COW, Rain, Treats, Links, and Bathroom Humor.

*Disclaimer*

The entire Lumberjack household has come down with some sort of yucky sickness.

My head is in a fog.

Please excuse this post if it doesn't make any sense.

Please excuse all my posts if they never make any sense.

Thank you.

***

1)  COW

COW=Comment of the Week (Only the sharp mind of Mindee could come up that)

This week's winner is Joyce!

On Wednesday, I wrote a post, "A Public Service Announcement," in which I asked the Tribal Council if you minded me still going by The Lumberjack's Wife since we would no longer be using wood heat.

Here's what Joyce said,

"Pretty sure you can keep the name. He’s a lumberjack at heart. And I bet he finds plenty of wood to chop and trees to knock down in Ruralville.

Don’t change your name…that would be far more confusing than calling yourself the LJ wife when the LJ is not really a LJ."

People!

He never was a Lumberjack in the first place!

Oh, I just crack myself up.

He is, in fact, an electrician.

But, ask yourselves this, dear readers . . . would you really want to be my readers if I was called, "The Electrician's Wife?"

Then, instead of LJW, you would call me EW.

And frankly, that is just mean.

Please go visit Joyce and leave a comment.

She was, in fact, the very first non-friend, relative, or person I specifically implored to read my blog through email or begging, who came to my blog and left a comment.

In fact, here was her first comment from October 31st,

"Thanks for visiting…Your blog was fun to read…I got all caught up in it and read all the way down to your post about the relatives : )

I’ll come back…love the humor!"

And guess what . . . she came back! 

She is a woman of her word. 

Since then, she has been a most stupendous blog friend and I have enjoyed getting to know her.  And she has left a total of 112 comments since then.

So there you go!

Go be Joyce's friend, and in no time, you too can expect to receive 112 comments.

I guarantee it.

No pressure, Joyce.

2)  It is pouring here.  POURING. 

I would not be shocked, dear readers, if all us dwellers of wherever-it-is-I-live are issued flash flood warnings.

Let's have a moment of silence for my sick Lumberjack, who is in fact an electrician, as he is working hard outside in the cold, cold, wet rain. 

And thunder. 

I think he will be requiring some of my delicious homemade Rice Krispies treats upon arrival to the homestead.

Perhaps if you are lucky, I will share the super secret recipe.

3)  Need some extra laughs this weekend?

Please visit Erin's blog and read about the time she crawled through her house nekked in hopes of cookie dough.

Or read Little Brown House's blog post about her horrifying dressing room experience.

And lastly, but most certainly not leastly, read Allie's blog post in which she makes fun of yours truly.

Go visit one of them and leave a comment!

Comments are what make bloggers worlds go round.

Fun Fact:  Did you know blog is short for weblog?

Bet you didn't know I was so smart.

4)  Is it bad that I get super excited when it is pouring because I know that means soccer games are most likely to be cancelled?

Thoughts?

5)  And finally, I would like to present to you a new segment entitled:

This is What Happens Each and Every Time We Kindly Remind Handsome Dude to Use the Facilities:

He throws himself on the ground in a fit of agony and despair.

Then he takes a moment to mourn all the horror and injustice in the world.

And that concludes our new segment, entitled:

This is What Happens Each and Every Time We Kindly Remind Handsome Dude to Use the Facilities.

Happy Weekend, People!

 

 

Birthday Party on the Cheap

I would like to submit that throwing birthday parties is the worst past time ever.

Ever.

I loathe it.

We always celebrate birthdays with both my husband's side and my side of the family, so there is always lots of people around.

I would be tempted to say that there are too many of them, but a select few read this blog, so I will keep my mouth shut.

Let's just say there might be cuts next year.

I kid!

I jest!

Two of my children, Daisy Mae and Handsome Dude have birthdays one day apart, so we combine their birthday bash.

Now, folks.

The Lumberjack is cheap.

So, our budget for birthday parties is meager, to say the least.

I would like to share with you our newest idea for family birthday parties: 

A Picture Scavenger Hunt.

Hold on to your pants, folks!

This is going to thrill you to no end.

1)  Before the party, split your guests into teams of however many you choose.  Assign each team to a car and make sure each team has a camera with functioning batteries and a clean memory card.

These details are important when dealing with parents, such as mine.

2)  Write out a list of items to "scavenge.".  This is how we do it:

We have different categories. One such category might be, "Picture With One Team Member."  Another might be, "Picture With All Team Members."

