The Lumberjack's Wife

*Attention.  If you are my dad, then do not, I repeat, do not read any further.*

*I mean it.  It is in regards to your birthday.*

* I know you are tempted, Dad.  Just walk away.*

Hello, people.  I feel as if there should be a law against husbands coming home late.

And that is all I have to say about that.

My husband walked in the door tonight.  Two children were doing who-knows-what with dolls.  One child was naked (guess who).  The final child (guess who) was weeping and wailing and waiting in a time out for his father to come “talk” to him.

I smiled, informed him that his dinner was in the fridge, grabbed the dog, and wished him the best of luck.

I was leaving.

My options are limited, you see, as to where I can go.  I decided to head down the road.

Exciting.  I know.

But I did see at least 30 deer.  And Lucy (the dog) was angelic, I kid you not.  I decided I love her and I shall be her bestest pal forever and ever.  So long as she continues to be a dear and not give me grief.

I put on my music from my fancy phone and enjoyed the last 30 minutes of daylight and the absense of children and dishes and laundry and peach walls and school work and creepy deer heads staring at me and crumbs on the counter and trucks and random socks strewn about.

Am I the only person in the world who has numerous socks all over the house?

And I learned something on this walk, dear readers.

Ruralville+me+no one else+almost dark+trees+crackling+rustling+five deer running in front of me=creepy.

It did not help that Lucy seemed nervous the entire time.  It made me wonder, if I were to be mauled by some horrific animal on my adventurous walk, would Lucy be a heroine and run home and inform David?

I don’t know.  She doesn’t seem that smart.

And would David figure out her message?

And now I am wondering if I need more adult company in my life.

Yes.  I think I do.

Consider this a cry for help. 

I will have you all know that I did, in fact, wear my uber cute earrings on my terrifying walk.  If I was going to be viciously attacked, at least I would go out in style.

I may live in redneck-ville, but I sure don’t have to look like I do.

Take that, Ruralville.

What on earth is the point of all of this drivel?

Let’s move on.

My dad!

It is my dad’s birthday soon.  He is kinda sorta a Titanic fanatic. 

Things like disasters, assassinations and politics excite him.

I like earrings, popcorn, and The Big Bang Theory.

Fun Fact:  My dad was born on April 14th.  Same day the Titanic hit the ice berg.

And don’t say I never taught you nothing.

So, Sweet Pea, in all her learned-ness has also become intrigued by the Titanic.  So she decided she would like to make her PopPop a surprise Titanic cake.

This means I will be making him a surprise Titanic cake.

I am sure you can all guess how well prepared I am to make such a cake. 

If nothing else, it might make for a good blog post.

Anyways.  Is there anyone out there with a creative bone in their body that can help a clueless gal, such as myself?

Here are some things you need to know:

1)  I really have no time for this.

2)  He wants a carrot cake with cream cheese frosting.

3)  The recipe says to bake the bake in two round pans.  Therefore the cake shall be round.  No ifs, ands or buts.  I do not deter from recipes.  I shall stand firm in this belief.  Unless you tell me how to convert the recipe to a 13×9 pan.  And I shall double love you forever.

4)  I shall not be purchasing any fancy schmancy cake pans.

5)  Do not even mention fondant.  I know not what fondant is.  Nor do I want to. 

6)  My kids are naughty.

7)  I am almost out of flour.

8)  I once made an “Elmo” cake for Sweet Pea’s birthday.  It was to have red, coconut frosting and be magical and wonderful and all peoples would rise and call me blessed.  It ended up looking like Elmo threw up something pink all over himself.  It resulted in David running to the store to purchase a cake. 

 No one rose and no one called me blessed. 

 And I was out a lot of money.

9)  I would prefer to stay away from red, coconut frosting.  I am convinced that red is a frosting color that simply cannot be achieved by anyone.

10)  I am super open to all ideas and would appreciate any help.

And, that is all.

Good day to you.

PS- 100 (meaningless) points to anyone who can guess what we shall be doing for the patriarch’s birthday.

Hint:  Think coldness, trees, and bad hair.

Do you ever have one of those days?

One of those days where you doubt your decisions . . . decisions such as homeschooling and moving out to the middle of nowehere.  Do you ever panic and feel like you should throw out all your curriculum and start over?  Do you ever wonder if you are totally forgetting some sort of vital something-or-other that they should be learning?  And maybe you were planning on teaching it, but you were interrupted by one naughty boy who is throwing toys everywhere searching for binoculars so he can “get da deers” and another naughty boy who still needs help going to the bathroom and insists on getting completely naked for each bathroom attempt.  Do you ever worry about how far you moved away from everything?  And fear that you are stuck homeschooling unless you are willing to commit to driving about 2-4 hours a day to get your kids to a school.  Do you worry about gas prices?  Do you worry about time management?  Do you worry that your son will never, ever, ever, actually wipe his bum when he goes number 2? 

