Not Me!

This week on Kelly's Korner, it's all about proposal stories!

I shared my proposal story in a "Not Me!" format awhile ago.

Thanks for stopping by!

Visit www.kellyskornerblog.com for more!

 

 

I found this new blog called My Charming Kids.

Every Monday, she has this "theme"  called "Not Me Monday."

So . . . I thought I would give it a shot!

Head over to her blog to read more!

I hope I do it right . . . let me know what you think!

*****

Interruption:  For the purposes of this blog post, I will refer to The Lumberjack as Chick.

No.

That is not his real name.

But he did want to name our son that.

Ridiculous.

We'll see how he likes it.

When I was a junior in High School, a senior boy named Chick (ha!  take that Lumberjack!) gave me his senior picture with this written on the back,

"Hey, Taylor!  I like you!  Call me if you ever get over him."

Fact:  The Lumberjack's Wife just had a boy break up with her.

I did not want to call Chick on the phone.

Nope.

Not me.

I was still kind of hoping "other guy" would like me again someday.

And I surely did not regret not calling Chick two days later.

Nope.

Not me.

And I most certainly did not get panicky that, since he was graduating, I would never see Chick and all his handsomeness again.

I would never do that.

On the day of Chick's high school graduation, I was determined to make my move.

I bought a lovely card to give to him that included my phone number.

And, no.

I did not race to the graduation with a friend, despite the fact that I had just rolled and totalled my car that very exact day.

Not me.

That would have seemed desperate.

I would have stayed home and rested.

That was someone else.

When on our first date, I was not disappointed and discouraged that our date only lasted 56 minutes.

Not me.

I am always a trooper.

Finally, Chick and I became an official "item."

Fact:  I hate when people say a couple is an "item."  Why do they say that?  Lame.

We had gotten together, but still hadn't kissed yet.

We took my two dogs, Joey and Willie on a walk.

Chick made up some dumb game where he had to do anything  to me that I said for him to do to Willie.

What?

I know.

It's ok.

He was homeschooled for a good part of his life.

Interruption:  I am not against home school.  Calm down.  It's just a joke between the Lumberjack and I.

Now, listen.

Chick was moving a little to slowly.

On account of the home school.

(kidding!)

But I did not decide to take matters into my own hands.

And, no, I did not tell him to kiss Willie.

Not me.

That would seem too forward.

About a month later, Chick told me he loved me.

And I did not tell him that he couldn't possibly love me yet and that he could only say he liked me a lot.

I am not bossy like that.

Oh, and I most certainly did not regret that statement one month after that and ask him to tell me he loved me again.

Chick and I started spending every waking moment together and soon we did truly fall in love.

Or, as much in love as 17 and 18 year-olds could be.

But I did not talk with him about marriage when I was only 17.

Not me.

And on our 11-month anniversary, I did think he was going to propose.

And I most certainly did not have a bad attitude once I realized that the secret location that he drove 1 hour to take me to was not someplace romantic, but was in fact, a mini-golf paradise.

I did not have a bad attitude while playing mini-golf.

Not me.

Then on our 1 year anniversary, I did not expect him to propose to me that day.

Not me.

I am extremely patient.

Chick took me on an all day date for our one year anniversary.  I can't quite remember all the places we went.  But I do remember that every time he turned a corner, a loud ratting sound came from the back seat.

"What's that, Chick?"

"It's your anniversary present!"

I did not have a bad attitude from that moment on because I knew that a tiny ring could not make that loud noise.

Not me.

And when I finally realized he had tricked me and was, in fact, proposing, I did not stop him mid-proposal and inform him that he was proposing with the wrong hand.

No.  I would not want to embarrass him like that.

Finally, that brings me to me and Chick's wedding day.

The pastor thought it would be funny to have the congregation take a vote as to whether we should kiss or just shake hands.

One person voted for a hand shake.

The rest of the crowd voted for a kiss.

And that was enough for my Chick.

Before I knew it, he was moving in, arms out, lips all smoochy-like.

But, I remained calm.

I did not frantically shout, "Stop!  He didn't say 'You may now kiss the bride!'"

No.

Not me.

I would never do that.

The End.

P.S.- After writing this, it seems like during my dating years with Chick, I seemed to have a bit of an attitude.

Fact:  This is precisely why 17 year olds should not talk about marriage.

I did not just admit that.

Not me.

Good Housekeeping

 

 

I think I do too much laundry.

Seriously.

At least, I don't think I have a good system in place.

Here's what I do:

1)  Bring the upstairs hampers down to the downstairs hampers.

2)  Cry and wail because it looks like I will never get all this laundry done in one day.

Interruption:  It is quite rare for me to, in fact, get all the laundry done in one day.

3)  Wipe tears from eyes and start doing laundry.

4)  Bring all clean laundry to the couch where I fold, hang, and sort.

5)  Tell the dudes to stop hitting each other with hangers.

6)  Stare at my 15 different piles of laundry:  ie girl pajamas, boy pajamas, girl underwear, boy underwear, mama underwear . . . you get the point.

7)  Stop Handsome Dude from "helping" take up clean laundry piles.

Why?

Because he takes said piles and just throws them in random spots.

For example:  once he took a pile of the girls' pajamas and threw them in the upstairs tub.

I did not discover this for a few days.

He is not helpful.

Not one bit.

8)  Take 15 different piles of laundry to their correct destinations.

9)  Finally finish with that one load and then stare in dismay at the disaster my dudes have created in the living room.

8)  And this process goes on and on for all eternity.

So, this weekend, I tried to start a genius new laundry system.

I bought 3 cheap hampers from the local Walmart.

Walmart . . . it sure is a treat, isn't it?

Each hamper is for a specific destination: one for me and The Lumberjack's room, one for the girl room, and one for the boy room.

Interruption:  This post is terribly boring, isn't it?  I am getting bored writing it.  I am sorry.  But I really want laundry advice.  Help me.

Everyone's folded items go into their designated new, cheap Walmart hamper.

So, hopefully, instead of making 75 trips upstairs each morning, I will fill up the hampers and just deliver them to their appropriate rooms.

Where they will probably sit full of clean laundry for days on end because no one will think to put them away.

Ah . . . such is life.