Under the categories are different "items" to try to find, with each item being assigned a different points value.

Herein lies the beauty of this plan:

You choose the pictures.

You choose the point values.

The power is all yours.

For example, under Picture with All Team Members, there might be:

Team Picture by a working water feature    50 points.

That is a picture of my team.

You may wonder why my mother, who is the lovely woman on the right, is bending.

No one knows.

She is, in fact, the shortest adult present.

And if you look to your far left, you might notice Jason.

Remember Jason?

I thought you might.

Here are the other two teams' portrayals of the water feature photos:

Obviously, this was the team with the looser morals.

My mother-in-law (left) is a little standoffish towards my side of the family, as is evidenced by this photo.

3)  Set a time for all teams to return and make sure to dock points for each minute late.

We find that being harsh, rigid, and cruel yields better results.

4)  Have a judging panel.  Give the judges a blank sheet that had the items with their points values for each team that participated.

5)  We have a laptop that you can just stick memory cards into and we also have some sort of cable that connects the laptop to the TV so you can view the pictures together on your tv.

Aren't we high-tech?!

This is the fun part.

Everyone gets to view everyone's pictures of each other.

Here are a few from our night:

Look at My Lumberjack!

His hands are at 10 and 2!

Oh, wait.

He is reading.

Keep your eyes on the road!

My niece just loves my birthday party idea.

Jason's lovin' it.

Three cheers for Jason!

Daisy Mae is scoring some major points for her team in the category of,

"One Team Member holding a ball."

Nice work, Daisy Mae.

Nice work.

Daisy Mae is not as thrilled to be winning

"Team Member with Fish."

My niece, Snups, and Daisy Mae "reading" a marriage self-help book.

Seems appropriate.

 We had one category where you had to find someone not on your team and take a picture with them.

My mother-in-law was not on my team.

So she is the one I chose to be photographed with:

I suspect she is trying to act like she doesn't know me!

But look at her with Jason . . .

She is certainly fine with associating with the likes of him.

 

 

Although, I am kind of acting like I don't know that fine chap.

He is, in fact, my husband.

****

So, you judge all the teams and announce the winner.

The winning team members all get King Sized Candy Bars, while the other, less-victorious team members receive consolation fun-size candies.

Then you feed everyone a delicious dinner, serve some cake, and then send them off on their merry ways.

Oh, and since I know you are all DYING to know which team won . . .

 

I mean, did you even have to ask?

Me and Jason.

Come on.

We are like the dream team.

Of course we won.

Have a lovely day!

If you would like to, you can "like" The Lumberjack's Wife on Facebook to see posts and updates.

A Public Service Announcement.

Alright, Sparkies, here's the deal.

(Name that Disney Movie)

There is a darn-tootin good chance we are, in fact, moving to Ruralville.

We are not yet certain.

But it looks like it is going that way.

The new house, of which I love with all my being and hope to make  mine, has some fancy features that I am quite excited about.

Quite.

Fancy Feature #1:  Carpet

Bye-bye wood floors.

Bye-bye wood floors that constantly look dirty.

Bye-bye wood floors that constantly look dirty and show every single footprint, hair, crumb, and dust particle.

Bye-bye wood floors that constantly look dirty and show every single footprint, hair, crumb, and dust particle, and are quite easily scratched.

Wood floors are lovely and all . . .

But they have a hard time withstanding the dudes and their various forms of transportation that must be raced back and forth across the house daily.

*sigh*

Boys and wheels.

A match made in heaven.

Fancy Feature #2:  Central Vac

Truth be told, I have yet to ascertain what this feature will mean to my life, but I hear it will knock my socks off.

Fancy Feature #3:  5 bedrooms.

People!

FIVE  bedrooms.

Oh.

Be.

Still.

My.

Heart.

Fancy Feature #4:  20 acres.

Oh, this is a treat.

No longer will we live in town and look like red-neckish hillbillies because my husband insists on behaving in this manner:

Fancy Feature #5:  Geothermal Heat Pump.

You may ask,

"Taylor.  What is a geothermal heat pump?"

Well, dear readers, I don't really know.

But I know what it is not . . .

Yes, dear readers.

The Lumberjack family will no longer be using wood heat.

Has the world gone mad?

Falling trees is such a special pastime for The Lumberjack.

It completes him.

Oh, sure . . . he will still help all his family members gather wood for the winter.

But will it be the same?

Will he still be considered . . . .

The Lumberjack?

I do not know what the future holds.

