Poor girls.

Daisy Mae's birthday party was this week.

I heart Daisy Mae.

Would you like to know why?

Because she makes my life easy.

Me:  What do you want to do for your birthday party?

DM:  Um . . . . I don't care.

Me:  Do you want to have any theme?

DM:  What's a theme?

Me:  Do you want it to be like "Fancy Nancy," or "Princess" or something like that?

DM:  Hmmm . . . how bout just whatever!

Me:  Sounds great.

DM:  We can dress up.

Me:  Check

DM:  We can have show and tell.

Me:  Done

DM:  We can have a tea party.

Me:  Okie dokie.

So, that's exactly what we did.

Easy -Peasy.

There was one minor glitch in the princess-y plans for the day:

Brothers.

Handsome Dude could not grasp the concept that maybe, just maybe, this party was not about him.

"Oh, Dirls!  Look at my puppy!"

Handsome Dude determined that it was okay, and acceptable, for him to join in on the festivities.

My poor girls.

And they thought they would have a girly party.

Little Dude is patiently watching the show and tell portion of the festivities.

He also has a big glob of pizza sauce on his upper lip.

Time for presents!

Handsome Dude.

Sit down.

This is not about you.

While Daisy Mae is opening her presents, Handsome Dude decides that our dog, Mabel, is being a nuisance . . .

and he feels it is his brotherly duty to remove her from the festivities.

And verbally abuse her.

Poor Mabel.

Little Dude felt that present opening time would be the ideal time to ride his tractor through the field of girls.

So helpful.

And what's a fancy tea party without your brother laying across the table shouting,

"Superman!"?

Look at those sweet girls.

They just keep being fancy and ignore Superman.

Let's have a round of applause for my Daisy Mae who did not complain once about their brothers invading her birthday party.

Thank you.

And finally . . . guess who bought himself a brand new camera?

LJ:  Hon!  Look!  I am taking a picture of you for your blog!  See?  It's a picture of you blogging!  Do you get it?  Do you get it?

Me:  Stop.

LJ:  What's that?  Did you say stop?

Me:  Yes.  Stop.

LJ:  Wait . . . you don't like someone taking a picture of everything you do?  Hmmm . . . interesting, Taylor.  Interesting.

Me:  Oh, be quiet.

LJ:  Your people will thank me.  You can take pictures of me doing stupid stuff and I will take pictures of you doing stupid stuff.

Me:  Whatever.

LJ:  The people will love it!

 

Well, people?

Do you love it?

Do you?

 

Yes, that's right, folks.

We are now a 2 camera family.

The Lumberjack felt he needed his own.

100 (meaningless) points to anyone who can guess why he feels he needs one.

Happy Wednesday!

Unprotected Left Turns

Hello, all!

Welcome to another exciting edition of:

Questions.

And Their Answers. 

Do you freak out when your son pees on your major appliances?

Yes.

Yes, I do.

Why do I freak out?

Because having someone pee on your washing machine is just nasty-wrong.

What is one thing you wish you were better at?

Sewing.

I loathe sewing.

My lovely sister-in-law, Lisa, tried to give me lessons once.

You see, my girls started in the Awanas program.

And darn my luck, they progressed in the program and were awarded badges.

Horrible, awful, thick, tiny badges that must be sewn onto their vests.

I didn't want to admit to my sister-in-law that I completely forgot one vital part of her lesson:

How to Thread a Needle.

I could not admit this to her.

So, one day, when I was behind about 8 patches, I was determined to figure this out on my own.

So I Googled:

"How to Thread a Needle."

And I found a helpful instructional video!

The Internet.

So helpful.

So, there I am.

Sitting with needle and thread.

I must pause this helpful and informative video many, many, many times, as I cannot get it right.

The stupid thread is too big to go through the stupid holey thing.

I kid you not, I do this for 45 minutes.

Finally, I thread the needle.

I sit back and let the helpful video finish.

At the very end, the guy holds up a curious little trinket and says,

"Or you could just use this."

