The Lumberjack's Wife

I am leaving for Las Vegas on Saturday with my mom.  My mom invited me and I was not going to go, on account of the fact that I have no money to be foolishly throwing away on airplane tickets.  However, David heard about this trip and told me I must go.

I have determined his reasons for why he is forcing me to go on this trip:

1)  He has hunting guilt.

2)  He has “I moved my wife to the boonies” guilt.

3)  He didn’t know what to get me for my birthday.

4)  Did I tell you I turned 30?  I know.  I am still depressed, too.

I checked the weather and did you know that in some places the weather can reach in the 100’s?!?!?  And one such place is Las Vegas?!?!

Oh, my lands.

I get weary in our 79 degree heat.  Show me a 9 degree day and I’ll just slap on my long underwear and build me a fire.  But 100 degrees?  How do these people live?

We are meeting my Auntie Datenutloaf there.  Auntie Datenutloaf lives in a far off land, so we don’t often see her.  When I was a child, she came and lived with us for a time. 

Years ago, when I was a young lass, Auntie Datenutloaf came for a visit. We were playing Trivial Pursuit.  This is the only game my Dad would play with us, because it is the only game he wins at.

Sidenote:  Have you ever seen a person with no creativity or imagination play Balderdash?

That would be my Dad.

Example:  When he was told to come up with the plot for a movie titled “There’s one born every minute,” he wrote:  “A movie about babies being born.”

Yes.  We were taken aback by his ingenuity as well.

Why am I talking about Balderdash?  Let’s proceed.

So, Auntie Datenutloaf was playing Trivial Pursuit with us.  My dad was in a good mood, only because he was winning, and us children were just trying to act like we knew what any of the questions were.

It was my turn to read a question:  “What contraceptive was invented in the 1950’s?”

Of course, all the adults turned red and had that “Oh, snap!  Should we be playing this game with the children!?” look when Brother Danny shouted:

“I know!  I know!”

At this point, all joy has been sucked out of my father’s life as he is pondering his failures as a father since his young son knows of contraceptives.

“It’s color TV!  Color TV is the answer!”

At this point, Auntie Datenutloaf cannot contain herself any longer.  She begins to run/fall down the stairs to the bathroom shouting:

“Bail O’ Cotton!  Bail O’ Cotton!”

Which made no sense to children such as ourselves.  But now that I am 30, and wiser to life, I completely know what she was talking about.

She was going to pee her pants.

And I now know what a contraceptive is.

And no, it is not a color TV . . . technically speaking . . .

Auntie Datenutloaf never considered me to be the brightest crayon in the box.  It would take me awhile to catch on to things.

For example, one dreary, cold winter day, my uncle asked me to get him some sunscreen.

Isn’t he just hilarious?

Well I, being the obedient child that I was, went to look for it.  For like 20 minutes.  When I came downstairs my mother and Aunt were mocking me.

Yes.  Mocking.

Mom:  Taylor.  Of course he doesn’t need sunscreen.  Look outside.

Auntie Datenutloaf:  Go Speed Racer!

I just smiled and acted like I knew what a Speed Racer was.

source

Now, I know that I am 30, I know that she was making fun of me.

The nerve!

And now, I am going on a trip with these people.

My goal is to not get called “Speed Racer” once.

***

In other news, I convinced David to shave his sideburns.

I do not know how I accomplished this, nor do I know if I shall ever accomplish anything this spectacular in my life again, but they are gone.

Oh, yes.  They are gone.

***

David got a smart phone.

We are hoity-toity Ruralville-ites now.

***

I lost like 1 pound.  Do you think I will meet my 10 pound goal by Saturday?

***

(The answer is no.  No, I will not)

***

The hummingbirds have left me.  I am trying to act like it doesn’t bother me, but it does.

Do hummingbirds go out of season?

Go, Speed Racer!

Have you ever walked into your bathroom and found your 3 year old stark naked, standing on the counter, trying to “get da bugs!” with your hair dryer?

Me neither.

But if it were to happen to me, let me assure you that the hair dryer would surely be unplugged.

