The Lumberjack's Wife

(To catch up:  The Story of Us, part one, The Story of Us, part two,  and The Story of Us, part three)

We were now a family of six.  Life just kept moving along:  Sweet Pea was in kindergarten, Daisy Mae was in preschool, Handsome Dude was naughty busy, and Little Dude was chill.

Fun Fact:  “Chill” is what cool people say when they are referring to someone who is relaxed and/or easy going.

Consider yourselves informed.

I became worried about Little Dude during his first year of life.  He simply would not smile.

Ever.

I would jump all around, sing silly songs, clap, hop, skip, fall down . . . and he would just stare at me.

Around his first birthday, I heard this strange sound coming from him . . .

He was laughing!  I had never heard it before!

Turns out he was feeding his breakfast to our dog, Mabel.

And from that day on, he would giggle and smile along with all the other kids.

Mabel had made her place in our family.  She was getting older and had calmed down quite a bit.  The kids loved to read books to her, sit on her, and take her on camping trips with us.

She was definitely part of the family.

The kids were growing up quickly.  I started to notice that Little Dude didn’t look quite the same as the other kids.  Little Dude takes after my dad’s side of the family, where the other kids look a bit more like David.

(Don’t mind Little Dude’s shaved head.  It was all David’s fault.)

I started to become a bit paranoid about Little Dude not looking like the others when complete strangers began to make comments like:

“Oh!  Is that one adopted?”

“Do they all have the same dad?”

“Are you sure they are all yours?”

Yes.  Good times.

I even had an encounter with the world’s rudest dermatologist who insisted I was confused and Little Dude was not from the same dad.

I would like to take this moment to assure all of you that Little Dude is, in fact, mine, and he is, in fact, David’s.  Even though David does like to give me a hard time about it.  (This post has a funny story about that towards the end)

In December of 2008, my dearheart friend Bimlissa, tried to convince me to start a blog. 

First of all, let us discuss Bimlissa.  Bimlissa is really Melissa.  Daisy Mae called her Bimlissa for a time because Daisy Mae went through a phase where she put the word bim in from of everything:

computer=bimputer

capris=bimpris

Melissa=Bimlissa

Melissa and I went to high school together.  She was too cool for school and I don’t remember ever talking to her.  And, I can assure you, that I most certainly did not have a very clique-y group of friends and I definitely did my best to socialize with people outside of my clique.

Or something like that.

Anyways, years later, David and I started going to this new church and I reconnected with Melissa through working in children’s ministry together. 

We became fast friends on account of my winning personality and ability to overlook her past snootiness.

ha!  Oh, darn, she’s going to be bim-mad with me.

Anyways, Bimlissa started a blog.  And she wanted me to read it.  And I did not understand why, to be honest with you.  We saw each other often.  She would email me pictures.  We were on The Facebook. 

Did we really need another way to connect?

So, she talked me into starting a blog.  And I did.  And I never posted in it. 

It sat there for about 5 or 6 months.

Then I decided that maybe my Auntie Datenutloaf in California or Sister Meagan would perhaps enjoy looking at pictures of the children and seeing what we were doing.

So, I decided to give posting a try.  And I wrote the world’s lamest post. 

And Bimlissa never even commented on it.  But I’m not bitter.

Soon, I discovered that blogging was a fun outlet for me.  If I had a really crazy day, I would just write about it.  Then I would laugh because of how awful it was.  I would publish the post, cry/laugh some more, and then eat a brownie and go to sleep.

It was like therapy for me.

I was going through a hard transition then.  I wrote this post on how difficult the years were with young kids and it was comforting to know I wasn’t alone.

Now, I write in it for therapeutic purposes and also to record our daily lives.  I hope it will help David and I remember these years.

I went through blog identity issues.  At first, my blog had our last name in the title.  But then I decided I wasn’t comfortable with our last name being shared, so I had to come up with a new name.

Bimlissa, her sister, her mom, and her sister’s husband’s cousinwere the only people reading my blog at the time and we thought that the title The Lumberjack’s Wife was uber funny, seeing as how my husband feigned to be one. 

Hence, the name The Lumberjack’s Wife.

Then I had a creepy commenter, so I decided to switch to the children to the code names that you know and love today.

And that is why I am so sneaky-sneaky.  I like to think that you don’t know their real names or our location.

I also hope you think my last name is really Maliblahblah.