So.

Here's what I want from all of you on this lovely Sunday morn:

Tell me your laundry shortcuts.

Do you hang up items and take them up hung, or do you fold items and hang in their specific rooms?

How often do you wash the bath towels?

Do you wash kids pajamas every day?

Do you cry when you look at your laundry pile?

Where do you store your empty hangers?

What on earth do you do with loose socks?

Oh, don't even get me started on socks.

Socks will, I guarantee you, be the death of me.

So, please, have mercy upon me.

Tell me any laundry tips, tricks, or advice you have.

Or any housekeeping tip, tricks, or advice you have.

Because, if I am being honest with y'all, I have NO IDEA what I am doing.

I fear I am ignorant.

Please.

Fact:  The Lumberjack's Wife has washed not one, but two diapers this week.

Fact:  Do not, I repeat, do not ever do this.

Fact:  It is nasty.

And since this post was soooo boring, I will leave you with this joke.

It is my all-time favorite joke.

Why did the tomato turn red?

Because he saw the salad dressing!

Pretty Sad.

It's pretty sad that I was thrilled to see the number "7" on the clock when I woke up this morning.

Sure.

I've seen numbers like 1:57

and 4:07

But 7:28?

That's unheard of.

It's pretty sad that yesterday, I just could not get my kids occupied so I could do my exercise DVD.

As soon as it started, Handsome Dude woke up.

5 minutes into it, he was crying because the girls were outside and he wanted to play, too.

7 minutes into it, Sweet Pea, had to go to the bathroom.

10 minutes into it, Sweet Pea and the neighbor girl were spying at me from the window and laughing at the site of me doing some horrific exercise called "plank jacks."

I have come to the conclusion that Jillian Michael is insane.

I do, however, like the name Jillian.

It's lovely.

12 minutes into it, the girls came in.

13 minutes into it, I sent the girls upstairs to clean their room.

13.5 minutes into it, Little Dude woke up.

13.75 minutes into it, Handsome Dude snuck upstairs to "help" clean the girls' room.

15 minutes into it, Sweet Pea and Daisy Mae are yelling that Handsome Dude has taken all the clothes out of their closet and is hanging from the closet rod.

It's pretty sad that I could only work out for 15 minutes.

It's pretty sad that the DVD is only 20 minutes and I didn't finish it.

It's pretty sad the girls were not exaggerating and Handsome Dude did, in fact, take out every single item from their closet.

It's pretty sad that the reason I could not do my exercise dvd at my regularly scheduled time because I had both a dermatologist appointment and a gynecologist appointment yesterday.

It's pretty sad how uncoordinated my daughter Daisy Mae is.

My friend, Bimlissa and I took 5 children to the local skating rink.

100 (meaningless) points to anyone who can remember why she is called Bimlissa.

Who has been reading this blog that long?

Who is actually paying attention?

Anyone?

Anyone?

Hmmmm . . . .

Am I talking to myself?

Here are 3 of the girls we took with us on our skating adventure.

From left to right: Sweet Pea, Daisy Mae, and Cute-Little-Red-Head-Friend.

Cute-Little-Red-Head-Friend was by far the most advanced skater.

Sweet Pea did fairly well.

But Daisy Mae . . .

was having issues.

Poor Daisy Mae.

Careful, Daisy Mae!

Oops!

Are you good?

Oooh.  That's gonna leave a mark.

(Name that movie)

Daisy Mae.

Do not, I repeat, do not skate against the current.

It will only end in disaster.

Told ya.

Hi, Pumpkin!

Are you having a good time?

It's pretty sad that this little guy from our group was not having fun at all.

Not one bit.

But he had a good attitude, bless his heart.

It's pretty sad that they had a game called "Hitchhiker's Couples Skate."

All the girls had to line up against the wall and stick their thumbs out like hitchhikers.

Boys were supposed to skate by and "pick them up."

Daisy Mae and Cute-Little-Red-Head Friend stood their with their thumbs out the entire time and not one boy, I repeat, not one boy picked either of them up.

Yet, there they stood.

With their thumbs out.

Boo, local skating rink.

Boo.

Breaks my heart.

It's pretty sad that today I have to wear a swimsuit.

In January.

Yes.

I am going to a pool party.

Jealous?

And finally . . . .

It's pretty sad that, for the first time in many days, I actually stayed within my points range last night, only to attack a pan of brownies at 10:38pm.

I mean, really.

Who needs brownies at that hour?

Oh, well.

There's always tomorrow.

Later, dudes!

Ten Things Thursday

Ten Random Things that have no importance to anyone in the grand scheme of things:

1)  I am happy to report that I have successfully kicked my creamer habit:

It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be.

The Lumberjack still drinks it, so I still have to stare at it in the fridge every day.

Sadly, my coffee now looks like this:

No.

I do not drink it black.

I am not insane.

I use fat free half and half

No.

I do not understand what could be in fat free half and half.

No.

I am not a huge Winnie the Pooh fan.

But that mug is my absolute favorite coffee mug.

My Aunt Candi gave it to me when I was 10.

Thanks, Aunt Candi!

2)  The Lumberjack was slightly disappointed that:

A)  No one guessed his question

B)  He hardly got any comments on his guest post.

To that I say:

Dear Lumberjack,

Welcome to the wonderful, paranoia-filled, world of blogging.

Love,

Lumberjill.

I told him he shouldn't have mentioned the word "bedroom" as my readers are not interested in such smut.

3)  I cannot ever tell you the answer to the Lumberjack's question or he will have to kill me.

4)  Daisy Mae made me play-doh lunch yesterday.

Raise your hand if you think Daisy Mae looks like a vampire.

Raise your hand if you think my daughter's name is really Daisy Mae.

5)  No one guessed the actress in Music Man.

And to that I say, puh-lease.

Shirley Jones.

Please watch this movie.

It is the perfect movie to watch with your kids on a rainy day while making them help you fold laundry.

Please pay attention to the "Madame Librarian" scene and tell me that you agree that it is the best scene in a movie. 

Ever.

Or watch it here.

6)  I am still doing that dreadful 30 Day Shred DVD.

Every.

Single.

Day.