Me neither. 

 I was just wondering if you ever worried about such trivial matters.

You shouldn’t worry, dear readers.  It isn’t becoming.

Ah, yes.  Today is a day.

I promised all my kids they could play outside for a bit.  This is no simple task.  We first must do bathroom runs.  Little Dude has to get naked first.  Then he has to sing train songs for 10 minutes and not actually pee.  Then he gets off the toilet unbeknownst to me and begins to play trucks, forgetting he is naked and supposed to be using the facilities.

Me:  Dude!  Where’s your underwear?

Little Dude:  Right on my bum!

Me:  No!  They are not on your bum.

Little Dude:  REALLY?!  Oh!  Oops!

Me:  You need to put your underwear back on.

Little Dude:  O-Tay!  First I go potty!

Me:  You just went!

Little Dude:  No!  It was not working!

And so the vicious cycle of nakedness, train songs, and peeing continues.  

So, everyone gets dressed for outside play.

Then we have to get Lucy in.

This, too, was, no simple task.

“Was” being the operative word, of course.  Thanks to many of you, we purchased a certain collar with certain spectacular features that make a certain dog more apt to behave.

It is certainly wonderful.  And I certainly appreciated the suggestion.

So.  All the kids got dressed into play clothes, coats, socks, boots, and blah blah blah.  And then the weather became fickle and we had to reverse gears and come back inside.

Oh, for the weeping.

I am really not that mean.

I mean, would it not have been meaner for me to send them out there during the torrential downpour of rain and hail?

Trust me.  I would have preferred it if they were outside.

So.  They shunned me and went downstairs.  Darn.

And during the peace and quiet, I may have panicked and ordered a new science curriculum.

Hope I like it!

Then, Little Dude interrupted me.  He was a mess.

Proof that young children should not be given markers as gifts.

(Ahem, Mom)

Notice that large bandaid-looking thing on his sleeve?  That would be Handsome Dude’s eye patch.

How did it get there?

We cannot be certain.

I told the boys it was time for bed.

This brought Handsome Dude much worry and angst.

So he had to grab his *ahem* area for comfort. 

One must wonder if grabbing in this region actually does bring comfort to the male species?

 He was worried that we would not be reading books before naps.

I assured him we still would.  So he gathered 14 books and shouted for all the world his fellow homeschooled siblings to hear,

“I got the books!  Say ‘Thanks!’ to the hero!  I am the hero!”

That boy exhausts me.

The boys are asleep.  The girls are working on writing.  I am drinking gallons of coffee and hoping things start to look up.

They probably won’t though.

I have a feeling that Little Dude will be having an accident during this very nap time.

Indeed.  I do.

There was too much singing and not enough peeing before bed.

If you know what I mean.

But here’s to hoping!

First and foremost, I have a confession to make.

*Brace yourselves*

I bought myself a Carhartt Women’s Wear sleeveless work shirt.

Oh, yes.  I did.

You see, dear readers, on Thursday I had to drive to a small-ish town that I rarely go to to take Lucy to the vet.  Whilst I was there, I foolishly took all four children into a consignment shop. 

Have you ever taken four children into a consignment shop?  Don’t do it.

 Said consignment shop was having a massive clearance on all their adult clothes.  As I was perusing the racks, I found this Carhartt shirt on clearance for 99 cents.  And, therefore, I had to purchase it.

Oh, yes.  I did.

I figured that 99 cents is an outrageous deal when you factor in the the fact that I was “eye candy” for my bull-dozing husband today as I helped him do whatever it is we are doing to our land.  I rocked that Carhartt shirt.

Oh, yes.  I did.

As much as a Carhartt shirt can be rocked.

Alas.  I did not take a picture. 

All in good time, dear readers.  All in good time.

Which brings us to today.  The day in which I was wearing the Carhartt shirt and looking like a poser.  For I know not the first thing about hard work.

David and Handsome Dude.

You may ask, “Taylor!  What is the plan?”

And I shall admit to you that I know not what the plan is. 

I think we are leveling things out? 

Perhaps we are clearing out dead stuff? 

 Maybe we are just coming up with things to do as an excuse to purchase a large, seemingly unnecessary bull dozer?

I cannot be certain.

For the first hour or so, I just wandered around . . . picking up random sticks and being eye candy.

Lest any of you are confused, I am not eye candy.  No.  Not at all.  Nope.