Hello?

Sewing Dude?

Information that would have been useful at the beginning of your helpful instructional video.

*sigh*

Want to know something sad?

The Lumberjack gives his sister all his mending.

I.

Am.

A.

Shamed.

Mommy! 

Why didn't you teach me how to sew?

Oh the humanity.

Do you cook every night?  Do you like it?  Do you have a signature dish?

Yes, I cook every night.

I do like it.

I would like it more if I didn't have to rear 4 children while cooking.

Signature dish?

Probably Chicken Stir Fry.

It is my Lumberjack's Favorite.

That and Chicken Piccata

Other family favorites are:
Pizza (I use PW crust), Lasagna (from PW), Taco Salad, Mini Meatloaves, and Chicken Burritos.

Interruption:  PW=www.thepioneerwoman.com

Please note that my Lumberjack's two favorite dishes involve chicken in some way.

For those of you who are new-ish to my blog, you may not know that my handsome husband bought us one whole entire cow (or steer,  for the technical reader, such as MindyLou).

So, I started cooking beef.

Seems logical right?

And now, gentle readers, I would like to present to you:

A Conversation Between The Lumberjack and I About 3 Weeks After He Purchased Aforementioned Cow:

LJ (short for Lumberjack!  Focus, people!):  What's for dinner?

Me:  Beef roast.

LJ:  Hmmm . . . you sure have been cooking a lot of beef lately.

Me:  Seriously?

LJ:  What?!

Me:  Dude.  You bought a whole animal.  You helped to end its life.  You assisted with driving the remains to the butcher shop.  You picked up the packaged animal.  You loaded in our freezer.  You told me how much you spent.  I gasped.  You told me I would save all year on the grocery budget because I would not have to buy meat.  What do you want from me?

LJ:  Well, I didn't mean you had to cook beef every night.

So, I bought some chicken, cooked him his favorite stir-fry, and all was right with the world again.

Whatever, Lumberjack.

Whatever.

Fact:  Daisy Mae recently informed me that I make the best homemade salad.

So, there you go.

I am a culinary genius.

You are having a bad day.  Who do you talk to?

Hmmm . . . .

Well, that depends on the situation that has arisen to cause my bad day.

But, I generally talk to the following people, depending on the circumstances:

Amanda:

Amanda gets me.

Fact:  Amanda has known me since kindergarten.

Fact:  Amanda gives it to me straight.

Fact:  Amanda also has 4 kids.  She can identify with my woes.

Amanda and I have an unspoken agreement.

Whenever one of us is pregnant, which seems to happen often, we always call each other first.

And the conversation usually goes like this:

Unpregnant one:  Hey!

Just-found-out-she's pregnant one: Hey.

Unpregnant one:  What's up?

Just-found-out-she's pregnant one:  Well  . . . um

Unpregnant one:  Oh, dear.  Pregnant again?

Just-found-out-she's pregnant one:  Yup.

Unpregnant one:  Let us pray.

 

Melissa, aka Bimlissa

We have girls the same age.

We share recipes, clothes, and lots of inside jokes.

She even gave me her Perfect Black Sweater that Even Has Ruffles.

Just because I liked it.

And since she got me started on the whole blog thing, she gets to listen to all my questions/concerns/paranoia regarding said blog.

She loves it.

My Mom.

I can talk to her about anything . . . except things that would involve phrases such as, "wink, wink."

Mom!  My kids are ruffians!

Mom!  How do you seperate eggs?

Mom!  What is the difference between gross and net on a paycheck?

Mom!  Why do I still have acne?

Mom!  Why didn't you teach me how to sew?

And, finally, if I am feeling really desperate, I talk to this stud-muffin:

I kid!

I jest!

I talk to him the most.

 

What is your quirkiest habit and how long have you had it?

I refuse to make unprotected left turns.

I literally plan out my driving routes to ensure that, if the need for a left turn arises, I will be making said turn at a helpful,and safer, traffic light.

How long have I done this?