And every single day, I am doing it with this fantabulous workout partner:

She doesn't stop talking the entire time.

She pokes at my chubs.

She blocks my view.

This is my life.

And I love her.

7)  I am thinking of starting a new thing here on this blog.

Some of your comments are just too great to go unnoticed.

Like when my aunt thought a muffin top was a fungus or a bad hair day.

So, I was thinking of doing like a "Comment of the Week"  sort of post.

Thoughts?

Would you like to hear this week's winner?

Good.

I hope she doesn't mind.

This one comes from Rebecca D from the post A Monday Story for You:

"LOL… gotta love sensitive men…

Last night my husband referred to my favorite, most comfy, nightie as “flannel birth control” in front of company… I’ve had it for years and he has never said a thing…"

Oh, thanks for the laugh, Rebecca!

P.S.-if you would rather I didn't share this let me know pronto and I will remove it.

8)  I am still doing 8 minute abs every day.  Are you?

9)  I still have stomach chub.  Do you?

10)  Finally, one of the items on my list of resolutions was to read at least one book from start to finish.

So, what book should I read?

Leave me a comment and tell me a book that you would recommend.

Happy Thursday!

Goober Taylor Update

Warning:  This post is slightly long.

100(meaningless) points to anyone who actually reads it.

Thank you.

In the past, I have poked fun at both my parents and my husband's parents and their gooberness when it comes to things in life such as:

cell phones

internet

digital cameras

Facebook

IPods

Kindles

Microwaves (ok, kidding)

But, on Monday, I had a revelation:

I am a goober, too.

On Monday morning, our internet was not working.

Drat.

So, I called our internet service provider people who informed me there was an outage in my area.

As the day went on and I chatted with other humans who live in my area, I realized that I was the only one in any area without internet.

And so , again, I called our internet service provider people who informed me that there was an outage in my area, but the outage was no more.

I kindly informed them that, while I found this news comforting, I still had no internet service.

And now, for your reading pleasure, and my mother's vindication, I present to you:

My Conversation with an Unidentified Customer Service Technician:

Him:  What seems to be the problem?

Me:  My internet does not work.

Him: Okay.  Let me perform a few tests.

tap tap tap tappety-tap (that's him typing-aren't I clever?)

Him:  Okay, ma'am (so sad.  I am no longer a Miss) It should be working.

Me:  Okay.  But it isn't.

Then the kind service technician goes through a whole explanation of why it is not working.  Something with servers being down and modems sending codes to routers and then when servers are functioning again, new codes being sent out and the routers being confused and yada, yada yada (name that show) I need to unplug and reboot.

Would you like to see where my modem and router are?

I am ashamed.

What on earth are all these wires for?

Perhaps I should ask my husband, who is in fact, an electrician.

But he is not here at the moment.

He is being an electrician.

Maybe he should come be an electrician in my neck of the woods.

Ok, so getting to the router and modem is challenging.

Plus, I don't know which one is the modem and which one is the router.

Him:  Can you read to me any words that you see on either of the boxes?

Me: umm . . .

At this point, I am interrupted my Handsome Dude informing me has has to "poopy," which means he has to peepee.

Yes, I am proud of his progress.

No, his timing is not convenient.

Him:  Do you see something that says Motorolla?

Me:  Yes!

Him:  That is your modem.

Me:  Good to know.

Him.  Unplug both of them.  Shut down your computer.  Then plug-in the modem.  Wait a bit.  Then plug-in the router.

Oh, I wish he could see how complicated this was really going to be:

Look!

There's Little Dude's shoe!

So, as I am running around trying to do all these trivial tasks, I hear the guy chuckling.

Is he laughing at me?

It's probable.

Me:  Ok, done.

Him:  Restart your computer.

Me:  Ok.

Loading Loading Loading

Him:  Is it ready?

Me:  Nope.  Still loading.

Loading Loading Loading

Handsome Dude pee peed in the potty and on the floor and is now changing his clothes.

Handsome Dude feels the need to change his clothes after every bathroom break.

Handsome Dude can be a handful.

Me:  Okay.  It is ready.

Now, all I hear is him chuckling again.

Me:  Okay.  It is ready.

Him:  Okay.  Start the internet.

Me:  Not working.

Him:  I am going to transfer you.

Super.

Holding.  Holding. Holding.

Pop Quiz:  What happens when the mom is on the phone for over one hour and four children are left on their own to entertain themselves?

And now, my dear readers, I present to you:

My Conversation with the Second Customer Service Technician:

Her:  What seems to be the problem?

Me:  My internet is not working.

Her:  Ok.  I would be happy to help.  First can you tell me what kind of operating system you have?

Me:  Operating who?

Her:  Like do you have Windows XP, Windows Vista, or a Mac?

Me:  I know it's not a Mac.

Her:  Which one is it?

Me:  Um . . . how do I find it?

Her: Did you say Vista?

Me:  Yes.

She then proceeds to tell me a bunch of different things to do, of which I cannot remember because I did not understand what she was talking about the first time she said it.

Her:  What do you see?

I tell her what I see.  I cannot remember what it was because these computer words are tricky.

Her: (laughing) Honey!  You don't have Vista!  You have XP.

Me:  Oh, sorry.

Fact:  I have no idea if I have XP or Vista.  I couldn't exactly remember this particular detail for this story.  I may have it reversed and all mixed up.  Please forgive me.

She leads me through a whole bunch of tests and she comes to the conclusion that there is something wrong with our router.

I get the phone number of the next helpful customer service technician and I hang up.

Do I call?

No.

I have had enough.

Fast forward to 6pm of that very same exact day.

And now, dear readers, I present to you:

The Lumberjack's Conversation with the Third Customer Service Technician who does not work at our Internet Service Provider's Office, but works for the company who manufactured our Router:

LJ (short for Lumberjack . . . keep up, people!):  My router is bad.

Him:  Okay, let me perform a few tests.

tap tap tap tappety-tap

Him:  Okay, I need to transfer you.

Holding Holding Holding

Him:  Okay.  You need to hit reset button.

LJ:  Where is that?

Him:  On the back of the router.

LJ:  I don't see it.

This goes on for a good 5 minutes.

LJ:  I am going to give the phone to my wife.  Maybe she can find the button.