***

Alright, back to our lives.  In early 2010, we decided to start looking at a house with land. 

Never mind our current house was not yet finished.

Still.

When David saw the Ruralville house, he asked if we could go look at it.  When I heard it was in Ruralville, I said, “I will never, ever, ever live there.”

And you all know what happens when I put my foot down.

The house was a short sale and was a horrible process.  We put an offer down and didn’t know for four months if we would get it.

In the meantime, David and I went to Cancun to celebrate our 10 year anniversary!  I wrote all about it in about 7 posts if you want to go back and read it.

After we got back from our trip, David got to work finishing up our house in case we wanted to sell it. 

As you all know, we did end up buying the Ruralville house and David finally finished working on our house the same week.

He did a great job.

After 7 long years, the house was finally finished.  Do you remember when David first found that dump of a house and told me,

“This house will make us money.”

He was right.

It now rents out as a vacation rental and pays for itself.

Perhaps he does know what he is doing after all?

So,we moved to Ruralville.  Because of the location, I decided to homeschool.  This past year has been a hard transition for me, but I am adjusting.

Mabel became sick and died in September.  She was ten years old.

We decided that we would like to get another dog . . .

So we welcomed Lucy.

Lucy is naughty. 

Sometimes we call her Lucy-Fur.

Get it?

***

And lastly, I wanted to give you a bit of a who’s who of the people that are mentioned in this blog.

Of course, my husband and children are located on the right sidebar if you ever need to put a face with a name.

My Family.

My parents:

Grant and Connie.

You will oft see them in a Goober Parent Update, such as this one.

There is Brother Danny and his wife, Tonya. 

They have two children.

Sister Meagan.

Here she is with my pa.

Meagan is responsible for me saying things such as “uber, totes, and holla!”

David’s Family.

I refer to them often, my crazy-kin inlaws.

From left to right:

Back row:  Jason, Lisa, David, Alex

Front row:  His parents:  Paul and Jackie

Lisa is married to Jack and they have two little girls.

(They are huckleberry picking, an activity that I loathe)

Jason is getting married to Amy (in 2 days!).

 

Alex and Holly got married 2 weeks ago.

Lastly, I wanted to give you the background on a few pictures you might see a lot around here:

Here is my favorite Alex picture:

(For the story behind it, click here)

When I was writing my posts about our trip to Cancun, I included this one of David and I:

And it reminded me of this hilarious picture of Jason:

So you will oft see this picture of Jason, simply because I find it humorous.

And of course, there is my dad:

This is him trying to listen to ITunes.

***

Did you read that entire post?

That was crazy-insane long.  Sorry about that. 

Take heart!

I am all done.

Thank you for reading this rubbish.

Have a Happy Friday!

To catch up:

The Story of Us, part one

The Story of Us, part two

So, we were finally in our new home.  You know that phrase: “You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone?”

Having our own home again was so wonderful.  I had longed to have our own house again for such a long time.  I couldn’t wait to decorate, clean, and cook.

Clearly all the post-partum emotions were taking a toll on me.

We were happy. 

However, the dogs were driving us nuts.  I was home with a 2 month old and a 17 month old, and I did not have the time or the patience to deal with the world’s naughtiest dogs.  We knew Jack was the naughtiest of the dogs and that Mabel was much more mild-mannered.  And so, we decided to give Jack away to a family friend. 

We decided that we would like to start camping with our new, little family.

You may ask, “Taylor!  What do you mean start camping?!”

Yes, readers.  We hadn’t started camping yet.

I’ll give you a moment to recover from the shock.

Remember!  I’m not the wilderness type.  All we had back in the olden days was a tent.

A tent!  ha!

I laugh at the thought.  I’m too much of a camping snob now to camp in a tent.

But, alas.  We were still broke.  We did, however, find a ginormous, old camp trailer that slept 8, had brown carpet, orange cushions, and a funky smell for $800. 

That trailer was David’s nemesis.

 And so, the era of camping was born in our family.

And as you all know, we have been camping ever since.

***

And so, life continued.  Here are a few, random bits for you:

1.  We decided to heat our new house with wood, so David became quite the Lumberjack in those days.  He determined to get himself about 10 cords of wood each year.

As you have probably already surmised, the days of shopping at The Gap, tanning, and highlighting hair were long gone.

2.  I even went wood cutting with him once.

3.  For our 5 year anniversary, we went on a cruise to Mexico.  I cannot remember one, single happenstance from that trip.