Ever since my driving instructor informed me of the dangers of unprotected left turns and scared the living daylights out of me.

Why anyone would want to avoid a traffic light is beyong me.

You know that old lady who drives 58 mph on the freeway and starts signaling for her exit 2 miles in advance?

I want to be her when I grow up.

 

Happy Tuesday!

Not me! Birthdays, Brownies, and Baby Fever Edition.

I did not get baby fever this weekend.

No.

Not me.

(Interruption:  Could we all just pause for a moment of awe and wonder while we recognize the fact that I figured out how to A) crop a photo and B) figured out how to make it black and white?)

(Thank you.)

I did not secretly want to run off with my tiny niece and have her all to myself.

No.

I would not wish such things.

Especially after I posted a whole list of reasons why I should not have a baby on the very same day I was holding my sweet niece.

But, seriously.

Look at this baby.

 

Oh.

Be.

Still.

My.

Heart.

I did not decide that I needed another baby based simply on the fact that this baby looks precisely like my babies looked as newborns.

Meet Alex and Holly.

This is not how they reacted when someone teased them about someday having kids.

Poor Holly.

She is still getting used to us.

Jason.

Remember Jason?

(Interruption:  No.  I am not posting that picture of Jason too often.)

Jason did not turn super beat red when my mother loudly announced when he walked in the door:

"Jason!  I am not used to seeing you with your shirt on!"

I did not inform my mother that her comment sounded mildly inappropriate as the majority of adults in the room have never read my blog.

My mother did not get a little embarrassed.

Jason did not miss his sweet-honey, Amy, who lives too many hours away for his lonely heart.

No.

Not him.

He always sits all by himself real quiet-like on the stairs at family gatherings.

Interruption:  I did not forget to put away a roll of paper towels amidst my pre-party pretend-cleaning frenzy.

The Birthday Boy.

He did not get super excited the moment he opened his new, huge truck that Uncle Alex picked out for him.

He did not refuse to come back to the party and finish opening his gifts.

I did not make him come and finish opening presents.

And, I most certainly did not force him to try on his super cute new shark hooded towel.

And would you all like to know what my son, my darling child, did not do?

He did not scream in fury:

"No!  I DON'T LIKE IT!"

Now, isn't that precious?

Interruption:  Please locate Jason in the above picture.  He is standing, on the left side.

I will bet you all one whole dollar the he is either:

A)  Sending a text to sweet-honey Amy

or

B) Receiving a text from sweet-honey Amy

Over and out.

Sweet Daisy Mae.

She did not interrupt her birthday song 8 times to  inform all other kids in attendance that she, and only she would be blowing out the candles.

Back to Handsome Dude.

I did not realize a little too late that M&M's would bleed onto whipped cream.

*gasp*

I did not just give away the first initial of Handsome Dude's name.

I have not been attacking this cake in the fridge with a fork every hour.

I do not really like this cake at all.

So much so, that I am not going to share the recipe with you.

Strawberry Brownie Torte

1)  Preheat oven to 350.

Line a 16 1/2 x 11 1/2x 1 inch jelly toll pan with waxed paper.

Spray with veg. oil spray and dust with flour, shake out excess.

2)  In a large mixing bowl, stir together one brownie mix, 1/2c oil, 1/4c water, and 3 eggs. 

(I added chocolate chips.  Because I do not really like chocolate)

Spread into prepared pan and place in oven.

3)  Bake 15-20 minutes. Remove and let cool completely.

I like to put the pan in the freezer for about 30 minutes.

4)  Sure.  You could be a goodie-goodie and make homemade whipped cream.

Not so for me.

I just pulled out a big ol' tub of Cool Whip.

5)  Wash, slice, and dry 1 pint of strawberries.  Toss with 1 T sugar.

6)  To assemble:  Cut the brownies crosswise into 4 pieces.

Place on piece on bottom of serving platter.

Spread on some Cool Whip.

Then some strawberries.

Repeat until all layers done.