Silly, Lumberjack. He forgot I am an idiot.

Me:  Hello?

Him:  Please hit reset button.

Me:  I don't see one.

Him:  It is on the back of the router.

Me:  Hmmm . . . don't see one.

Him:  Please hit reset button asdfkj aldskfja.

At this point, he was saying two words after button.  I cannot understand what he is saying.  I am trying to understand, but I cannot.

Remember when I asked you why you think I might use closed captioning?

It is because I am almost deaf in one ear.

And the Lumberjack got sick of having repeat every line in movies to me.

So, I am having trouble hearing customer service dude accurately.

Me:  What did you say?

Him:  Please hit reset button asdfkj aldskfja.

Me:  What words are you saying after button?

Him: Please hit reset button asdfkj aldskfja.

Me:  I just can't understand those words.

And then he hung up on me.

The nerve.

The Lumberjack calls back.

He is put on hold for 1 hour.

He informs technician of his problem.

He is put on hold again because he needs to speak to a senior manager.

Senior manager informs him he needs a new router.

For some reason, they are going to send us a new one.

As The Lumberjack is writing down the vital information he needs to ship our old one, the cell phone battery dies.

The Lumberjack calls back.

He is put on hold.

While we are waiting, we try and watch some movie called "Blazing Saddles."

It was, in fact, retarded, and we turned it off promptly.

Would you like to know how long he had to hold this time?

1 hour and 23 minutes.

He was not pleased.

Fact:  The Lumberjack spent 3 hours on the phone that night.

Fact:  Lumberjacks dislike talking on the phone.

Fact:  We still don' have a working router.

Fact:  I still don't know what operating system we use.

Fact:  I don't think customer service people should laugh at the customers

Fact:  The Lumberjack is quite handsome.

Fact:  Blazing Saddles is dumb.

Fact:  "The Music Man"  is a delightful movie.

Have you seen it?

Name the actress.

Happy Wednesday!

Perspective

 

In July of 2003, I became pregnant for the second time.

Sweet Pea was 6 months old and I was in shock.

I remember the nurse telling me that yes, I was very much pregnant.

Me:  I don't think so.  I have a 6 month old.

Nurse:  Ok.  But you are still pregnant.

Me:  But I am breastfeeding.  You aren't supposed to get pregnant while breastfeeding!

Nurse:  Well, actually you can . . . and you are!

I had no idea how far along I was, so they scheduled me for an ultrasound.

The Lumberjack, who took this news better than I did, stood by my side while holding Sweet Pea.

I remember watching the little bean as the technician took measurements and made notes.

The tech, who was usually quite friendly, was extremely quiet.

"Have you had any pain?"

"No."

"Hmmm . . . any bleeding?"

"No."

Then she led us to a room and told us to wait for the nurse.

"Something is wrong."  I told my husband.

"I'm sure everything is fine." He said and patted my leg.

Interruption:  I am usually giving my husband a hard time on this blog.  But in truth, he is very supportive and loving and I would be lost without him.  Even if he thinks I have chest hair.

The nurse walked in.

She was cold and unfriendly.

Nurse:  There is something wrong with your baby.  We are going to send you to a high-risk doctor.

Me:  What is wrong?

Nurse:  I can't say.  But I made you an appointment in three days.

She can't say!?  What's up with that?

Me:  Please tell me what's wrong.

Nurse:  I can't.  Just go and see this doctor.

We left.

I was extremely upset.

The Lumberjack was upset.

And now we had to wait three days until we found out what could be wrong.

True . . . I didn't know this baby even existed a few weeks earlier.  But the moment you find out your pregnant, no matter how far along you are, that baby is yours and you would do anything to make sure he or she was healthy and safe.

And that baby was mine and I did not want to lose my baby.

As the three days started to pass, I was a basket case.

I called to try to talk to the nurse again.

She was annoyed at me and my wailing.

Finally, she gave me some information:

"I can't tell you what is wrong, but you are most likely going to miscarry any day or you will be advised to terminate this pregnancy."

"Advised to terminate?  What is wrong?  Can I please talk to the doctor?"

"No.  Just see the high risk doctor."

I was beginning to dislike this nurse.

My mom works at a doctor's office and she was sharing my trials with a doctor who works with her.

He called my OB, and finally, my OB called me:

"Well, yes, there is something wrong with the shape of your baby.  This baby most likely won't survive.  But go and see the high risk doctor."

So, I had to wait.

We were living with my parents at the time.

We had just bought our current house and we were in the process of gutting it.

My mom called me right before her lunch break.

Mom:  How are you doing?

Me:  (Wailing) Not good.

Mom:  Do you want me to bring you lunch?

Me:  Yes.

Mom:  How about a Big Mac meal?

Me:  Yes.

My mom knows me too well.

She came and we visited, but I still had to endure those 3 days of worry, fear, and what-if's.

I spent a lot of time in prayer.

A lot.

Our pastor recently shared a verse from the book of Daniel.  This is from the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.  The three of them refused to worship the king, and he is threatening to throw them into the fiery furnace.  This is their response:

"O Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this manner.  If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and he will rescue us from your hand, O king.  But even if he does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up." (Daniel 3: 16-18)

God was getting me to a point in my life where I needed to trust him, no matter what happened.

Even if my baby was okay.

Even if my baby would die.

I needed to trust Him.

Finally, the day came when we were to see the high risk doctor.

First, we had to get an ultrasound.  The technician told us that she could not tell us anything she was seeing, and we would need to hear results from the doctor.

She performed the ultrasound and left.

Finally, the doctor came in.

He sat in his chair and looked at the reports.

He looked up and said, "I can't even see what your doctor was concerned about.  This baby is perfectly healthy and fine!"

At that moment, I truly felt the power of God.

God loves me.

God heard me.

God took care of my baby.

I still thank God for this miracle whenever I see my precious girl, who was born months later.

A few of you have shared recently that you have lost babies or children in your lives.

I cannot imagine the pain that you must have from that.

I don't know why sad things happen.

I don't always understand how God chooses to work.

But I know that he loves us.

"God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.  Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give away and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea . . .

Be still, and know that I am God."

