelled “NO!”  and Handsome Dude gave him the stink-eye and looked at me and said: “Mom!  A stranger is talking to me!”

Perhaps I should expose them to people more?  So friendly.

So, I take the rabbits to the rabbit building where there are 4.2 million rabbits.  Every single rabbit looks beautiful and majestic and Sweet Pea became nervous and said “Mom.  Look at all these pretty rabbits!  I don’t think we are going to win.”

And then I felt bad that she was trying to win.  Because, folks.  We aren’t going to win.  Nor were we planning on it.

We were greeted by a Susie Fantastic who knows everything there is to know about rabbits.  She handed me several forms and instructed me to fill them out, in her no-nonsense way. 

Did you know there are, like, 50 different classes of rabbits?

Color me embarassed.

So.  I just looked for words I had heard David say and decided to go with those for the classes.  Because what do I care?  But then, I had to mark if the rabbits were bucks or does.

Because all of us well-informed rabbit breeders refer to girl rabbits as does and boy rabbits as bucks, didn’t you know?

So, there I am with Susie Fantastic peering over at me from her table of knowledge.  I tell Sweet Pea to hold a rabbit and spread the rabbit’s legs apart, because that seems like a good place to start.

And I have no idea what I am looking for. 

I considered it to be a low point in my life.  Violating the rabbits’ privacy by staring at their crotch areas. Not knowing how to tell if they were bucks or does. And I just decide to mark them all as girls because the kids can only think of girl names anyways.

I’m sure the judges won’t notice.

 Then I was “corrected” by Susie Fantastic because I had guessed the wrong breed and two of our rabbits were disqualified on account of their size.  She totally schooled me with her rabbit knowledge and got all infomative and what-not,  and I just quickly got the heck out of there.

I never wanted this kind of life anyways.

On Wednesday, I made a triple batch of jam.  Because that is what 30 year old homeschooling moms do during summer break, didn’t you know? 

I don’t think the jam set up right and it is irking me.  Hell hath no fury like a woman who has spent all day canning runny jam.

After the jam, I was going to start a batch of meatballs for my freezer cooking stock up pile.  Did you know I have over 30 meals?  It’s true.  Don’t be jealous.

Listen to this brilliant idea:  I am going to mix ground elk with ground beef to make the balls of meat.  I am hoping to trick myself into trying elk this way.  I’ll let you know how it pans out.

BUT.  My husband called and said he would be home early and suggested we all go to the beach.  So we did.

Little Dude got dressed all by himself.  We are quite proud.

My boys taught themselves how to play fetch.

Handsome Dude.

He throws it.

He breaks out all of his muscles to run after it, like the champ that he is.

The waters are rising, yet he perserveres.

Victory!

Little Dude, sporting his sweet, backwards swim-shorts.

Throws it.

Fetches it.

They did this for about an hour, I kid you not.

Was Daisy Mae drinking the lake water?

Yes.  Daisy Mae was drinking the lake water.

Alright.  Happy Thursday!

Yes.  Hello.  Good Morning.

Before we begin, I must give you all the peepee shivers.

Sweet Pea and I were packing up the trailer on Friday when we both noticed what appeared to be a rock on the door frame.

Perplexed we quickly became as we pondered how on earth a rock could make its way up there.

But, alas.  ‘Twas not a rock.

It was a frog.

I TOLD you the peepee shivers were coming!  NO!  I did not remove it!  That’s why I got married.

So, we were all set to pull out for a blessed weekend of camping when I found my husband staring at the trailer tires.  Something was wrong and if I went into all the details you would be so bored and you would delete my blog from your life and break up with me and all that nonsense and I just can’t handle that today,  so I will just tell you that something was wrong.

Besides, I don’t even really know what was wrong.

But I can tell you that it required a jack and me handing my husband a sledgehammer.

Does that clear things up for you?

After the sledgehammer plan didn’t work, we had to call Alex. 

Remember Alex?

Alex is The Lumberjack’s brother.

Keep up!

Alex came as swiftly as one can come to Ruralville.  Ruralville is many things.  “Conveniently located” is not one of them.

Alex came and promptly donned some coveralls and pulled out welding materials.  Because Alex is a welder.  What did you think he was?  A barista?

I thoroughly appreciated the fact that he threw on some coveralls.  It really works out well for my blog posts, you know?   

Anyways.  Alex welded whatever it was that needed to be welded and then drove off into the sunset.  I was kind of hoping camping would be cancelled.  Because that would be a dire shame.  But, no.  Alex saved the day and we were able to still make it out for camping.

Thank you, Alex.

Camping was fine and dandy and I didn’t really know anyone because it was David’s work.  There were two younger guys sitting next to me and they were having a spirited conversation with each other.  They were talking on my “good ear” side so I could really only hear them.