4.  David kept working on the house.  He ripped off the old siding and put up that Tyvek paper.  Then he ran out of time and our house sat covered in Tyvek for a year.  I’m sure the neighbor’s appreciated that.  He ripped out the kitchen floor to redo the plumbing and lovingly set up a “plank” for me to walk across to get to the laundry room.  I did dishes in the bathtub.  There was always sheet rock dust everywhere and random drill bits lying about.  It was the project that would never, ever, ever end.

5.  In 2006, I discovered I was pregnant for the third time.  Since all we could create were girls, we knew to expect a sweet, calm, new little girl.

6.  God looked upon our sweet little family and declared, “Let them have a boy.”

In March of 2007, our son was born.  He melted my heart from the beginning.  He was so handsome and precious.  The girls were enthralled with him and were helpful “little mothers” to him.

7.  We decided it was time to upgrade our trailer to one that didn’t have mold and a nasty smell. 

Here are pictures from our first camping trip in our new trailer:

You can’t tell from this picture, but I can assure you that David’s heart is overflowing with joy in his blessings.

8.  Remember how I got pregnant with Daisy Mae when Sweet Pea was 6 months old?  Guess what happened when Handsome Dude was 6 months old?

9.  My 4th pregnancy did a number on me.  My body began to fall apart.  I developed a heart murmur and some gnarly varicose veins. 

See?  Gnarly.

10.  In June of 2008, we had our second son.

He was the world’s easiest baby.

10.  Sweet Pea was entering kindergarten that year, and I had planned on homeschooling her.  But going from 3 to 4 was the hardest transition for me.  Life was spinning out of control.

And would you like to know whose fault that was?

Handsome Dude’s.

When Handsome Dude turned about 15 months old, he became a tiddly bit naughty.

So, David, concerned for my mental well-being, told me we should enroll our daughter in school.

It was the right choice at that time in our lives.

***

During all these years, I was growing up and learning fast about how to be a wife and mother. 

David and I were married young.  We grew up together.

I used to get upset with him when he would be home late from work.  I thought a good wife was a wife who had a tidy house and dinner on the table when her husband walked through the door.

David would tell me he would be home by 6.  And often, he would call me at 6:15 and tell me he would be home in an hour.

Oh, it would drive me nuts.

Didn’t he understand how hard it was for me to time everything out?  Didn’t he know how busy I was with these kids?

But my husband is a hard worker.  He does what it takes to provide for our family.  I had to realize that he wasn’t being mean to me.

Quite the opposite.

He was doing whatever it took to make sure he did what his boss wanted of him.  And if that meant working late, he would work late.

It is not easy to bear the burden of being the financial supporter of a family of 6.  I have never seen anyone who can work as hard as my husband does.  He gets up at 5am and works long, long days.

He comes home, cheerful and happy to help me.

The day I realized that he didn’t care about dinner was a good day for our marriage.

It’s okay with him if the house isn’t perfect and dinner isn’t ready.  He would rather come home to a bowl of cereal and a peaceful house, than a cranky wife trying to keep dinner warm.

In all the years that David has been an electrician, he has not been out of work once.  That’s quite the feat for that line of work

So, I have learned to trust him.  If he says he needs to work late, that’s fine.  It does not happen every night.  He still makes time for us.

In your comments from the last two posts, some of you said that I was a saint.

Trust me.  I’m not a saint.

But I have been learning to let David lead and to trust that he knows what he is capable of and he sees things that I don’t.

I’m thankful that he is willing to work so hard for us.

Alright.  I’m hoping to finish this up tomorrow.

Happy Thursday!

(To read part one, click here.)

Soon after our first child was born, we realized our little house was becoming far too crowded.  And so, we began the hunt for our next home.

I really wanted a clean, brand new home.  A home that we did not have to work on at all, like our last one.  A home that was ready for my sweet, new baby.

Alas.  Sometimes I do not always get what I want.

I remember it well, the day I got the phone call from David.

David:  Hon!  I found it!  Our next house!

Me:  Really?!?

David:  Yep.  It’s a DUMP.  It’s completely falling apart.  And it is cheap.

Me:  Oh.  Why do you want it?

David:  Location, location, location!

(Darn  you, Dave Ramsey)

Me:  huh?

David:  This house is in a prime spot downtown.  This house will make us money.