(Psalms 46:1, 2, and 10)

A Monday Story for You

I would like to dedicate this post to my friend, Lani.

For without her and my delightful conversation with her yesterday, I would have never remembered this horrific, yet painfully true,  tale to tell you.

Everyone say, "Hi, Lani!"

Lani is pregnant with her 5th child.

Let's all give Lani a round of applause.

Okie -dokie, here we go:

When I was pregnant with my fourth child, who is presently known as Little Dude, I began having irregular heartbeats.

Interruption:  In a earlier post, I blamed my pregnancy-related heart issues on Handsome Dude.

I fear I made a mistake.

It happens.

Handsome Dude:  please forgive me.

In order for the doctor to decide what was going on with my heart, I had to wear a 24 hour heart monitor.

Now, this was a treat.

First, I got to join a really unfriendly nurse in a very bright exam room where she proceeded to rip open my shirt and place electrodes all over my chest.

Awkward.

Next, I got to carry around this box-thingie.

Whenever my heart was doing it's freaky thing, I would have to push the button.

I looked . . . ridiculous.

Let me set up the scene for you:

*I am pregnant for the 4th time in 5 years

*I am really, really, really large

*I have varicose veins

*I am cranky

*I am uncomfortable

*I am large

In short, I do not feel glamorous.

My husband comes homes.

Let me all remind you of him:

*He is the love of my life

*He is the one who is supposed to make me feel beautiful

*He is the one who is supposed to make everything okay

*He is the one who supports me no matter what

Now, what do you suppose my husband, the man I have been married to at this point for almost 8 years, is going to say when he sees his wife wearing a heart monitor?

Is he concerned?

Is he worried?

Is he encouraging?

No.

And without further ado, I present to you:

His Statement.

The Lumberjack:  Dude! (yes, he calls me dude.  charming, huh?)  Did they have to shave your chest?

****************

I gurantee you that none of you have had a more embarassing moment with your husband than I had with my husband on that very tragic day.

I have been pregnant for 40 months of my life.

I am not planning on being pregnant for any more.

How many months have you been pregnant?

PS- I do not have chest hair.

Weekend Update

Here are some fabulously thrilling things that have happened in our lives:

1)  Handsome Dude prefers to dress himself now.

Shirt on inside-out and mismatched shirt/pants.

Handsome Dude has become quite . . . particular.

If anything gets on his shirt or pants, he must change it immediately.

He runs upstairs, pulls about 25 items out of his closet, and finally settles on mismatched clothing that is usually too small for him.

2)  Are you wondering where Handsome Dude's glasses are?

So are we.

3)  If you are planning on ever potty-training a child of the male gender, please do not look to me for advice.

Clearly, I know not what I am doing.

But I have figured out what my number one problem was:

This toilet seat.

It was what I used while potty-training my girls.

Attention all clueless moms like me:  THIS DOES NOT WORK FOR BOYS.

It does not leave enough spray room for little boys.

Because of this seat, my boy would spray pee on himself.

Because of the pee on himself, my boy would freak out.

Because of the freak out, he would pee on his shirt.

Because of his pee shirt, he would cry and need it changed.

Because he needed his shirt changed, we would be late for school.

That seat is evil I tell you.

Now after my potty training posts, a few of commented that having my boy reverse gears and straddle the toilet would be a better way to go.

But, as I mentioned earlier, Handsome Dude has become particular, and any sort of change is quite traumatic for him.

So for two days, I worked on trying to get him to straddle the toilet and give up the evil toilet seat.

I am happy to report that he does now straddle the toilet and it does seem to work better, as it allows for more spray room.

I have found two kinks with the straddle method:

1)  I have discovered that taking clothes off of a little boy who waited too long to go can be tricky.

He is trying his hardest to hold everything in while I bend his legs and try to remove his pants.

For the most part, we have been successful, but Handsome Dude did wait a little too long the other day and poo poo started sprinkling out on my arm as I was trying to undress him.

And that is why Mother's Day was invented.

2)  Once Handsome Dude is on the toilet, and the pee pee starts coming, he gets excited and forgets to . . . um . . . . steer his little unit.

He's clapping and cheering, but he is not steering.

Now, when that thing is not being steered, the spray just goes rogue.

So, I say:  "Dude!  Dude!  Point it down!"

Then he tries to grab it, and he ends up overcorrecting and sprays his thighs and such.

Raise your hand if you are tired of hearing about potty training?

I promise to never mention it again in this post.

4)  I won a contest over at The Park Wife.

And guess what came in the mail:

An official Pioneer Woman shirt.

Should I keep it or give it away?

Thoughts?

The Lumberjack took that there photo of me.

He had to stop watching "Swamp Loggers" in order to take it.

That's how much he loves me.

What is Swamp Loggers?

 I don't know.

But apparently, it is an exciting show that involves caravans . . .

and something that is referred to as a lowboy.

100 (meaningless) points to anyone who can guess why we use closed captioning.

5)  I also won an award from Mindy over at the Suburban Life.

Interruption:  Has anyone else noticed just how many gals named "Mindy" are commenting on this blog as of late?  Apparently, I am very popular with the "Mindy" crowd.  If you know a Mindy, you should share this blog with her. 

Stop by Mindy's blog sometime and say "Holla!"

6)  It has come to my attention that my readers, all 9 of you, along with myself, do not truly know the meaning of the phrase "Holla."

There is a pretty good chance I am using it incorrectly.

But I know some of you are confused because one reader, who shall remain nameless, thought I was saying Holler!

No.

I am not hollering.

And another reader thought I was saying Hola!, as in the Spanish word for Hello.

No.

I am not bilingual.

According to some online source, Holla means: 

interj. 1. an exclamation of greeting. 2. an exclamation used to show excitement or enthusiasm. verb. 1. to call. 2. to summon

Mystery solved.

Adios.

7)  Thanks to MaryGene, I got my 30 day shred DVD working again.

Which is good news and bad news.

Good because I can now work out and hopefully lose 20 pounds in 30 days as Jillian promises.

Bad because that woman is evil and makes me do too many arm exercises, therefore rendering my arms useless for the remainder of the day.

Thanks, MaryGene!

Well.

That's all I have to say about that.