I walked up to my manly-man husband and informed him that I needed vision!  I needed purpose!  I needed a plan! 

So, he gave me a job.  GoshDarnIt.

And with that job came a lesson in 4wheeler driving.

As I gathered sticks, Little Dude clapped and cheered for me and said,

“Good job, Mom!  You are wee hep-full!”

I ain’t gonna lie.  I am wee helpful.

So, Little Dude and I cruised the lands and threw sticks into the trailer and then brought them to the burn pile.

I am sure that many of you are aghast that we have a burn pile.  I assure you it is quite legal in these here parts.

Oh, yes.  It is.

Little Dude and I were quite excited when we found this little treasure trove of sticks.

I’m sure you can imagine our jubuliation.

We worked hard all morning.  Handsome Dude even started to fall asleep.

A dozer on the dozer!

Ha!  You cannot deny that was uber clever.

Happy Weekend!

Kelly’s Korner is having a “Show Us Your Mother’s Day Ideas” theme this week.

Since my kids do not make money, I thought I would supply them with a list of ideas for gifts they could give me.

I’m thoughtful like that.

1)  I would like to be able to take a bath and/or shower and have no one see me naked.  Privacy is unheard of over here.  Things are getting borderline-inappropriate.

2)  In addition to #1, I would also like there to be no “questions” or “puzzled looks” after seeing Mommy when she is seeking privacy.  It hurts Mommy’s self-esteem.  Or what’s left of it.

3)  I would like to sit on a toilet seat and not have it be splattered with urine.  I am hoping for a 100% accuracy rate on this (ahem, Handsome Dude), but I would be happy with 50% accuracy.

4)  I would like to not feed you all for a day.  Just one day.  I know this sounds cruel, but I find it to be such a tedious bore lately.  It’s just that there’s so many of you, you see.   Also:  I am tired of dishes, complaints, spilled milk, crumbs on the floor, and peanut butter on faces.

5)  I would like you to cease to produce dirty laundry.

6)  I would like you to have clean rooms at all times.

7)  I would like you to clean my room.

8)  I would also like to join in for nap time.

9)  Perhaps we could learn to wash our spit out of the sink after brushing our teeth?

10)  Please stop asking me if why I have “red spots” on my face.

11)  Please beg me to read a book instead of watching television.

12)  Please stop tracking mud on the carpet.

13)  Please stop fighting.

14)  Please stop hitting.

15)  Please stop whining.

16)  Please don’t stop fighting over who gets to have Mommy carry them down the stairs.

17)  Remember to always snuggle in for a book before naps.

18)  Keep drawing me 16 millions works of art daily.  And insisting I keep them.  All of them.  Forever.  And ever.

19)  Continue to sing my praises when I make you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in the shape of a bunny.

20)  Try to not gag at the sight of broccoli.  Broccoli is your friend.

21)  Keep talking to me first out of all the people you know and telling me all the exciting things you are learning and doing.

22)  If you wear glasses, please be responsible with them. (ahem, Handsome Dude.)

23)  Don’t get sick.

24)  Don’t get hurt.

25)  Don’t grow up.

26)  If you insist on growing up, please continue to like me.  And spend time with me.  And go on special dates with me.

27)  If I get wrinkles, don’t mention them.  You probably gave them to me.

28)  Slow down a bit.  Life is flying by.

29)  Pretend I am your favorite teacher and mom, even if I am not deserving of it at the moment.

30)  Remember all the moments we have had together and think of them fondly and with love.

31)  And please stop insising on wearing your underwear backwards.  And your shoes on the wrong feet.

32)  Oh!  And start flushing the toilets.

33)  Remember you are treasured and a blessing to me.  Even if I don’t always act like you are.  You are the best parts of my life.

Love,

Mom.

Hello!

I am joining in on The Hodgepodge today!

I have news of good tidings!

We are all done with this Fat Tuesday nonsense.

Darn.

We did this for 10 weeks, and here is my final update:

1)  I still hate exercise.

2)  I lost 7.2 pounds.

3)  I went down one notch on my belt.

4)  I still fear swimsuits.  And for good reason.

5)  I still love brownies.  And popcorn.

6)  When I was at the dentist last week, the hygienist looked right at me and said, and I quote, “Did you bring your baby with you?”

7)  That made me feel paranoid.  And sad.  And like I needed a brownie.

8)  The very next day, our pediatrician informed me that my son was slender because I was, and I quote, “so slender.” 

9)  That made me feel jubilant.  And svelte.  And like I needed a brownie.

Thank you all for joining in . . . or bailing on me!  Ha!