We’re pretty big on safety over here.

I need to answer more questions!  I begged, nay pleaded, with you all to ask me a question assuring you I deeply needed these questions in order to formulate a blog post.  Obviously, I am a liar.  But, oh well, let us press on.

(To visit the first questions and answers posts, click here, then here.  In that order.  Or else.)

(Or don’t.  Your choice.)

From Katie Brn:

(Katie asked me LOTS of questions, making her my newest BFF, holla, Katie, holla!  I am not sure I can answer all of them, but I will do my best)

(For the record, my so-called “friend,” Bimlissa did not ask me a question.  Just an FYI.)

What do you do for yourself? As in, what do you do, or think you should do, with the few minutes you are allowed to yourself a week? (and blogging doesn’t count!)

By the time I have a few minutes, it is about 830pm.  David and I usually have 4th meal and watch shows until David falls asleep at 854pm.

You may ask, “Taylor!  What is 4th meal?”

Well.  A long time ago, David and I got into the habit of eating a bowl of ice cream every night while watching TV.  We made the switch to popcorn deeming it much healthier.

Because we choose to believe it is healthier.  And don’t tell us otherwise.

We also partake of sodas.  David will often add a large mug of hot cocoa, because it makes his tummy feel pleasant, and we have recently added peanut M&Ms to 4th meal.

We are healthnuts.

So, that’s what we do.  We sit and eat our healthier choices.

Have you ever heard the song “Taylor, the latte boy?” I know you aren’t a boy, but I always think of that song when I read your blog. That and Monte Python’s “Lumberjack Song” but don’t be affended that the only thing that ties them to this blog in my brain are the names . . .

No, I haven’t heard that song.  But my husband used to ALWAYS since that Lumberjack song until I told him what it was really saying.  It totally burst his bubble.

And now the lightning round . . .

Ewan McGregor or Jude Law

I have no idea who this “Ewan” is.  I think I have seen Jude Law before?  I don’t remember being repulsed?

Yet, my eyes remain true to my non-cross-dressing Lumberjack:

Coke or Pepsi

Diet Pepsi, of course.
Cupcake or slice of pie
Apple pie or pumpkin pie

Neither.  I am a health nut.  Remember?
New or old version of Willy Wonka

Old
Capris or shorts

Capris.  Remember these bad boys?

The public thanks me.
right or left handed

Right.
Umbrella or poncho

Umbrella
beach or mountains

Beach
tomato or potato

Potato

From Tara:

And my Q for you: When was the last time you ate MOOSE TRACKS?? Was it THE Mother’s Day outing? I’m on my Oreo kick right now because the last 1/2 gallon of MOOSE TRACKS I ate had very little fudge swirl in it and made me want to write to the ice cream makers for it.

I had Moose Tracks on Sunday at the Amusement Park.  And I could not even finish it, the disappointment that I am.

Moose Tracks from the grocery store is no good.  But $4 waffle cone from a parlor is where its at.  I like the finer things in life.

From Katie:

What is your recipe for chicken/potato/artichoke dish?

I got this recipe from Shannon when I asked you all for simple dinner recipes:

Artichoke Chicken

1 can of artichoke hearts (or 1/3 of a Costco jar)
1 pound of chicken tenders cut into chunks (I use 12)
1 bag of small red potatoes (sliced)
2 cloves of garlic
juice of one lemon
2 TBSP olive oil
salt & pepper to taste

This meal is supper simple. I bake my potatoes in the microwave until just done. Cook chicken. In a large skillet combine cooked, diced chicken, potatoes, artichokes, olive oil, garlic & lemon. Saute until potatoes are a nice golden brown. Season with salt & pepper to taste. Delightful!

Yes.  Shannon originally wrote “supper” simple, instead of “super” simple and I found it to be a snazzy typo.

From Wendy:

Let me see…do you plan to home school all of your kids until they graduate? Or just until you go stark-raving mad?

I have NO idea.

But Daisy Mae will oft ask if we can do homeschool college, so I fear I am in it for the long haul.
Does the Lumberjack plan to live in Ruralville for the rest of his life? Or will you move back to civilization?