(Name that movie)

Don't forget to try to answer the Lumberjack's mystery question for your shot at $100 bucks.

The Lumberjack writes a Post.

My husband wanted to write his very first blog post.

I am handing the computer over to him.

Enjoy.

First of all I am new to this blog business, I am Taylor's husband.  I have heard that there have been a few comments about people who are wondering if I read this blog, and to that question I say 95% of the time.  I want to make it clear that I am not a lumberjack, but I do enjoy cutting down trees and all the fun that goes a long with that sort of thing.  Some people may wonder if I have any problems in the subject matter that the author writes about, and no I do not.  I told her when she started this thing that there are two things she may not write about. (1 million meaningless points who can tell me what they are). Seriously 100 bucks to anyone who can get both of them right. Just a clue it is not about what goes on in the bedroom.

From: The not really lumberjack

A Weekend Story for You.

Welcome to everyone from Kelly's Korner!

I don't have any personal collections myself, but this is a story about an unwelcome collection of my husband's.

Read through it all and it will make sense.

This is just to make you smile, as it would not be considered a true collection.

Happy Friday!

***

 

The year was 2002.

The time was 7am.

I was about 7 weeks pregnant with my first child.  I woke up sick, as usual.

I was young.  I was new to this whole "pregnancy" thing.  I honestly had no idea what I was doing.  I was already going against the advice I had gotten from others:

1)  Don't drink caffeine. (I had about a cup of coffee a day)

2)  Don't gain more than 3-5 pounds in the first trimester. (I already gained 10 pounds.  It was sad, really.)

3)  Don't stand by microwaves. (Seriously.  Is that one for real?)

4)  Don't tell anyone you are pregnant until you are at least 12 weeks along. (I told everyone and their mothers within 15 seconds of taking the pregnancy test.)

The Lumberjack had already woken up and left for work.

I was all alone.

I went to the bathroom.

As I turned to flush, I noticed something foreign floating in the water.

As I stared at it, tears filled my eyes, and I knew instantly what it was:  my baby.

I was devastated.

And mad.

Mad at myself for drinking caffeine.  Mad at myself for eating too much.  Mad at myself for microwaving popcorn. And mad at myself for telling people.

But mostly, I was truly devastated.

I stared and stared at it, horrified at how easy it was to just lose a baby.

I knew a girl who had a miscarriage a few months before that.  The doctor had told her to bring the baby in so they could look at it.  So, I figured my doctor would want to look at mine.  I took a clear, plastic cup and fished it out of the toilet.

Then, I sat it on the counter.

And I stared at it.

I called my mom.

Mom:  Hi!

Me:  I lost the baby.

Mom:  What?  How?

Me:  (crying) I don't know.  It just came out.  In the toilet.

Mom:  Are you sure it was the baby?

Me:  Well, what else could come out of me?  Something came out of me.  Something was in the toilet.

Mom:  Call the doctor.

Me:  I did, but they aren't open yet.  I have to wait until 9am.

Mom:  Ok.  Call the doctor at 9am and then call me.

The time dragged on.  I stared at the little object, trying to make out what I was seeing.  At one angle, I was sure I saw a spinal cord.

Finally, the time came to call the doctor's office.

The receptionist put me through to a nurse right away.

Me:  I think I had a miscarriage.

Nurse:  I'm sorry, hon.  Tell me what happened.

Me:  Well, I woke up this morning and I went to the bathroom.  And after I went, I saw it floating in the toilet.

Nurse: Hmmm . . . ok.  Is this your first pregnancy?

Me:  Yes.

Nurse: Ok. Can you describe "it" to me?

Me:  Sure.  It is bluish-gray.  And it is kind of fuzzy, almost like lint or something.

Nurse:  Interesting.  Sweetie, do you think what you saw in the toilet could actually be lint?

Me:  Well, I don't think so.  Do people normally pee out lint?

Seriously.  This nurse is insane.

Nurse:  *sigh* No, hon.  Sweetie, are you in any kind of pain?

Me:  Nope.  I just feel nauseous.

Nurse:  Bleeding or cramping?

Me:  No.

Nurse: Ok, hon.  Why don't you just call us back if any more comes out of you?

Ok, I am certain I hear a chuckle in her voice.  She is making me very angry. 

Me:  You don't need to check me out or anything?

Nurse:  No, hon.  I think you are fine.  Just call us in a bit.

I stare at the object and cry and sob.

I am mad at that nurse for not believing me.

I am mad that she was laughing at me.

And now, I am quite perplexed because the object has slightly disintegrated in the yellowish water and become two objects.

I guess it does kind of look like lint.

But how could that be?

And then . . . it hit me.

The Lumberjack.

Everyday, when he wakes up, he has a huge wad of belly button lint.

Everyday.

Without fail.

Gross.

100 (meaningless) points to anyone who can tell me why.

I have never in my life had any bit of belly button lint.

I decide it is time to give my husband a call.

You might be wondering why I haven't called him yet, seeing as how I fear I have just lost my baby.

My husband does NOT like phone calls and he does NOT like getting phone calls while he is crawling through tiny crawl spaces, hanging from ladders, and getting electrocuted.

Yes.

My husband gets electrocuted regularly.

I wonder if he is any good at this electrical business?

The Lumberjack: What's up?

I can barely hear him over the hammers, drills, and blaring music.

Me:  I have a very important question for you.

The Lumberjack:  What?

Great.  He is already annoyed.

Me:  When you woke up this morning, what did you do with your belly button lint?

The Lumberjack: What?!

Me:  Your belly button lint!  What did you do with it?

The Lumberjack:  I don't know!  I think I threw it in the toilet. 

Oh, my.

Me:  Can you please do me a favor and flush next time?

The Lumberjack:  Sure.  I really gotta go, Taylor.

*****

I am happy to report that

A) I did not have a miscarriage

B) I do not pee out lint

C) The Lumberjack still remained married to me after that ridiculous phone call

D) The Lumberjack still, to this day, has belly button lint.

E)  I still don't have belly button lint.

The End.

28 Days

(Name the actress in that movie)

In approximately 28 days, my dashing Lumberjack and I will be driving the fab four to my parents house where we will be leaving them for 8 full and glorious days while we, my main man and I, hop on a plane and fly to Cancun.