Did you know I have a bad ear?  It’s true.  But not important.

The two young guys were cracking me up.

“Dude.  Tomorrow is going to, like, be the best day of my life.”

I was trying to ascertain why floating on a river with people from work would be the best day of one’s life.  I know it certainly wasn’t going to be the best day of my life.

After some of the guys were talking about their childrens’ names, I heard this conversation betweem the two young guys next to me:

“Dude.  You know what name is dumb for a girl?”

“What, dude?”

“Taylor.”

“Dude, I know.”

“It’s totally a boy’s name.  I hate it for a girl.” 

“Dude, totally.”

Dude #1 and Dude #2 did not know there was a female Taylor sitting right next to them.  But whatever.

And the next morning, they woke up, ate some muffins, and left.  Good riddance.

We floated and chatted and ate and all was well.  And David was right.  The people did not care about eating elk.

You may ask, “Taylor!  How do you know they didn’t care?”

Well, dear readers.  Because one of them brought BEAR SAUSAGE and they all acted like they had just won the food lottery.

Electricians are weird.

Pop Quiz Hot Shots:  What do my children look like on Camping: Day 3?

And, in conclusion, I would like to introduce you to a new segment on this blog entitled:

What Else Is New?

Yes!

That would be the brand new frames we just got last Wednesday.  I’m glad you asked.

Goodbye.

I have so much to do and not much time and I promised myself I wouldn’t blog. I’m such a liar.

A few of you commented yesterday that I should get some sort of Wife of the Year Award. While I appreciate the flattery, you don’t know the full story. So, without further ado, I shall share with you my day yesterday and let you see how my husband should get the Husband of the Year Award.
***

I decided to can peaches yesterday. This was my first experience with the canning of a peach and it was quite the long process. If I had two kitchens, things would have been just peachy (pun quite intended). But, sadly, I only have one kitchen and the process took FOREVER.

Fun Fact: When I was a child, my grandparents lived in their own city or something and had a canning BUILDING. I must ask my father immediately as to more details to this canning building and why it wasn’t willed to me? But that is neither here nor there.

Another Fun Fact: Did you know that if you put peaches in boiling water for 30 seconds and then in ice water for a couple of minutes, the skins just slip off?!?!

Daisy Mae was in charge of the de-skinning process. Science. Check.

So. I started the process by 10am and the last jars came out of the canner at 10pm.

Look at me and my bad self!

My husband had left for work that morning sometime between 3-5:45am. He never tells me when he is going to get up, so I never really know what time he started work. He was busy being an electrician all day and came home at 8pm bearing gifts of pizza (oh be still my heart) and BREADCRUMBS!
While the pizza baked, he helped me patty up the elk burgers. Having never prepared elk meat for burger consumption, I was a bit confused, but I threw in an egg, some diced onion, garlic salt, pepper, BREADCRUMBS and that funny sauce that I never know how to spell: worcestshire? You know. Sounds like warshester. And remember, I have no time for blogging, so I will not be getting off of my bum and looking at the bottle to give you the correct spelling.
It’s the kind of awesome service you’ve come to expect from me and my blog.
We fed the kids dinner, because loving parents always feed their kids at 8:30, didn’t you know? The kids did great yesterday. The girls helped with the peaches. Daisy Mae shucked all 30 ears of corn and made several trip to the compost bin. She even stopped and rinsed her bucket out before returning to the house.
?
Without being asked.
?
Handsome Dude came up to me about 10 times and said, and I quote:
“What can I do for you, Mom? Can I take something to the Tramp Trailer?”
Handsome Dude! My Handsome Dude! He said that! And, yes, my kids call the camp trailer the tramp trailer. What of it?
Little Dude was not helpful at all. One of his sister’s dressed him in his brother’s shorts and he spent most of the day waddling around with his pants around his ankles saying:
“Mom! My pants not working!”
And I just kept saying: “Mama’s busy! Just take them off!” Because who cares? No one is coming to call. But he wouldn’t have it and he waddled around all day wondering what in the world was so hard about his own mother stopping and getting him shorts that properly fit him.
Goodness. I am droning on and on, aren’t I?
Back to last night.
We finally feed the kids dinner and then my husband goes into turbo mode.
Me: Let’s be done.
David: No. I want to get as much done as possible for you tonight.
Me: It’s really ok, I can do it tomorrow.
David: No. This is for my work and you don’t need to do it.
Me: But I really want to just watch Lost and eat popcorn.
David: You can! I don’t mind. I will just get some stuff done.
Of course, I didn’t watch Lost, but David helped me and together we:
1) Baked two batches of brownies
2) Cut watermelon and cantaloupe
3) Slice tomatoes, onions, and cheese
4) Washed grapes and lettuce
5) Patty up sausage for breakfast
6) Wash all dishes and clean kitchen
7) Put all canning stuff away
And I guarantee you that I will not be slaving over a stove cooking for everyone. He will do most of it and I will help him. It’s the least I can do.
So, there. I just wanted to make sure you all didn’t think David was dumping tons of work on me or something.
Isn’t he grand?
This is why there is a deer hanging over the peaches:

He deserves it, eh?