He told me on day one that he would love to die here.  Which was an odd thing to say, but, this is his dream and we cannot fault him for that, even if we cannot understand it.

From Jessy H:

Ok, my questions
1.) So, I follow 6 blogs. Why is it, that 4 or 5 of those 6 decide to takes breaks at the same time? Do they not realize that I read them and only them and they shouldn’t all leave me at the same time!? Do they not realize that I stay home with no adult interaction through-out the day and reading them is how I feel like I am surrounded by adults?

No.  I do not think they realize.  My sympathies.
2.) I also am turning 30 this year and have not yet had the facial hair problem. Is this really something that is going to happen to me? When did you (oops, your friend) start seeing the facial hair?

I don’t have facial hair, so I don’t know what you are talking about.  I am flawless.

From Rachel:

 I also have a question for you. Despite loving your lumberjack, lumberjacklings, and lumberjillings and enjoying (?) your country-living lifestyle I feel I may safely assume this is not the life you dreamed of. So when you were a young lass what did you think your life would be like when you were 30?

NO!  Yet here I am.  It is my lot in life, my burden to bear.

From Joyce

Here is my question-does the LJ know he’s pushing his luck with the handlebar thing?

Let me let you all in on a little secret:  I can’t let LJ know when he is pushing my buttons.  It will not end well for me.

When we were first married, my romantic and doting husband used to pin me down on the ground and restrain my arms.  Then he would proceed to slowly let a . . .  how do you say it . . . loogie?, drop from his lips, dangle in front of my nose, and then he would suck it back up.

Hands off, ladies.  He is all mine.

Well, I would scream and kick and buck and yell and fake cry and try all sorts of things to get him to stop.  This only encourages him.

It was when I feigned indifference that he finally stopped.

Therefore and henceforth, I shall shrug and say “Whatever you want, hon” when he mentions the handlebars.  As long as I remain steadfast in this lie, he will not get handlebars.

I hope.

From Suzanne:

How in the world do you stay sane and positive living in ruralville? I’m from a beautiful coastal town in Florida that I miss every. single. day. and I now live in S. Alabama (SIIIIGGGGGHHHHH) and I have a very hard time staying sane and positive living here. On top of that, I don’t have nearly as much on my plate as you do-I have no kids so obviously I don’t homeschool. HOW do you do it?!

I have no idea.

Just kidding.  Well, life isn’t THAT bad for me.  God has blessed me and I am thankful for this house and all the land we have now.  I do love homeschooling my children, as challenging as it is.  I have a husband who loves me and takes care of us who doesn’t have handlebars and stopped spitting loogies on me. 

Moving here meant a lot to my husband.  He is very appreciative of my willingness to do so and he is happier, so I am happier.

***

Thanks for all the questions, you all rocked my world.

Tonight I am going on a farewell tour with my children’s ministry peeps.

Yes.  None of you probably knew this because I rarely speak of such things, but I was in leadership for children’s ministry for 6 years and I just stepped down.

They are all devastated, I can assure you.

Here we all are. 

Yes.  We look awesome, this cannot be helped.

No!  I am not completely stepping down.

David and I shall be serving in an elementary aged room from here on out.

Don’t tell David, but I signed him up to lead worship on stage.  It’s right up his alley.

Happy Tuesday!

Ever since I turned 30, my life got super busy and I have had no time for this blogging nonsense.

Maybe I am now too old for such things.

Every time someone hears that I am now thirty, their eyes get all big.

“Wow.  I’m sorry!”

“Oh . . . . 30, huh?”

“Hey, Dave!  You gotta find a new wife now!  Yours is so old!”

And that last one is just plain nonsense because David knows he shall never find a wife to move to Ruralville and put up with his trophy buck staring at her all the livelong day.

My mother had the day off on Friday and whenever my mother has a day off during the summer-ish months, she is bound and determined to go to the beach.  And every time she has a day off, the weather is frigid. 

And yet, she refuses to retreat.