No.

I am not kidding.

Yes.

I can't believe it either.

So, two days ago, when this post could have been renamed 30 days, I got a hankering to participate in this:

Now, I have never seen this so-called "Biggest Loser."

I don't know how Jillian Michael's is.

But, I'll tell you this:  I am not fond of her.

Why?

Because she makes my arms feel like Jell-O, that's why.

And who does push-ups anymore?

Honestly.

But I have committed to doing this each and every day until I leave for my fabulous and glorious kid-free, sun-filled trip.

Interruption:  I will most likely be heartbroken and missing my monsters by day three.  But days 1-2 should be fun.

Now, I am convinced that there is some mysterious, evil power attempting to thwart my fitness goals.

Allow me to explain:

1)  I wake up at 5:40 am to do this torturous video.  Yet, if I wake up that early, so does Little Dude.  He's cruel like that. Therefore, I must wait until nap time.

2)  Daisy Mae no longer naps.  So Daisy Mae, who is my BFF and extremely chatty,  will be joining me and Ms. Michael's.

3)  I put the DVD in the DVD player.  On this DVD, there are 3 different workout episodes.  So, if one were to want to pick one, one  would need to use a remote. 

Yes.

That might seem like a simple task.

But not for us.

Our remote has been missing since March 28, 2009.

Yes.

I am certain on that exact date.

So,  there is no way for me to choose a workout.

4)  Don't lose heart! 

I do not let that deter me.

I remember we have a laptop with a handy DVD playing function.

So, Daisy Mae and I  reverse gears and we switch to laptop mode.

5)  Our brand new laptop is irritating me.  The speakers only work when they choose to work.

Why?

I do not know.

And, no.

My volume was not muted.

I am smart enough to know that.

But that's  it.

I firmly believe that for $700, this computer should be at peak performance 100% of the time.

Guess when they decide to not work.

So, I get to stare at Jillian and attempt to read her lips as she shares with me vital information on how I will get the body of my dreams.

6)  While I am jumping all around and looking like a dork, Daisy Mae, is jumping around alongside me.  Since I am using weights, she feels she needs weights.

I don't have weights for my 5-year-old.

So I give her a can of green beans and a can of corn.

Daisy Mae is extremely uncoordinated and she almost throws the can of green beans at the laptop.

That would have been unfortunate.

Daisy Mae is also extremely chatty.

So, instead of Ms. Michael's helpful tips, I get to listen to Daisy Mae.

"Mom, do you want to look like her?"

"Mom, how do you look like her?"

"Mom, are you doing this cause you are so chubs?"

"Mom, I'm thirsty."

"Mom, I'm hungry."

Interruption:  I am hungry, too.  I am always in the mood to eat.

"Mom, I'm hot."

"Mom, can we watch something else?"

"Mom, is this how you are going to lose the tummy chubs?"

And as she says that, she begins to poke at my belly fat.

Ah, the joys of motherhood.

7)  I am now 11 exhausting minutes into this dreadful DVD when, it stops.

It just stops.

It's like it has a skip or something.

And when it corrects itself, it jumps to the end, so I am missing like 8 minutes of what I am sure is necessary calisthenics that will give me the body I deserve.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am now frustrated.

And still chubby.

So.

Here is my question.

Does anyone know how to repair a DVD?

Any home tricks?

Because I am on a timeline here.

And Jillian says right on the DVD cover that I could lose up to 20 pounds in 30 days.

And that is just amazing.

Help.

Six years.

On Tuesday night, I fulfilled one of the resolutions I made for 2010.

I went . . . to the dentist.

Now, in school, I was always striving for A's.

Yes.

I was one of those kids.

An "A-" made me nauseous.

That was so dangerously close to . . . *gasp* a "B."

When I was a child, my mother would take me, my brother, and sister to the dentist.  At the end, we would each get a report card.  My sister and I usually got "A's" . . . cause we're awesome like that.

My brother usually got "D"s.

Foolish boy.

Getting an "A" on my 6-month dental check up became extremely important to me.

Because I had nothing cooler to think about.

Fact:  The Lumberjack's Wife weighed 10 pounds more than she does now when she was in school.

Fact:  The Lumberjack's Wife was never invited to a party with alcohol growing up.

Fact:  The Lumberjack's Wife was never offered a cigarette.

Fact:  The Lumberjack's Wife contemplated breaking up with The Lumberjack when he told her he had participated in underaged drinking.

Fact:  The Lumberjack's Wife's parents, who read this blog upon occasion, are most likely horrified to read the above fact.

Back in January of 2004, when I was pregnant with Daisy Mae, I went to the dentist.

And, per usual, I received an A+ report card and was cavity free.

Thank you very much.

But, alas.

My dentist retired.

Our insurance became not so great.

And I gave birth three more times.

And gosh darn it, I have not been back to the dentist since.

Yes.

That would be 6 years.

So, I was a little nervous walking into this new dentist office on Tuesday.

I walk in.

I am greeted.

The greeter/receptionist gives me a complete and detailed tour.

Why?

I'm not sure.

But it was both lovely and informative.

Then she sits me down in a fancy-schmancy conference room, where she offers me water or juice.

*Ahem*

Is not juice bad for the teeth?

Thoughts?

She leaves me.

And I am waiting for awhile . . . and I am extremely nervous.

What if I have broken my perfect record?

What if I have . . .  a cavity?

So, I begin to worry.

Then, they make me wait so long that I have to use the bathroom.

My bladder only has a 1 1/2 hour lifespan max.

4 kids . . . what can I say?

I wash my hands, but I cannot find the paper towels.

I decide I don't care and I head back to the conference room . . . where the doctor is waiting for me.

And he wants to shake my hand.

Which is really wet.

Fact:  The Lumberjack's Wife is 100% certain she completely freaked out the dentist with her wet hands.

"Hello . . . blah, blah, blah . . . .are you taking any medications . . . . blah, blah, blah . . . . when was your last cleaning?"

Both the dentist and his lovely assistant raise their eyebrows.

"Six years?!  Hmmmm . . . ok."

I laugh nervously and tell them my husband hasn't been in over ten years because, for some odd reason, I feel that will make me look better.