Not that I am bitter.

Nope.

***

Remember how I said I was going to start blocking search engines again? 

 Well.  I plum forgot.

So, I am going to do so now, but first I shall share with you some of the terms people used to find my blog:

1)  My Bunny’s Name is Screamer.

What are the odds?  Amazing!

2)  How many hours on the dozer undercarriage?

This is because I am now uber knowledgeable in the ways of the dozer.

3)  Love to eat.  Husband loves me fatter.

Weird-ish.

4)  Wife is old pics.

Boo.

5)  My wife the pig.

Double Boo.

6)  Is it okay to hand a deer head in my office?

No.  It is not.

7)  I peed in a toilet with bleach.

Good to know. 

8)  Rabbits sliding.

You saw it here first, folks.  Don’t worry.  No bunnies were hurt.

See?  Happy bunnies.

9)  Tamarack Wood.

I should totally be the authority on tamarack wood. 

10)  Why does my husband mock me?

You are not alone, cyber-stranger.

11)  How can I convince my husband to take down the deer head?

You can’t.

12)  Old School Jean Jumpers.

Coming soon to a blog near you.  Maybe.

13)  Got my wife a vaccuum cleaner for her birthday.

She’s a lucky lady!

Oh, goodness.  There was some super creepy ones, too.   Too creepy to put on here.  So, goodbye search engines.

It’s a shame, though.

How else will be people know about the fantastic burning qualities of Tamarack wood without my wisdom and advice?

The people will be lost.

Alright.

If you were feigning to do Fat Tuesday with me, you better check in.  Or else. 

Happy Tuesday!

It’s snowing here.

So that’s fun.

But that is neither here nor there.  I would like to introduce you to a brand new segment on this here blog called,

“It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

Yup.

My husband bought hisself a tractor.

Fun Fact:  “Hisself” is just a fancy way of saying “himself.”  I think.

Yes.  We have a tractor now.

Except, and he informs me of this constantly,  it is not called a tractor.  It is a bulldozer.

Or, simply “dozer,” as a cool person, such as my husband, might say.

Silly me!  I thought all big yellow-ish machines were called tractors.  Turns out I’m wrong.

But I have been taking an “interest” in his tractor shopping, so I would like to “wow” you all with the following sentence:

“It’s a great dozer; the undercarriage is in great shape, it has low hours, and it even comes with a winch and a brush blade.”

(Winch.  Not wench.  There is a difference.)

Don’t pretend you aren’t impressed.

The kids think this new toy is fantastic.

And I am sure no one will ever get hurt on it.

***

Little Dude.

Little Dude is super cute.  But we already knew that.  He is obsessed with puppies and bunnies.  He has an entourage of stuffed animals that go everywhere with him.

“Mypuppymybunnymypuppy!  See?”

He as an uber weird voice when he plays with “mypuppymybunnymypuppies.”  It is creepy and high pitched and he makes strange facial expressions.

But yay for kids entertaining themselves!

Well, yesterday, Lucy grabbed Little Dude’s stuffed toy bunny right out of his hands and ran off with it.

LucyFur.

It was the end of the world, I kid you not.

Check out Little Dude’s boots in the above picture.  He has to wear them everywhere.  He feels quite spiffy in them.

Quite.

Everywhere we go, Little Dude is trudging around in those boots.  And this kid is chatty to strangers.

He tells every person he meets the same thing:

“My bunny’s name is Screamer.”

Except he is not talking about his toy bunny.  He is talking about the real bunny.

Keep up!

Why is the bunny called Screamer?

We cannot be certain.

Anyways.  I am getting a lot of weird looks lately from strangers and passersby.  I think rural life has affected us more than we realize.

And we homeschool.

Double whammy.

***

Do you remember our tiny, mice-infested Honda?

We still have it.

I had to take it the other day because my husband “accidentally” took my keys, so I could not drive the big rig.

I think it was part of an evil ploy to save on diesel.

But, anyways.

I was quite sure that he had taken care of the mouse problem.

Oh! 

What’s that?! 

You’ve never had mice living in your cars?

Well, let me assure you, it is a treat.

The DAY after I had to drive it, Sir Lumberjack drove it to go into town.  When he came back, he informed me that AS HE WAS DRIVING A MOUSE WAS RUNNING AROUND IN THE CAR.

I am sorry, but this cannot be normal.

While he was in town, he had picked up some groceries and basically threw them into the trunk.

I know he threw them because they were no longer in their bags and cans and produce were all floating around the trunk.

LJ (short for Lumberjack . . . keep up, people!):  Is something wrong?