So, on Friday, I was chilly and wearing my winter layers and trying to get all the kids swimstuff packed to humor my mother who must be getting crazy because she is 51 and all now.

And we drive all the way into town and, *gasp*, we determined it was too cold to go the beach.  This displeased Little Dude and he just kept yelling at me:

“Go to BEACH!  Go to BEACH NOW!”

He is such a well-behaved boy.  So, my mom decided we should take all the kids to skating rink.

Because that sounds easy.

Whilst skating, Handsome Dude was a bit ahead of me and I noticed him having some trouble with his glasses.

Shocking, I know.

So, I tried to pull Little Dude as fast as I could and got there just in time for another little boy, about 7 years old, helping him.

And that, my friends, is just fantastic, and I hope my boys will someday be that helpful and polite . . .

One can only hope.

So, the little boy had put Handsome Dude’s lens back in the frame for him and off Handsome Dude went.

And moments later, both lenses just popped out of the frames and onto the floor of the local roller rink.

My poor boy.  He finally gets responsible with the glasses (and I use the term “responsible” quite loosely)  (quite), and now he is plagued with “lenses-randomly-popping-out” syndrome.

So, that was fun and and I had to call my dapper husband who came and picked Handsome Dude up, took him to the eye glasses clinic, where everybody knows our name, and they just decided to superglue his glasses together.

This excites me!  Hopefully his lenses won’t just pop out anymore.

I am 30 now.  These are the things that excite me.

Maybe I should take up knitting.

On Saturday, we stayed at home all day and it was the first time in months that Mr. Lumberjack got to stay a full 24 hours at his dream house that he forgets to live at.

He was in a jolly good mood and I was able to convince him that he needed to help the kids clean ALL the rabbit poop from around the bunny hutches.

And he did!

Attention Wives:  Please submit your husbandly queries to me and I, the expert that I obviously am, shall help you achieve the results you desire.

So, I went inside and turned on my Taylor Swift, because even though I am 30, I am not too old for Taylor Swift, and I cooked up some elk meat for lunch.

Attention Wives:  I live in Ruralville with peach walls and deer heads staring at me while I cook my husband up some elk for lunch.  Don’t bother sending your queries.  Instead, send me your advice on how I can get out of this mess.  Thank you.

No!  I did not partake of the elk for my meal, you silly readers, you!

That’s crazy talk.

On Sunday, David’s work treated everyone to a day at the amusement park.

I know what you are thinking, dear readers.

Elk!  Rabbits!  Roller rinks!  Beaches!  Winter weather in June!  Amusement Parks!

Where does this Lumberjill live?

I know, I know.  So mysterious, so exciting.  Yes.  That is my life.

Here we are with our lovely selves, getting all amused at the park.

Fun Fact:  I took none of these pictures.  A fellow worker of David’s did.

David probably thought he was safe from anyone else seeing these pictures.

Yet, his coworker was armed with a smart phone and the power of The Facebook, which is what all made these pictures possible for you today.

Handsome Dude thought he was driving a car for reals.  He was pretty elated and thrilled and all that.

A lot of David’s coworkers were a bit surprised to see him there.

“Dave!  I didn’t think this was your thing!”

“So, you made it all the way from Ruralville, huh?”

“I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you’d be at home ‘sticking it to the man'”

Ha!

It’s a good thing David has such humorous people in his life to tease him endlessly.

It’s good for him.

At the aforementioned amusement park, there is also a water park (I know! I told you my life was exciting!).  Little Dude fell and scraped up his leg a bit. 

I found a lifeguard person and asked her if she had a bandaid.

She told me I had to find a paramedic.

?

So I found the paramedic and asked her if she had a bandaid.

She told me I had to come with her to the First Aid Station.

So, she had to make the small talk, don her gloves, clean the wound, give the boy a sucker, try to understand the words the boy was saying, give him a bandaid, and took her time lovingly picking out a sticker for him.

Which was super nice and all.

But I just needed a bandaid.

I know what you are thinking.

“Taylor!  Why do you not already carry bandaids around?  Have you met your children?”