Normally, you don't put whipped cream on the top.

I just needed to convert mine into a birthday cake, you see.

Also, you don't need to stick gummy worms in the cake.

Or create a giant "C" on the top.

 

Any-who.

It is super yummy.

 Not that I would know.

Remember . . . I am on Weight Watchers . . . .

Or

Am

I?

Happy Monday!

What have you not done lately?!?!

Baby Fever and Other Items At Hand

We have some very important issues to discuss.

1)  No one correctly guessed the movie in yesterday's post.

This has completely and utterly devastated me.

So much so that I will give you all another chance.

"Baby Steps get out of the chair . . . baby steps out the door . . . baby steps down the hall . . . "

And, because I am da bomb, I will give you one more clue:

"I'm a sailer!  I sail!  AHOY!"

So hilarious.

2)  Guess who is having a bimbaby?

Bimlissa!

Bimlissa is having a baby!

She is due around October-ish!

3)  Why did I have my super-cool pal, Sarah, hold up this shirt?

Well, of course because Dwight wore one just like it in an Office episode.

Would you like to hear a little tale about wolf shirts?

When The Lumberjack and I were on the plane to Cancun, the airline showed some movies and tv shows.

You know.

For our viewing enjoyment.

And one such enjoyable viewing was The Office Wedding Episode.

So, The Lumberjack and I don our headphones so that we can watch this humorous program.

Now, not everyone on the plane is watching this show.

And every time I start giggling and laughing, The Lumberjack nudges me and reminds me that I look like an idiot because it looks like I am just sitting in my seat laughing.

Lumberjacks are really concerned with image.

So, we are at the scene where Dwight comes out wearing the wolf shirt.

And I just can't contain myself any longer.

LJ (short for Lumberjack-keep up, people!):  SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Me:  *giggle*

LJ:  Stop!

Me:  But look at Dwight's shirt!

LJ:  Shhhhh!

Me:  He looks like Jason!

LJ:  Huh?

Me:  Remember?  Jason's wolf shirt?

LJ: Oh, yeah!  Haha!

Me: *giggle*

LJ:  Shhhhh!

Yes, dear readers.

Jason has a wolf shirt.

And, quite honestly, he rocks it.

Remember Jason?

Rock on, Jason.

Rock on.

Dear Jason,

Next time you wear your wolf shirt, I might be snapping a picture and I may or may not be putting it in my blog.

I cannot be certain.

But I probably will.

Yours fondly,

Taylor

4)  Comment of the Week time!

This week goes to my dear friend Mindy, who has been a faithful supporter and commenter on my blog since just about the beginning.

She is commenting on my latest Not Me! post and, frankly, her comment was better than any Not Me!  post I have ever attempted.

Mindy.

You nailed it.

Start a blog.

The world needs you.

"I did not get into a swimsuit that my body is terribly unready for and swim in a pool. I did not turn my head away every time there was splashing so my face didn’t get wet, and I did not leave my family in the pool and decide I’d rather hang out in the hot tub. That would be a little sad.

I also did not leave my house in a wreck that looked like a tornado went through it, and then have someone want to come look at the house. I mean, not me. My house is always perfect. Thank goodness we didn’t have to kill ourselves for two hours cleaning the house before we could show the house. That would have been exhausting for a lazy Sunday afternoon."

Nice job, Mindy.

Nice job.

Everyone say hi to Mindy!

She doesn't have a blog.

(Boo, Mindy.  Boo)

So, you can't really go say hi.

Instead, just shout, "Hi, Mindy!" at your computer.

That will suffice.

5)  I would like everyone to know that The Lumberjack just walked by, looked at the title of this post, and shouted,

"What?!  You have baby fever?  Goodness, Taylor.  Isn't 4 enough?"

Oh, that was fun to do to him.

And that will segway me into my next point.

6)  Baby fever.

I've got a fever . . . and the only prescription is more cowbell.

(Name that actor)

So . . . guess who became a big sister this week?

My niece, Little Miss!