I don’t know how David does it, but he always, always, talks me into doing these sorts of things.

Darn him.

Darn him and his swooning ways.

So, we made an offer on that nasty house that reeked of cat pee.  We offered $17,000 less than what they were asking.  I was sure they would scoff at our offer and I would soon be able to find that brand new home I always wanted.

They accepted our offer immediately.

One must wonder if we had been duped, no?

So, the house was ours.  It was certainly not livable, so we had to plead of my parents to allow us, our darling daughter, and our two ginormous dogs to move in with them.

We told them two months, tops.

Every day after work, David and his brother, Jason, would head to the house and work on tearing out all the stuff that needed to get replaced.

Remember Jason?

Sure you do.

(More on Jason later)

Jason was a huge help to us during that time, and we will be forever grateful to him for his help.

And, so, they ripped out the carpet.  Soon they discovered that this house was not just a dump, but a colossal dump.

The entire house needed to be gutted.

Soon after we moved into my parents’ house, I found out I was pregnant with baby #2.  This came as quite the shock, seeing as how I was told that no one could ever get pregnant whilst breastfeeding.

I found out I was pregnant when Sweet Pea was 6 months old.  I’ve shared this before, but at first the doctors told me that this little baby would not survive.

Thankfully, they were wrong.  And after several stressful weeks, we found out we were having another, healthy girl.

This was a hard season in our lives.  David was working long hours during the day as an electrical apprentice, and long hours at night to work on this house.  Money was tight.  Since he was still an apprentice, he was not making much money.  We were dumping money into this fixer upper like crazy.  We had a baby and another on the way, and I was still working two days a week at the sweet hair net job to keep insurance. 

My parents deserve parents of the year award for that saga.  I don’t think they minded David, Sweet Pea, and I living in their basement.  But they did mind Jack and Mabel, our dogs.

Jack and Mabel were huge, smelly, naughty, and destroying my parents’ backyard.

They even dug up the remains of my childhood dog and had themselves a little snack.

Poor Joey.  How I loved him.

Our two months turned into eleven months.  Around the 8th month, my dad’s patience with the dogs was shot and we were told the dogs were evicted.

David’s sister, Lisa, and her husband, Jack, took in our two monsters.

Then Daisy Mae was born.

When Daisy Mae was 8 weeks old, we finally moved into our new/old house.

The house was certainly not finished.  But it was finally livable.  We figured it would take us about a year or so to finish it up.

Alas.  We were wrong again.

But, we began to slowly work on it, trying to not spend too much money at one time.  David had finally become a Journeyman Electrician and money was not as tight as it had been.  But still, we were spending so much money to fix up the house that we needed to be careful.

For the most part, we just began to enjoy being our own family again, together in our house.

Here are some random pictures from those days:

Daisy Mae

(Our house was just a few blocks from the lake)

The girls

Sweet Pea

Fishing with Daddy.

Making applesauce.

***

Alright that’s all for today.  Of course there is more to the story  . . .

Happy Wednesday!

 

 

Lately, I have noticed that I might be confusing some of you.

Perhaps I am not as thorough and concise as I believe to be?

If you are a newer reader of this blog, I most likely make no sense.  You have probably already stopped reading this blog.  You are probably not even reading this post. 

Such a shame.

And, so, I thought I would do a quick meet and greet.

Sounds fun, doesn’t it?
***

Hi!  My name is Taylor.  I am 29 years old.  I married David in July of 2000.

We were both 19 at the time.

Our first house was built in 1917 and was 700 square feet.  Together we ripped out all the flooring and discovered beautiful hardwood floors.  We refinished them, did some painting and other lovely fix ups.

We thought we were something else.

We were both going to college to become teachers and were working.  Instead of having children, we got ourselves two Golden Retrievers:  Jack and Mabel.

They were the world’s naughtiest dogs.

Awhile later, my husband decided that being a teacher was not his calling.

*gasp!*

This was the beginning of the end, dear readers.  The end of the David as I knew him.  You see, readers, David and I did everything together.  We shopped at the mall.  We both enjoyed The Gap (but could only afford Old Navy clearance), coffees, restaurants, and movie dates.

We both even, dare I say it, visited the tanning booth and highlighted our hairs.

Oh, yes.  WE did.