So, I am done chit chatting with the dentist and I am taken back with his lovely, young, skinny, and certain-to-have-never-birthed-a-baby-nor-missed-a-6-month-dental-check-up assistant.

"Ok.  I am going to first take your picture."

So, she lines me up against this wall and puts this digital camera about 4 inches away from my face.

I ask her if she wants me to smile.

"Um, sure if you want."

Why is she taking my picture then?  Isn't she only interested in my teeth?"

She takes the picture.

She laughs.

"Sorry.  Your eyes look funny.  Let's try again."

Yes.

I always take pictures like this:

It's what I do best.

She takes a few, while smirking I might add, and finally decides on one where my eyes are only about half-closed.

Then she takes some x-rays of me while I am standing up.

And I am becoming more and more certain that she is laughing at me.

Every time I see her, she is looking at someone else, and smirking and laughing.

I think she thinks I am gross.

Because I haven't been to the dentist in 6 years.

And, yes. 

It is gross.

But, I am here, and that should count for something.

So, then she makes me lay down and gets ready to take x-rays of me while laying down.

She is thorough.

She gets me all set up and then stares at my tummy regions.

"Wait.  You're not pregnant are you?"

sigh

Silly, skinny, young girl who knows nothing about muffin tops caused by 4 children.

Fact:  The Lumberjack's Wife vaguely remembers having tummy fat before having children.

Fact:  The Lumberjack's Wife finds having 4 children a convenient way to blame said tummy fat.

"Nope."

"Oh, good!"

Then she takes more x-rays and continues to laugh at me to some mysterious other person whom I cannot see.

Is it whom or who?

100 (meaningless) points to whoever/whomever can correct my grammar.

The dentist comes back in.

I hope he has forgiven me for my gross, wet bathroom hands.

He looks at my x-rays.

"Hmmm . . . ."

He looks at each  individual tooth.

"Hmmm . . . "

He's going to tell me I have a cavity.

I just know it.

This is going to be devastating.

"Well . . . I can't seem to find anything wrong here with your teeth.  Everything looks great, except of course, they really need a cleaning."

Yes.

I am aware.

We have already established how gross I am.

Thank you.

Next, the cute and smirky assistant offers me the remote.

But who can watch tv at a time like this?

The hygenist, aka the poor soul who has to "clean that disgusting girl who hasn't been to the dentist in six years teeth" comes in.

She tells me I can watch tv.

I don't want to watch tv.

She gets started, then stops and reminds me that I can watch tv.

Fine.

I will watch tv.

They probably want me distracted so they can laugh about how gross my teeth are.

She finishes up.

"Well, they weren't too bad for someone who hasn't been in for six years."

Ha!

Redemption.

Then the cute assistant comes back in.

Her job is to now floss me.

Weird.

Then, before she even lets me get out of the exam chair, she makes me schedule my next 6-month exam.

*sigh*

I am not that gross, am I?

And that was my trip to the dentist.

Does everyone else in the world go to the dentist regularly?

Fess up.

Tell me how long it has been since you have been to the dentist.

Oh, pardon me.

Ok.

Yesterday, I wrote out a charming letter to my handsome dude who peed all over himself at 8:51 am.

At the end of that post, I added a picture of my handsome dude moments after he was born.

I received several comments saying that I looked too good for having just had a baby.

And, yes.

Handsome Dude was my easiest delivery.

But Handsome Dude owed it to me.

Let's look at the facts:

1)  He was 9 days overdue.

2)  With him, I developed a heart murmur.

3)  With him I gained 50 pounds (ok . . . I gained 50 pounds with each of them)

4)  With him, I developed varicose veins.

5)  He was my biggest baby: 9 pounds 2 oz

6)  He has been caught throwing dog poo at his sisters

7)  He sprays himself with pee. 

8)  He freaks out when pee is on himself.

9)  He is always breaking his glasses.

10)  He is always losing his glasses.

Do you see what I mean?

The kid had to give me something.

Now, I can't have you all thinking that I look good being pregnant or giving birth.

For that is far, far, far from the truth.

And now, gentle readers, I will take you back in time, beginning with my first pregnancy.

Interruption:  I no longer have a scanner. 

Yes.

I am simply taking pictures of old pictures.

Classy, I know.

Whoa, Nelly!

That's right after my first was born.

Yes.

My stomach still looks huge.

It also looks huge in this picture:

But, I assure you.

There is no baby in there.

That's just the aftermath.

This is a picture of yours truly while pregnant:

Yowsers!

And how about this one, which was taken the day before Sweet Pea was born:

Wow.

I look . . . trim.

And nothing says, "I just had a baby and I need to get started on losing this 50 pounds" like . . .

eating double portions for lunch hours after you had the baby.

Now, here I am moments after giving birth to Daisy Mae.

What is with my eyes?

I mean, I know child-birth can be exerting . . . but why would it cause my eyes to blacken so?

I already showed you the birth picture with Handsome Dude.

Here is the picture with Little Dude:

He's around there somewhere.

I am probably nursing or something.

I loathe nursing.

The Lumberjack knows this.

Which is precisely why he took a picture of me nursing.

So, now, because I enjoy revenge,  I will show you some of the Lumberjack's moments as a new father:

Sleeping.

This was way back in the olden days when I had no idea my Lumberjack was a Lumberjack.

Actually, he is not technically a Lumberjack at all.

He is, in fact, an electrician.

Should I change the name of this blog?

Sleeping.

Sleeping.

Looks like he cut himself on his left eye.

What does he do at work exactly?

Does he not look overjoyed?

The Lumberjack with Little Dude.

He doesn't look happy.

But inside, he is joyous as he is certain this is our last child.

Do you see the scar above his right eye?

What does this man do every day?

Electrical work . . . it's a dangerous job.

Who knew?

And here are a few more pictures to dazzle you:

Oh, dear.

Ahhh . . .  the glory days when I just had two girls and did not have to worry about potty training a little boy and his little unit.

Handsome Dude at 1 week old.

Just look at him.

Sure.

He looks sweet.

But inside he is just waiting . . . waiting to get bigger . . . and busier . . . and naughtier . . . and more stubborn . . . and much  more mischievious . . .

and much more handsome.