Yes.

The Lumberjack's sister, Lisa,  had a little girl on Wednesday.

Which also happened to be Daisy Mae's birthday!

I have not yet come up with her super cool blog code name.

I welcome your suggestions.

Sisters . . .sisters . . . there were never such devoted sisters . . .

(Name that movie)

(That was for you, Mindy-Lou)

And here I am.

Holding a baby.

A cute, tiny, cuddly baby.

And bonus!

I did not have to birth her!

Win-win!

So . . .about the Baby Fever.

I don't really want more kids.

But I do sometimes get sad when I realize I won't have a baby again.

And I start to ponder the things about babies and pregnancy I like.

Then I start to get sad for things that will never be.

So, to help me get cure my Baby Fever, I have created a list of horrible things that occur during pregnancy/baby stage.

And I remind myself of these things when the fever is coming on.

Here is my list:

1)  Worry.  I worry from the moment I find out I am pregnant to the moment I hear the first heartbeat to the time I see the first ultrasound to the time the baby is born.

Then I worry about all the things that could go wrong.

And, well, basically, I worry the whole time.

2)  1st Trimester yuckiness.

3)  That stage where you don't look pregnant, but you certainly don't look trim.

And people stare at your stomach.

And you know they want to ask if you are pregnant.

But they can't tell what is going on with your belly.

Is she pregnant?

Is she fat?

Does she just need to do some sit-ups?

Did she eat a big lunch?

4)  Maternity pants.

Specifically, panels.

More specifically, the fact that by the time I climb a flight of stairs, my pants have nearly fallen off.

5)  Heartburn

6) Hemorrhoids (not that I got them)

7)  Stretchmarks (I ain't gonna lie.  I got them)

8 )  Heart Murmurs

9)  Hearing the doctor say, "Let's check you!"

Oh, the invasion of privacy.

10)  Getting on the scale.

Having the nurse "guess" which 50 pound group on the scale you are in.

Hearing nurse say, "Oh, wow!  You are heavier than you look!"

Hearing the dreadful "clunk" when she graduates you to a new 50 pound weight class.

Oh, the horror.

11)  Hearing doctor say, "You didn't gain much this month, but I am not worried since you were so overweight to begin with."

True story.

So sad.

12)  Thinking you are really close when you hit 36 weeks, and then as each day drags on, you realize you are not close at all.

13)  Going 9 days overdue.

14)  Childbirth in general.

It's a drag, folks.

A real bummer.

15)  Not being able to count on just one hand the number of people who have seen you indecent.

16)  The afterbirth.

Attention men:  I should have warned you earlier.  This might not be the post for you.  Sorry about that.  Come back another day.

17)  Post-Partum Maxi Pads.

Yeah.

You know the ones.

Brings a whole new meaning to the expression, "From Horn to Hoof"

18)  Breastfeeding.

I know.

For some of you crazies, this was a perk.

Not so for me.

I  loathed breastfeeding.

19)  Again, hemorrhoids.

Again, not that I know about such things.

20)  Having someone ask you when you baby is due when you have your week-old baby in a car seat right next to you.

21)  Wearing maternity clothes for weeks on end after baby is born.

22)  Varicose Veins.

23)  Being excited when you sleep 4 hours straight at night.

24)  Still wearing maternity clothes.

25)  Still breastfeeding.

26)  Still loathing breastfeeding.

27)  Chasing around other children while breastfeeding.

28)  Getting procedure to remove varicose veins.

Yes!

Those are my legs!

No!

You can't borrow my medical compression stockings.

Get your own.

29)  Having someone ask you when your baby is due when you have your 6 week old baby in the car seat next to you.

30)  Trying to fold your stomach into your old jeans.

Not that I had to do that.

Alright.

That's all I can think of for now.

Feel free to add to my list.

Happy Weekend!

Pee on my floor, and other nuisances in life.

Today's Topic:  Cleaning Tips

Ha!

My house?

Clean?

Well, I really wanted to participate, so we'll give it a go.