We need to do the COW because we never do the COW. So sad.
The COW is the Comment of the Week. Keep up!
This week is Debra:
Don’t go gettin’ all handsome over those ice cream cones. ( I can’t help it.)
Debra has properly used my sister’s “get all handsome on it” phrase from day one.
Holla, Debra!
Alright! I really need to get all handsome on my camping packing.
Happy Friday!

PS-Something is wrong with my blog and I cannot spell check OR center! And I don’t have time to look into it.
PPS-I don’t know what time David left this morning, but our coffee pot has a 2 hour shut off timer and when I went to get a cup at 5:45 it had already shut off. How does he DO this everyday?
PPPS-Is anyone else having trouble with WordPress? Or is it just me? I am getting annoyed! I am sorry that this post is so hard to read. Ok, bye!

So, I am sure you have been all dying to see this:

He is looking svelte, no?

Svelte is a fun word, there is no denying it.

David is loving me right now.  Because every manly-man wants his birthday-coveralls picture in a blog his wife writes about him being a lumberjack, when he is, in fact, an electrician.

  I TOLD you he would look like a train conductor. 

 Choo.  Choo. 

Unfortunately, David was born with a freakishly long torso and finds the coveralls a bit uncomfy-like.  They must be returned, it cannot be helped.  But I get brownie points for trying, right?

David needs new clothes in general.  I told him I wanted to buy him some new duds for his birthday and he told me I could get him some Wranglers.  Because he is HILARIOUS like that.  So, imagine my luck when I find “Wranglers:  The Retro Fit.”  Ha!  They look like something one might find at The Gap.  He didn’t even try them on.

The audacity.

And here is a cute picture of Daisy Mae that serves no purpose, but just shows off her uber cute dimples:

Lest any of you are confused, she is wearing her dad’s workcoat and boots.

Alright!  Let us move on!

I had the good fortune of going to town yesterday.  First stop was the glasses repair shop, because if we don’t stop in at least once a week, the workers go into withdrawls.

I’m sure they find all of Handsome Dude’s mishaps endearing.

These glasses have seen better days. 

The astute reader might notice that the frame was previously snapped.  It had since been superglued and shrink-wrapped.  But, alas.  They broke again. 

I called to let them know we would need new frames and GUESS WHAT!  The old ones were still under warranty for about 12 more hours so we got new ones for free!

FREE!

Next, I had to take the children to Best Buy because my new smart phone was in.

Did I tell you my phone broke?  It’s true.  So, my new one was in and I had to attempt to corral the children at The Best Buy and make sure they didn’t touch anything ever.

I was helped by a young lad with earrings and spikey hair named Kody with a “K”.  Kody was his factual name and I can assure you that Kody does not read my blog, so it is okay to share his real name.

I did not know a young man could raise his eyebrows so much.  I can assure you that Kody also does not have children.  Little Dude was in his Creepy Creeperton mode and talking in his bunny voice.  He was licking his hands and wiping my face and playing with my hair and all sorts of germy things.

Oh!  He even found gum someone had stuck under the counter and kept handing me pieces of it.

Because that is sanitary.

Kody’s eyebrows might be permanly stuck in a “shocked” position.

So, Kody was going to try and help me get all of my contacts restored.  He asked me for my gmail account email.

Imagine my embarrassment when I have to tell him my email username is:

thelumberjackswife

There went his darn eyebrows again.

Sadly, none of my contacts could be stored.  None of them. I have not one contact.  And I emailed Bimlissa thrice asking her for her digits and she has ignored me!

I am going to take the hint.

After those two fun errands, I had to meet up with my husband to do some shopping.  You see, dear reader, unbeknownst to me, my husband signed us up to be in charge of the first annual work camping trip.  Because preparing camping meals for several electricians is exactly what I am prepared to do.  And get this:  no one else’s wife is coming.  So, this will be weird.

David’s work gave him a teeny-tiny budget that in no way can feed all of these people for all of these meals.  So David was trying to be creative and come up with ways to save money, bless his heart.

David:  I’ve got some steaks.

Me:  David.  When you say “steak” you mean venison.

David:  And we can use that elk and patty up some burgers.

Me:  You can’t do this to people!

David:  No one is going to care!