I had a dream, people.  I had a dream that my husband and I would teach at the same school.  We would both look hip and cool in our Gap clothing, highlighted hair, and bronzed skin.  After school, he, looking dapper, would walk down to my classroom to get me and we would go out to dinner and talk about our days.

But, no.  My dream died when David told me he wanted to be an electrician.

Starting out into that field is really hard because no one wants to hire anyone without experience.  His only offer was to work for this guy for $6 an hour.

Lucky for us, I had a sweet job, that required me to wear a hairnet, that made me about $9 an hour.  Yeah.  That’s right.  I was the money maker at one point in time.

Towards the end of my junior year in college, I found out I was pregnant.  It was our first month of trying “Natural Family Planning” and I had assured my husband I knew exactly what I was doing.

Oops.

I was debating about dropping out of school, but decided I would regret that for the rest of my life.  So, I soldiered on.  This was the year of student teaching . . . you know . . . where you go to  the school as the teacher but don’t get paid?

I was at the school Monday through Friday from 7am to 6pm.  In order to keep my health insurance at my sweet hair net job, I had to work every Saturday and Sunday from 530am to 2pm.  I was exhausted and did not have days off. 

Plus I was large.

But I did it!  And 11 days after I finished up student teaching, our daughter was born.

Going from a busy school and working schedule to staying at home full time was a hard transition for me.

David and I had a hard time adjusting as new parents.

He thought I was uptight.

But I still think it is unacceptable for anyone to suggest super gluing a baby’s mouth shut.

If that’s uptight, then fine.  I am uptight.

To be continued . . . .

(PS-If you are confused about something on this blog, just go ahead and ask me and I will try to answer it soon)

I trust you all had a good Mother’s Day, no?

Our Mother’s Days are always spent with extended family.  This year, my husband suggested that we should plan for Saturday to be my day to do whatever I want.

Does anyone else have a hard time with this whole “picking out something special to do” concept?

Oh, for the stress.

What is worthy enough to be called a special Mother’s Day activity? I spend more time fretting over what I might think would be fun.  And nothing sounds fun.  But staying home sounds lame.

The saddest part in all of this, is that, in the end, all of the plans centered around me getting my favorite ice cream cone:

Moose Tracks in a waffle cone.

Bear with me on this post.  I like to be sneaky-sneaky with my whereabouts so that no one knows where I am from.  But, I also like my friends, the “local readers” to know what I am talking about. I am sure you all find it annoying.  But let’s pretend, for kicks and grins, that you find me quirky and charming.

The best place to get this certain ice cream cone is on a certain river at a certain gas station. 

Nothing says Mother’s Day like a gas station.

There are also many hiking trails and such nearby, so I thought a hike and an ice cream cone sounded delightful.

Problems with river plan:

1.  It is 90 miles each way.

2.  Diesel is $4.19 a gallon.  We get 14 miles to the gallon.  That is too much math at this hour in the morning, but trust me, the answers are not favorable.

3.  There is most likely snow all over the hiking trails.

4.  It was raining.

5.  Handsome Dude had spent the morning dealing with a wicked stomach bug.

Perks to going to the River:

1.  I really, really, really like that ice cream cone.

So, we went with plan B.

We drove into the town from whence we moved from (remember . . . I am quirky and charming, not annoying).

Local Readers:  We went on a hike on that one hill that everyone from wherever it is we are from knows about.

Fun Fact:  That hill is like a couple of hundred feet from my old house.

But that is neither here nor there.

Ok.  As soon as we got out of the car, I kid you not, all of the rain clouds moved away.  Gorgeous blue skies came out.  We even, dare I say it, saw THE SUN.

Ok.  That was like the best shot out of like 10.  Do you know how hard it is to get four kids to cooperate?

And, yes.  Handsome Dude is not in the picture.

He was feeling a bit contrary. 

Does this surprise you?

Perhaps it was because he had a stomach bug and, yet, his parents were dragging him all around that darn hill.

But, what can you do?  3 out of 4 kids were feeling fine.  That’s about as good as it gets over here.

Speaking of Handsome Dude:

That boy will not stop growing.  He just recently got all those clothes.  And they are already looking too small.

Yes.  I am aware.  There is a hole in his jeans.  What else is new?

Yes.  I am aware.  His shoes are on the wrong feet.  What else is new?

He insists that shoes are more comfy that way.

We made it to the top!

Did you all remember that my one request for Mother’s Day was a Moose Tracks ice cream in a waffle cone?