Me:  Well.  I am kind of grossed out that these apples were laying on what appears to be mouse droppings.

LJ:  Hmmm . . . let me see.

Me:  I mean, look at that?  Isn’t that mouse poop in there?

LJ:  Maybe.  It’s ok.  You don’t have to eat the apples.  I will just take them in my lunches.

This is not ok, people. 

This is not ok.

I am not a gross person.  I shower regularly.  I clean up messes. 

Why are there mice living in our Honda?

Consider this a cry for help.

In other news, we are selling the Honda (darn).  So if any of you locals want to buy a reliable, cheap, and clean (relatively-speaking) car, let me know!

Happy Monday!

Random Happenstances

 (that in no way relate to one another or matter in the grand scheme of things) 

(You’re welcome):

***

Handsome Dude had his 4 year check this week. At one point, we were sitting in the exam room, waiting for the nurse to come and give him his shots.

HD (short for Handsome Dude . . . keep up!):  Why can I not get dressed?

Me:  Because you have to get a shot.

Fun Fact:  With the girls, this would have greatly stressed me out.  I would have probably made up some story to distract them or offered a bribe or a reward of some sort.

Alas.  I am now old and tired and don’t sugar coat anything.

HD:  Oh.  With a gun?

Me:  No!  No one is shooting you with a gun!

Say, what?!

HD:  What are they going to shoot me with?

*sigh*

So, I had to try to explain it to him.  And he didn’t really seem to care.  So, the nurse came and he obediently held still.

And then, it happened.

And, oh the fury.

HD:  Mom!  You lied!  She did shoot me!  She shot me with the gun!  I’m go-ning HOME!

Ah!  That was a wonderful thing for him to be yelling in the doctor’s office.

Another fun tidbit from the doctor:

While we were there, the doctor was showing me Handsome Dude’s growth. 

Doctor:  As you can see, the boy is quite slender.  Which isn’t surprising, seeing as how you are so slender.

*!*

Let us have this moment to do a dance of joy.

*Thank you*

Never in my life have I been called slender.  Never ever.

I’ll take it!

***

Today we had to do 4.2 million errands.  One of which was repairing Hansome Dude’s glasses.

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

Then I had to go to the big city to get the boys measured for their ring bearer outfits.

100 (meaningless) points to anyone who can guess whose wedding that is for.

200 (meaningless) points to anyone who will assure me that my boys will be well-behaved for this ring-bearer gig.

Anyways.  I don’t do well driving in the big city. 

I got lost.

Even with my phone GPS.

It happens.

So, I was all a-flutter and said, “Shoot!  Where am I?”

And Little Dude, as precious as he is, called from the back seat,

“What, Mom?  Do you need coffee?”

Ha!

Yes.  Mama always needs coffee, son.

***

Remember how I told you all that I was “done” with the whole “couponing” thing.

I lied.

Sir Lumberjack got wind of this and he is more excited than I am.

There is a class being offered in our area and he even asked if we could go together.

To learn how to use coupons.

Our deal is that I will figure out the deals, and he will get them when he is in town.

Works for me!

So I worked out a deal for him and wrote it all out, down to cereal sizes and which coupons to use for which items.

He was supposed to get 9 boxes of cereal, 3 gallons of milk, and 10 yogurts for about $15.

He came home with 6 cereals, no milk, and 10 yogurts for $36.

I fear we have a communication problem.

And a couponing problem.

I mean, who spends $5 on a box of Frosted Flakes? 

My husband.

 And we don’t even eat Frosted Flakes.

So, it was not frugal at all.

Hence, our excitement for the couponing class.

Which will cost us $40 to attend.

And $40 more in gas to get there.

Does anyone else see the stupidity in this?

Yes?

No?

***

Handsome Dude broke a candle in the store today.  This was my first experience in a store with a child breaking something.

I could have done without it.

Don’t worry, folks!  He assured me he wasn’t “touching” it at all!  He was just “smelling” it.

It shattered.

So, I had to find an employee so they could help me clean up all the massive amounts of glass everywhere.

And guess what?

They didn’t want me to pay for it!

Weird.

Maybe it was because I am so slender.

And, on that note, I shall say goodbye.

I am off to watch AxMen with my darling, handsome, not-as-slender-as-I, husband.

PS-Should I eat popcorn or ice cream?

PPS-Remember, I can afford the calories.

PPPS-Have you seen AxMen?  If so, can we please discuss Shelby?!?!?!

PPPPS-Shelby makes my AxMen world go round.

PPPPPS-No worries.  My husband will fall asleep soon and I can watch some good, quality TV.  Like Seinfeld reruns.

Goodbye.