Without further ado, I present to you:

Cleaning Tips from The Lumberjack's Wife:

1)  Magic Erasers.

They truly are magic.

One of my children, who shall remain nameless . . .

(and hairless) has a weakness when it comes to crayons.

I fear he loves them.

And he loves to color on everything but paper.

Naughty thing.

But Magic Erasers have been good to me.

They have safely removed many crayon marks and other unidentifiable splatterings off of my doors, appliances, floors, walls, stairs, and baseboards for some time now.

And guess what!

I recently switched to generic and they work just as great!

Holla!

2)  I am cheap.  Sometimes.

I must be honest.  Sometimes I walk into Old Navy and completely forget that I claim to be cheap.

One thing I love is vinegar.

I get two of this size at Costco for about $4.

Uses for vinegar:

*Clean and shine chrome faucets

*Dilute with water in a spray bottle for a cheap all-purpose cleaner

*Dilute with water and use to mop floors

*Don't buy anything fancy to clean out your microwave. 

Just put some vinegar in a bowl and microwave on high for a few minutes. 

 Open it up. 

Embrace the smell.

And wipe it down.

*Another good use for vinegar is to strip all the gunk out of your hair.

Just pour it on and rinse it out.

Makes your hair shiny and gunk-free.

Not that my hair ever gets gunkified.

Helpful Tip:  Do not use the vinegar bottle that is in your refrigerator.  It will be quite chilly when you dump it all over yourself.

Quite.

*Vinegar for bathrooms.

***sigh***

As many of you are already aware, I recently potty-trained my boy.

It was my first experience with potty-training a boy and, I ain't gonna lie, IT DID NOT GO WELL.

Now, one room that always needs to be clean is a bathroom, particularly if visitors are going to be using said bathroom.

I have always prided myself on keeping a tidy bathroom.

Then God said . . .

Let her have boys.

It's a good thing vinegar is so tootin' frootin' cheap.

Well, at least he is trying to pee into the toilet.

I call that progress.

And while we are looking at the bright side, let's be happy that the old toilet paper roll is at least off of its stand.

No.

It did not make it to the trash can.

But still . . .

Baby Steps.

Baby Steps pick up the toilet paper roll.  Baby steps to the garbage can . . .

(Name that movie)

All that unidentifiable liquid product on the floor kind of gives you the pee-pee shivers (no pun intended) when you see something like this:

Good News!

Did you know you can boil toothbrushes?

Boil, baby!

Boil!

The Lumberjack thinks he is so funny and takes pictures of me when I really don't want him to be taking pictures of me.

"Hey, hon!  You can use it for your blog!  You can make a post about how often you clean the toilet!  People will love it!"

Well, people?

Do you love it?

No.

I am not using vinegar in this photo.

I am, in fact, using bleach.

Because anything that is splattered daily with urine deserves a little bleach.

Bleach makes everything better.

3)  Try to not stress.

It is very hyprocritical for me to type that.

But I am trying to embrace the fact that because I have small children . . .

My house will never be perfectly clean.

Sure.

I can spend all day running behind them, demanding the puzzle gets picked up, the blocks are gathered, and the toys put away immediately.

But . . . then I had a thought.

Who cares?

I am trying to embrace this new motto.

Everyone repeat after me: 

WHO CARES?

Well, I kind of do. 

But I am trying not to.

And I have adopted a new system.

I call it Taylor's 4-Step process to success:

1)  Try to keep a handle on the grime.  Sweep daily, dust weekly, etc.

2)  Let the kids have fun and make a mess.

(Baby steps, remember.  Baby steps)

3)  Program husband to let me know 20 minutes in advance when he will be returning.

4)  Run around the house like a madwoman and make the house "pretend-clean" so that my husband does not think my existence as a homemaker is pointless.

Feel free to adopt this plan for yourselves.

Alright!

That's all I got!

But I would love to hear any cleaning tips you might have to share with me!

Trust me . . .

I need all the help I get can.