Don’t lose heart!

Immediately after our hike we went out to ice cream!

Daisy Mae enjoying huckleberry ice cream.

I am full of too much bitterness towards huckleberry picking to enjoy the ice cream of the huckleberry nature.

Little Dude enjoying Moose Tracks.

When Little Dude eats ice cream, he holds the cone still and just shakes his head back and forth.

Cause he is a goober.

Check out my husband’s pants.  Those are his “hiking Carhartts.”

Ha!  Oh, I crack myself up.

No one probably thought that was funny.  But I did.

As soon as we sat down for ice cream, it started raining and hailing.  Our hike had impeccabble timing.

***

On Sunday, we went to church and then had David’s family and my family over.

And poor Little Dude developed a fiercer bug than Handsome Dude’s and spent the evening with a fever, vomitting, and having his loving relatives avoid him like the plague.

Poor baby.

***

Happy Mother’s Day to my Marmie.

Here is a fairly recent picture of me, Sister Meagan, and my mom.

My Marmie is tons of fun and I hope my kids have as lovely memories of their childhood as I do of mine.

Hmmm . . .

I wonder if my mom would have forced one of us to take a hike with a stomach bug?

Things to ponder.

Happy Monday!

There were 7 -ish deer in my yard this morning.

How do you like them apples?

***

You may or may not recall that Little Dude has a bunny.

And daily he recites:

“My bunny’s name is Screamer-I’m two-I’m this many!”

And he shows me 5 fingers.  He’s a confused lad.

Anyways.  Screamer is a little punk.  He has escaped about 4 times since we got him.

One time our neighbors found him and brought him back.

And I use the term “neighbors” quite loosely.

When Screamer goes missing, we don’t tell Little Dude.  This is something his frail little heart needs not to know.

Well, today the girls spotted Screamer happily hopping about.

Since Daisy Mae decided to take something out of her sister’s hands, throw her to the the ground, and start pummeling her, I needed to take full action and put the little miss in a time-out instead of sending her out on the bunny rescue mission.

Not that a child of mine would ever hit.

Perhaps she just needed a nap.

Sometimes I need a nap.

And, without further ado, here is Sweet Pea’s adventures in trying to capture Screamer.

Step 1:  Scatter lettuce on top of a table (?) in hopes of luring Screamer.

Step 2: Don your bestest blue headband with a flower and walk with a sense of determination and purpose.

Step 3:  Steal your dad’s fishing net.  Attempt to capture Screamer.

Fail.

Step 4: Cry and wail and mourn when Screamer scampers away.  Be comforted in the thought that you are wearing an uber cute headband.

Step 5:  Give up and go inside to play with Play-Do.

I hate when my kids want to play Play-Do.  It always turns into a disaster of epic proportions.  But since the poor chicky-babe had just been taken down in Daisy Mae’s fury and had to deal with Sneaky Screamer, I permitted it.

And, as a result of this weakness on my part, I have Play-Do ground into my floors and a broken camera.

You may ask, ‘Taylor!  How did your camera break?”

Well.  I don’t know.

But these were the last pictures taken on it.

GoshDarnIt, she’s cool.

Let us have a moment to mourn the loss of the camera.

And hope someone, somewhere, can fix it.

***

I wish everyone a Happy Mother’s Day.

Sir Lumberjack said I get the entire day tomorrow to do anything I want.

!

But . . . I don’t know what to pick.

?

It shall rain here, I assure you.  And I don’t want to do something alone.

Are you kidding, silly readers?!

I only get to see this hunk of burning love on evenings and weekends.

Yes.  It’s true.  I like him.

So.  What shall a family with 4 well-behaved children do on a Saturday?

Please Advise.

Happy Weekend!

This week has been one of the most busy weeks ever!  And since I use this blog to record our daily lives, I thought I would share with you all the exciting happenstances.

Lucky you!

Monday

On Monday, the kids and I drove into the big city to see a new opthamalogist for Handsome Dude.  His eyes just seem to be doing so much worse and I decided it was time for a new doctor.

My dad, of whom I oft make fun of on this here blog, met me there and waited in the waiting room with the three other children during the 2 1/2 hour appointment.

Holla, Dad!

You should have seen the look on my dad’s face when I gave him the instructions for how to take Little Dude to the bathroom.