I know, I know.

I guess I like to live on the wild side.

So, that was our weekend, as exciting as it was.

Oh!  I leave for Las Vegas on Saturday!

I hope to lose 10 pounds by then.

Wish me luck!

Summer came yesterday and it came with a bang.  I went to the park with my friend MindyLou and we were hot like lava.

It was like . . . 80.  Our hearty, winter bodies are not yet acclamated to things such as sun and warmth and skies that are blue.

MindyLou has a son named Levi and Handsome Dude thinks he’s the bee’s knees.  Yet, Handsome Dude never remembers his bff’s name.

“Hey, Caleb!”

“Hey, Riley!”

“Hey, Byron!”

“Hey, Caden!”

“Hey, guy!”

“Hey, Isaac!”

Strangely, Levi answers to all names, which further proves these two boys are a match made in heaven.

Today we are home and summer has left us.  I am back to wearing socks and my black Cabela’s jacket, which always makes me look fetching.  We are having some serious bouts of thunder and lightning.

Little Dude is terrified of the thunder.  He finds it to be wee scary.  Whenever he is scared, he can’t seem to control his upper lip.

He’s all shook up.

(get it?)

So, I guess that was it for us for summer.  It was nice while it lasted.

In other news, this is the day of my birth. 

It’s true.  I’m 30 now.  I’m one of THOSE people.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that.  Just weird.

I woke up to flowers from my adoring husband and a present compiled by Daisy Mae.  I had to remove my husband’s card so my children would not see it, as it was flagged for adult content.

Hi, Dad! 

Daisy Mae’s present was sweet and it is obvious she is the only child who really loves me, seeing as how Little Dude just told me it was really his birthday, Handsome Dude is just mad because I won’t give him “lo-gurt” round the clock, and Sweet Pea says:

“Sorry, Mom.  I don’t have any money.”

Turns out Daisy Mae is a bit of a “re-gifter.”  She gave me her strawberry lotion and lip balm that she received from her friend.  She gave me a bookmark somebody gave me about 5 years ago and a few other knick knacks she found around the house.

Her card is super cute:

Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday

It is you”r Birthday!

We celebraet it.  We now You 30.

Love, Daisy Mae

I hop you have a Happy Day

Wow

Nise!

Love you

prfikt

Happ BirthDay

I wish you good luck

And now for some most excellent news:  I am going on a trip next week to Las Vegas with my Marmie and my Auntie Datenutloaf.

Me:  Mom.  What are we going to do in Vegas?

Mom:  Look at hotels, shop, yuck it up by the pool.

Yuck it up? 

Yes.  Let’s yuck.

?

Moms are weird.

Sister Meagan might join us.

Let us take this moment to encourage her to do so.

*Thank you*

Well.  I’m signing off.  I am hoping to watch Veggie Tales with the Fab Four via my Netflix instant thingie-ma-bob.

This will most likely frustrate me, seeing as how I can’t ever get it to load at a speed I deem acceptable.

But I love me some Bob and Larry.

And popcorn.

And Diet Pepsi.

Happy Thursday!

Alright.  I wrote an entire post already today, and you can read all about it here.

It tells you all about these bad boys:

No.  You can’t borrow them.

(By the way, I think my inlaws are sincerely proud of me and gave these to me as sort of a recognition that I have finally come to join their side.)

(Have I?)

Anyways, I must tell you that in order for us to get this picture captured in time . . .

we had to stand by that waterfall for like 2 minutes.  Which is a long time when trying to photograph such a happy family.

My father-in-law was the one taking the pictures for me and the above one was the best one. 

 I was perplexed, dear reader . . .  dumbfounded, if you will.

Couldn’t there have been a better one?

Well, dear readers, it turns out that Pa-in-law was confused and was using the video function.

It happens.

So, here is a 10 second video of us posing for a picture

video-2011-06-18-14-38-36

Yes, you have to click on it.  But it is only 10 seconds and it is hilarious and you need to watch it and then come back and then we will talk about it and how many more times can I say “and” and continue this sentence?