Me:  Yes!  Yes, David!  People DO care!  It isn’t normal!

David:  And I have some of that pork from last fall . . .

Do you remember the pig, readers?  Do you?

So, after I threw up a bit in my mouth, I decided that I could just fill up on potatoes and rolls because carbs are my bff.

So, David and I had taken the kids to three stores and were finally on our way home.  Do you ever shop at three stores and remember that one item you forgot?

Breadcrumbs.  We forgot the breadcrumbs.

You know?

To form the elk into patties so we can pass it off as burgers?

Keep up!

So, we were about to pass the last grocery store before heading out of town and I needed to call David.  We were in seperate vehicles, because that’s how we roll.

However, my battery in my new smart phone with no contacts was dying, so I had to keep it plugged into my charger.  So I dial David’s number and put the phone on speaker so I can just lean and shout into it, because I am super classy like that.

“Hello?”

Me:  BREADCRUMBS!

“Breadcrumbs!?”

Me:  BREADCRUMBS! 

“Breadcrumbs!?”

Me:  BREADCRUMBS! DO YOU WANT TO STOP AND GET SOME?  I NEED TO KNOW NOW!

“Who IS this?”

Me:  Not funny, David.

“Who is David?”

So, I look at the phone and I have dialed somebody who wasn’t David.  And there was all sorts of laughter coming from the person who wasn’t David and his gal pal and I shall forever be known as that crazy BREADCRUMBS lady.

Alright.  I must go.  I have 30 ears of corn to shuck. 

Because corn is the perfect compliment to venison steaks.

Didn’t you know?

Goodbye.

Today is the day of my husband’s birth.  I won’t tell you how OLD he is now, because I wouldn’t want him to get all depressed and forlorn about his age and all.  I still think of us as dumb 20 year olds who don’t know what we are doing.

Alas.  We are not 20.  But we are still dumb and have no clue what we are doing.  Plus we now have four kids. 

I was having dinner at my parent’s house one evening recently whilst David was working late.  I told my dad that David wanted coveralls for his birthday.

You remember the coveralls, don’t you, dear readers?

source

Anyways.  I was telling my dad that this was what my husband desired for the celebration of his birth.

I trust you remember my dad, no?

My dad, who rarely utters a syllable, dropped his fork and slammed the table.

Dad:  No!

Me:  What?!

Dad:  You must not buy him these coveralls.

Me (laughing, because my dad has always been a slave to fashion):  What do you care?!

Dad:  David is taking this country life thing too far, Taylor.  It’s too much!  You must put a stop to this!

Me:  Well, he just wants them because-

Dad (interrupting, because he is the patriarch and it is his right to do so):  Let me tell you a story.

This may shock you, dear readers, but my dad isn’t exactly known for his story-telling skills.  Or skillz.  Whichever tootles your horn.

Before this intriguing story begins, the reader must be informed that in days of yore, my dad delivered oxygen-ish stuff to people in need of such items.

Dad:  Back when I had my route, there was this guy I had to deliver to.  He wore such coveralls.

Me:  So?

Dad:  They were really awful. 

Me:  Ok.

Dad:  So, one day, I go to his house for a delivery.  I knock on the door and he answers wearing nothing but white socks.

Me:  Nothing?

Dad:  Nothing. 

Me:  Awkward.

Dad:  So, he lets me in and says, “Sorry!  I thought you were that other guy!”

Me:  Ew.

Dad:  WHAT OTHER GUY?  Who was he waiting naked for?  He was a weird guy.  And every other time I saw him, he was wearing coveralls. So, David cannot get coveralls.  It’s just too much.

Me:  Alright, Dad.

But, I digress.

I still bought David the coveralls, because it is what his heart desires.  And what do I care anymore?  He doesn’t read this stupid blog, so we don’t need to worry about him finding out before he opens them.

The coveralls I purchased look similar to these ones:

Except the ones I bought are a lighter blue with white stripes and look almost as if he is about to conduct a train.

Choo.  Choo.

I am also making my husband his favorite cake.  It is also the favorite, go-to cake for all of my crazy-kin inlaws.

Are you ready for it?

Take a yellow cake mix.

Prepare it.

Bake it.

Take a knife and just slaughter the top of it.

Take a package of pudding mix.

Prepare it.

Pour it over the top of the cake and let it set in the cake.

Refrigerate.

Spread with Cool Whip.

Ta. Da.

Make this cake and your husband, if he is a Maliblahblah, will rise and call you blessed.

No!

Do not fool yourself and try a fancy new recipe!  Do not pore over cookbooks and pick out fancy cakes you feel shall impress your main man!

Just stick with the pudding cake!  It is all he will ever want.

Ever.

Alright.  That is all.  Goodbye.

PS-He is 31