Me:  Dad.  If dude has to go potty, you need to take his shoes off, his pants off, and his underwear off.  Try to convince him it is okay to leave his socks on.  He straddles the toilet backwards.  He likes to sing and rub things.  Do not be alarmed.  It’s all part of his process.  You may have to remind him that he is supposed to be peeing.  He likes to randomly flush.  This does not necessarily mean he is finished.  Be vigilent!  Make sure you are listening for the peepee!  Then he needs to get dressed.  And he will need help washing his hands.  Ok?

Dad:  *crickets chirping*

Me:  Perhaps you should just have one of the girls help him?

Dad:  That I can do.

Turns out Handsome Dude is extremely far sighted.  He has strabismus and whole bunch of other things that I fear I cannot spell.  The glasses he is currently wearing are not nearly as strong as they should be.  So, he will be getting new ones.

Again.

And I am sure nothing bad will ever happen to them.

Fun fact:  Handsome Dude has worn glasses since he was a mere lad.

Ah.  The glory days.  When he could not move. 

After the appointment, the kids and I took a picnic lunch to a park near the doctor’s office.

It was lovely. 

Tuesday

 Even though I homeschool, I take my girls in to get their state tests when all the other school children in our state need testing.  As I was practicing with Daisy Mae earlier in the week, she was not reading as many words per minute as she should have.

Daisy Mae stresses me out with reading.  She does odd things and I can’t figure out why.  She reads the word “then” as “when”, amongst other things that I shall not go into, because no one really cares.

But!  The point is I was a tad worried that I was failing the poor child and I did not know how to help her.  That is the bummer about homeschooling.  I’m all she’s got.

If she does not score high enough, then they will ask me to take her to a little class to help her get caught up in reading.

This was music to my ears.  I told David that I was relieved that she would be getting some help!

So, we went in for the tests.  And wouldn’t you now it, but that little punk read twice as fast for them and read above and beyond what she needed to.

So.  No extra class for her.  Poor me.

They gave the girls free kids meal coupons for Applebees.  And, since I am a glutton for punishment, I took all the kids BY MYSELF to the Applebees for lunch.

(Handsome Dude, in the spirit of Handsome Dude, was hiding)

Look at my sweet Daisy Mae!  When she heard she was going to town for a school test, she put on her fanciest, black velvet, Christmas dress.

Look at my Sweet Pea!  She is getting too cool for things such as coloring crayons and goofy smiles in pictures.

The kids, believe it or not, did great and were not rude, loud, or anything of that nature.

When we were walking into the restaurant, I was holding Handsome Dude.  He was feeling a tad contrary at the moment and was unwilling to walk.

Sometimes he finds walking to be inconvenient for him.

So, I was holding him.  And, out of nowhere, I just totally fall.  Like really bad.  And this older man came running and all I remember is seeing his arms just come over me, almost in slow motion,  and he lifted both me and Handsome Dude up in one big, graceful move.

He made quite the fuss over me.  It would appear as if I had a damsel in distress moment.

I couldn’t stop laughing.  It was pretty embarassing.  And now I have a big scrape on my leg.

And it hurts.  Poor me.

But-good news!  I decided I could say that we survived our first year of homeschooling and the girls are where they should be.

See!?  I’m not screwing them up after all!

Yet.

Wednesday

Wednesdays, if you remember, are our crazy busy days.

Leave the house by 8am.

Drop girls off at piano at 9am.

Do all my ad matching at the local Walmarts because I am being a faithful steward of my money.

Pick up girls at 10am.

Feed everyone a snack in the car.

Try to ignore the fact that the inside of my car is a disaster zone.

Hit the dollar store to kill time.

Handsome Dude has swim lessons at 11am.

Feel bad for the girls as they look longingly at the pool.

Handsome Dude done with swim at 12.

Rush to my parent’s house for lunch and naps.

Discover someone used an orange Sharpie on my mom’s counter.

Whoever invented Magic Erasers is a genius.

Nap time.

Hallelujah.

School work with girls.

Notice that Daisy Mae has become a casualty of Crazy Wednesday. 

Sister Meagan stops by.  She tells me to check out my dad’s computer set up downstairs.

And so I do.

I don’t know if you can see it very well, but he has his laptop propped up on the treadmill.

Sister Meagan and I found that to be fantastic.

Notice the pictures he can gaze at to his right whilst he is working up a sweat.

Oh, yes.

My senior pictures.  And a lone glamour shot of Sister Meagan.