Ok.  Did you watch it?

Let’s discuss.

1.  Watch Sweet Pea.  She is on the left.  As soon as she thinks the picture is taken, watch her face completely deflate.  Hilarious.

2.  Let us all consider Handsome Dude’s stance and ponder to ourselves what on earth he is doing.

Does this have anything to do with the explosive diarrhea that would visit him the next morn?

3.  David, the happy man that he is, does not change his facial expression.  Once.

4.  Does it look like I am fake smiling?

Cause I am.

5.  Daisy Mae wins.  Hands down.

And she is not even looking at the camera.

6.  Little Dude needs a better attention span.

7.  Lucy gets second place.

Alright.  That was all.  I thought it was funny.

Carry on.

PS-tell me if the video does not work, ok?  Roger?  10-4?

When will SUMMER come?  I mean, honestly.  We need to break into the 70’s here at some point.  It’s JUNE. 

And all you goodie-goodies who live in the southlands can drawl on  all you want about the heat and your sweet tea and whatnot, but I am still wearing pants, drinking hot coffee, and sometimes, wearing my Cabelas jacket.

Because I now wear a Cabelas jacket.  As if I couldn’t get any stranger.

Oh, wait!  I can!

For this, my upcoming 30th birthday, my inlaws got me my first pair of Carhartt’s.  Yes.  I am sporting the “bib overalls” with a lovely flannel shirt, perfect for a day of hard-work-fun in Ruralville.

My inlaws.

Them are wild and crazy. 

So, yes.  They thought they were all hilarious and gave me those Carhartt overalls.  The flannel shirt is actually from the Gap circa 1993, so I guess that is kind of ironic . . . don’t you think? 

(name that music artist)

  (it’s really easy.  don’t let me down.)

Back to the subject at hand:

You would NOT believe how huge these things are.  I’m not sure how to take that.  I mean, yay for things swimming on me, but boo for people thinking they might fit my girth in the first place.

Dislcaimer:  This photo was taken at 8:30pm after a fun day of child-rearing, laundry, trailer cleaning, and outside work.  Which is why I look the way that I do. 

The astute reader might notice the flowers in the picture.  I am hoping you did because, I said, and I quote,

“David!  Take a picture of me in these Carhartts next to the flowers you got me! Make sure you get the flowers!  And make me look thin!”

I, yes, I, Taylor Maliblahblah received flowers from my doting husband last Friday.  And this was before he ever saw me in those Carhartts.

You may ask:  “Taylor!  How did you do that?

Well, dear readers, it was really quite simple.

Step #1-Tell your husband you want him to bring you flowers.

Step #2-Wait at least a year, give or take a few months, for him to finally buy you some because he feels it is dumb to get flowers within the same year you ask him. 

Step #3- Get the entire family ready to go camping all by yourself because your husband is working long hours.

Step #4-On the day of blissful camping departure, become all stressed-like when you see that your boys have hauled dirt into the house (?) and your girls TOLD you they took care of the rabbits, when alas, they did not.

Step #5-Slam your head smack into the roof of the rabbit hutch whilst doing your rabbit inspection.

Step #6- Stupid rabbits.

Step #7- Mutter and/or shout “I never wanted this kind of life!”

Step #8-Return inside to your peach house just in time to get a call from your unsuspecting husband who is on a “WOO-HOO!  I’M GOING CAMPING!!!” high

Step #9- Basically throw a fit because you are tired and cranky and your head hurts and who has time to worry about rabbits anyways?

Step #10- Receive flowers from your husband.

Step #11- Become slightly bummed that the flowers came mere minutes before leaving for the weekend.

Step #12-Briefly consider bringing the aforementioned flowers camping so you can enjoy them. 

Step #13- Deem that to be considered too high maintenance from the fellow camp-goers.

Step #14- Enjoy flowers when you return from blissful camping trip.

Speaking of rabbits, nobody cared to guess yesterday as to how many little baby bunnies we have.

25.

Speaking of yesterday, Mindee was perplexed as to how I was able to tow a fully-equipped toilet behind the rig to accommodate Handsome Dude’s explosive diahrrea.

Mindee!  We were towing our camp trailer!

Keep up!

Yes.  We would just pull over to the side of the road and take him on inside.  It was super classy.

Darling reader Joyce had an idea that I liked.  She suggested I have my readers come up with a caption for our family camping photo and the idea tickled my fancy.

So, leave a comment with an idea for a caption, if you feel so inclined.

Happy Tuesday!

PS-I’m not 30 yet.  Just to keep the record straight.

PPS- It is true.  My husband is growing sideburns.

PPPS-I’ll shall have this day for mourning.

We have returned from a funtastic camping weekend.  And funtastic, is, of course, open to interpretation.  Because sometimes, I’m just not so sure about this whole camping thing . . .

But that is neither here nor there.

You know what is really a treat?

Camping with kids.

Wanna make it more fun?

Camping with kids in the rain.

Wanna make it ecstatic?

Camping hair.

So, we went on a hike to some waterfalls.

Dang.  We are one photogenic family.

Alex and Holly:

Lisa and baby girl #2

Sweet Pea

Alex

(He’s such a show-off)

David and Little Dude . . .

“Please, Taylor.  Enough with the pictures.”

“Honestly, Mother.  Enough is enough.”

I would like to show you all a little sampling of the amount of wood my husband feels is necessary for a weekend camping trip:

I didn’t help unload it.

I had “conveniently” misplaced my work gloves.

Darn.

Fun Fact:  I don’t have work gloves.  And I don’t plan on getting any.

(See the aforepictured wood pile.)

(Yes. I made up the word aforepictured.  This is why you like me.)

Little Dude turned 3!  Can we believe it? 

 No we cannot.

I wonder if Bimlissa is going to make any hoity-toity remarks about his hairstyle.  Not that SHE would ever do such a thing.

Hmph.

Do you know how dirty children get while camping?  It’s shocking, really.  I mean, it’s expected that one gets dirty and grimy while camping.  My kids take it to a whole new level.

When I asked Little Dude what kind of cake he wanted, all he said was:

“Brown.”

Little Dude walks around and says:

“I love brown, I love mommy, I love brown.”

Fun fact:  I have brown eyes.  He is smitten.

This is why I love this kid.  You all know just how awesome I am at creative cakes . . .

So, I just made him Darn Good Chocolate Cake.

On Sunday morning, Handsome Dude woke up feeling a bit sick.  So, that made for an interesting ride home.

I’ll tell you one thing that ain’t two things:  When you have a four year old with explosive diarrhea, you come to truly appreciate the fact that you are towing behind you a fully equipped toilet.

The explosiveness of it all added about an hour to our drive home.

My grammy used to always say that phrase: “I’ll tell you one thing that ain’t two things . . . “

I never understood it.  So I am now saying it to you.

You’re welcome.

We came home and let Little Dude open his presents.

Please ignore his strange pants/underwear combination.  And ignore the fact that he is wearing his sister’s panties.

When your brother is blowing through all the boy underwear, it’s hard for a mama to keep up.

Yes.  I have community “boy” underwear and community “girl” underwear.  And I stand firmly in my beliefs.

I also have a community sock basket.

Life is too short for such tedious sorting.

I do, however, believe in individualistic toothbrushes.  As should you.

Alright.  I must leave you now.

Happy Father’s Day to all the awesome Dads out there . . .

Such as mine.

PS-100 (meaningless) points to anyone who can guess how many baby bunnies we have in our “hare-um”

PPS-Do you get it?

PPPS- I think we should paint a sign called, “David’s Hare-um.”  thoughts?

PPPPS-500 (meaningless) points to anyone who can guess what my inlaws got me for my birthday.

Hint:  It’s something to wear.  And it might make you want to send out a rescue mission.

Peace out, dudes!

I know I still have some questions to answer, but I must inform you of a recent happenstance.

This post, of which I am about to write, is guaranteed to make you feel better about your day.

Maybe.

Before we proceed, I must warn you that this post shall talk about poop.