And just ignore the random twig.  This is how Mother decorates.

Here is a trippy thought readers:

My dad could be on that very treadmill right now.  Reading this blog.  Reading about his treadmill and laptop while on his treadmill reading on his laptop.

See?  Trippy.

Alright.  Enough of that.

The kids had Awana and I had a meeting at the church.

My dad, of whom I just made fun of on this here blog, texted me this picture of Handsome Dude:

Lest any of you are confused, my parents are Awana leaders.

A)  Do not pretend you are not impressed with my dad:

1.  Knowing his phone could take pictures

2.  Taking a picture

3.  Texting me that picture

B)  My Handsome Dude was sick.

Poor baby.

And he is still sick.

Poor baby.

When he is sick, he is so sweet and quiet and sleepy and snuggly.

It’s a shame he doesn’t get sick more often.

I kid!  I jest!

Alright.  This post has gone on long enough.

Happy Thursday!

PS-I am thinking about exercising today.

I repeat.

I am only thinking about it. 

 

I’m joining in on Joyce’s Hodgepodge today.

Fun Fact:  Joyce is my “just-pretends” friend and we are playing Words with Friends together.

Joyce is a force to be reckoned with in the Words with Friends department.

She is kicking my hiney.

But that is neither here nor there.

Let’s move on to the questions, shall we?

1. Have you ever been served breakfast in bed? Do you enjoy that? If someone were serving you breakfast in bed this coming weekend what would you hope to see on the tray?

The only time I remember being served anything in bed was in the hospital after I had a baby.

I’ve always been a dainty eater.

I would like to submit that the hospital stay after having a baby is the best thing ever.  Especially when it is your 3rd or 4th baby.

I mean, who wants to go home?  Home is where dishes, dust, laundry, and other children exist.

No, sir.  Bring me my coffee, help me to the bathroom, and fetch me some food.  Yes.  The hospital life is for me.

Ideal breakfast for me?

I really, really love oatmeal.  A good bowl of oatmeal. 

2. What is one piece of advice you would give a new mother?

Do not be alarmed when you are given the ginormous pads and special gauze underwear when you are in the post partum rooms at the hospital.

Embrace them.

You have no other options.

3. When was the last time you wanted to scream? Explain.

Today.  And I’ll gladly explain:

I have been to town the last three days in a row.  This is excessive for a hermit, such as myself.  When I go to town, I have to make multiple trips to the bathroom with my precious boys.

You all know how well that goes.

Little Dude still has to get undressed.  And Little Dude still like to rub the toilet seats and all things toilet-ish while he attempts to make a successful elimination.

Then, Little Dude needs help getting dressed again.

While I am helping Little Dude put his pants back on, he is constantly rubbing my face and cheeks.

“I love my Mommy.  Mommy wee handsome.”

And while I appreciate the fact that the boy thinks I am handsome, I cannot help but wonder what on earth he is spreading onto my cheeks as he is praising my beauty.

It makes me want to scream.

4. Can you hula hoop?

Does this blog have a purpose?

 5. What is something people do in traffic that really bothers you?

I am a pretty relaxed kind of gal when it comes to the road.

My husband drives me INSANE though.

You have heard me mention his refusal of using 4 wheel drive before.

Guess what else he refuses to use?

Windshield wipers.

“But, Taylor.  They are just so annoying.  And I hate it when they make that screeching sound.”

I try to reason with him.  But it is no use.

“Taylor.  If you get going fast enough, the rain will just start flying off the windshield fast enough and you don’t need the wipers anyways!”

This is the man I chose to father my children.

I have only myself to blame.

 6. What do you do when people don’t admit they’re wrong?

I usually send the people I deal with to a time out and make them say that they are wrong.

7. What is the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word ‘fun’?

Huckleberry picking . . .

If it was Opposite Day.

ha!

Fun=kids in bed, full bowl of popcorn, Diet Pepsi, my husband, and a funny tv show that my husband won’t fall asleep during.

8. Insert your own random thought here.

I was informed this week that there is a tradition on May 1st.  Apparently, boys are supposed to leave flowers on the door steps of the girls they like.

I would like to report that I am 29 and 3/4 and I have never received a flower on my door step on May 1st.

In fact, I don’t think I have ever received a flower on my door step on any day.

Perhaps my mom led me astray when she told me glamour shots were all the rage?

I think I need a flower.

Happy Wednesday!