A lot.

Since I consider myself a lady, I shall not be littering this page with “poop” this and “poop” that.  No.  I am far too high-class for that business.

From here on out, “poop” shall be referred to as “the unmentionable.”

Even though I have already mentioned it many times thus far.

***

Earlier today, Handsome Dude walked by me and said, “Hi, Mom!  I not smell poop!”

(I know, I know.  But it would be weird if he called poop, “the unmentionable.”  I shall call it the unmentionable starting now.)

(I promise.  Don’t leave.)

I looked at him and did a visual check for “the unmentionable.”  Since I didn’t see anything amiss, I went back to loading the camp trailer.

You may ask, “Taylor!  Have you not met your son, Handsome Dude?  Warning!  Danger! Something is wrong!”

I know, dear readers.  I know.  But when a gal, such as myself, is getting her family of six ready for a weekend of wilderness fun, she tends to remain vigiliant on her tasks at hand.

A little while later, I noticed the bathroom door was locked.  Trust me, this is not rare with my dudes.

Have you met them?

Anyways.  Who has time to prompty unlock a bathroom door?  Certainly not me.  So, I went about my camping tasks, when I noticed a foul order permeating from the aforementioned locked bathroom.

The odor was unmentionable.

(Do you get it?)

So, I went to find the metal thingie that my husband supplied me with for emergencies such as this.

You KNOW, readers!  The metal thingie.  It’s like . . .long . . . and thin? And you stick it in the door?  And you wiggle a lot and poof! the door unlocks.

Well, I couldn’t find it.  But I did find a random twig laying on the ground.  I would like to say this is rare, but we all know that would be a lie.

The twig was long and thin and looked eerily like a metal thingie.  So, I tried that and darn my luck the twig broke off and became lodged in the door handle where it still sits there at this very hour.

No!  I did not tell my husband!  I am hoping he will never notice.  And if he does notice, he will probably figure one of the dudes did it.

Have you met them?

Lucky for us, he doesn’t read this blog, so we’ll just keep the whole twig incident between us.

Finally, I found the metal thing and was able to open the door.

And would you like to know what I found when I opened that door?

The largest “unmentionable” known to man sitting right there on the bathroom floor, mere inches away from the toilet.

It was so large, I did not know from whence it could have come.  But after a bit of deductive reasoning and the process of elimination (no pun intended), I determined the unmentionable item had to have come from Handsome Dude.

But, why?

He has never unmentioned anything on the floor in the past.  And why did he choose to unmention mere inches from the toilet?

So, I cornered my Handsome Dude.

Me:  Dude.  Mommy saw the bathroom.

HD (short for Handsome Dude . . . keep up, people!) What bafroom?

Me:  The guest bathroom.

(Attention all would-be guests to Ruralville.  You might want to do a sanitation check before using our hospitable, guest bathroom.  Over and out.)

HD:  Mommy’s bafroom?

Me:  No, the guest bathroom.

HD:  The downstairs bafroom?

Me:  No, the guest bathroom.  Mommy saw what was in there.

HD:  Huh?

Me:  I want you to tell me what happened.  I want you to tell me the truth.  You won’t be in trouble, just don’t lie to me.

HD:  Ummm . . . I think Cokey peed in there?  I not know?

Me:  Buddy.  I saw it.  Don’t lie.  Just tell the truth.

HD:  I not know.  Nufing happened?  I not know.

So, my dude declined to tell the truth at first, but finally he owned up to it.

HD:  I was going potty and I was standing and then I just had to go poo and I not stop it and it went on the floor!

(cry, wail, sob)

HD:  And I try to pick it up and it was too hard.

(cry, wail, sob)

Me:  So you just locked the door and left?

HD:  Yes!

(cry, wail, sob)

Me:  Did you wash your hands?

HD:  No!  Why?

*sigh*

So, today was a funky adventure.

I’m sorry for all the bathroom talk.

Good night.

PS-Diet Vanilla Pepsi is God’s gift to diet sodas.

PPS-It smells like up-dog in here.