But, this I know to be truth:  I have named this blog "The Lumberjack's Wife."

How can I feign to be something I am not?

But, dudes.

It is super hard to change your blog name/address.

I know.

I did it in August.

Fun Fact:  This blog has not always been called The Lumberjack's Wife.

Crazy, I know.

But that is neither here nor there.

So . . . if the Tribal Council (that would be you) would allow, might I still retain my standing as, "The Lumberjack's Wife?"

You can take the wood heat out of the house . . .

 

But you can't take the Lumberjack out of my husband.

I am anxiously awaiting your decision.

Fun Fact:  Every single one of the pictures used to craft this intriguing post were hurriedly copied and pasted from previous posts.  

Because I am lazy.

Thank you.

Bix the Elk.

Last night, when The Lumberjack came home from work, he brought home what most dads bring their children on Tuesday evenings:

Elk Antlers.

Yes.

You heard me.

What do you mean your husband doesn't regularly bring home portions of large animals' bodies?

Hmmm . . . .

You may ask,

"Taylor.  Why is your son pantless?"

Well, dear readers, my son is not wearing pants because 2 droplets, yes, droplets, of water got on his jeans and he immediately proclaimed them to be unclean, thus refusing to wear them until they were laundered.

Handsome Dude can be . . .

particular.

Interruption:  Please pray for the speedy delivery of Handsome Dude's new glasses.

Mayday! Mayday!

His eyes won't remain straight much longer.

So, my husband came home from work, handed Handsome Dude some antlers, and hopped  into the shower . . .

leaving me with a pantless, curious, talkative 3-year old who was armed with elk antlers.

Allow me to share with you what Handsome Dude said over and over and over and over during The Lumberjack's nice, calm, relaxing, quiet shower . . .

 

"Mom!  Da elk broken!"

"Mama, we bix it!"

"Mama, I go bye-bye in Daddy's big truck to fix elk, k?"

"Bye, Mom!  Love you, Mom!"

"I go bye-bye in Daddy's BIG truck!  Daddy says ok."

"Oh, no!  Elk broken!  I bix it.  K?"

 Lest any of you are confused:  Bix=Fix.

Interruption:   You may have noticed that my floors are slightly filthy.  And, yes.  It is true.  But I see no point in cleaning them when LJ is just going to soil them immediately when he comes home and works on the laundry room.

You may call that lazy.

I call that smart.

"Ok, Mom! I go bye-bye now!  K?"

"I get pants on, K?"

"Bye, Mom!"

"Bye, girls!  I go bye-bye in dad's truck.  Bix da elk.  Bye!"

 

"Oh, no!  Da elk has owie!  See?  I bix it now, k?  Bye!"

***

Spoiler alert:  Handsome Dude remained pantless and had to stay home and eat all of his dinner, instead of bixing any elk.

Happy Wednesday!

Please hold. Your call is very important to us.

Ha!

I beg to differ.

If my call was that important to you, large phone company of whom I will not name, then why did I have to endure a 2 1/2 hour call time that was littered with holding times, transfer times, getting accidentally disconnected, and computerized-automated customer service representatives?

*Excuse me, dear readers*

Lumberjill is frustrated.

As you may or may not remember, The Lumberjack and I are in the process of purchasing a home out in Ruralville.

Remember Ruralville?

Tractors?

Land?

Bears?

A well?

Well, we are in the midst of getting all of our paperwork to our lender.

Our lender-ish people pulled our credit reports.

And now, dear readers, I would like to present to you a horrifying conversation that ensued between my husband and I:

Interruption:  This is not word-for-word.  I repeat, this is not word-for-word.  This is paraphrased.  Lumberjill style.

LJ (short for Lumberjack!  keep up, people!):  Ha!  Dude, for the first time in our marriage, my credit score is higher than yours!

Me:  Whhhhhaaaaatttttt?????!!!!!?????!!!!!????

Interruption:  I do not take this news well.   It has been a constant in our marriage that LJ is better at building houses, falling trees, wakeboarding, and reaching things in the cabinet above the refrigerator.  My strengths have always been typing speed, grammar, cleaner teeth, more book smarts, and responsibility. 

The Lumberjack cannot have a better credit score than me.

Has the world gone mad?

LJ:  Yup.  They pulled our credit report and you went to collections!

Me:  I went to collections?! For what?

LJ:  Back in 2007.  It was with a very large, popular, national phone company that many people would know of so it would be best to not specifically name it in your blog.

Me:  Oh, dear.  Shouldn't they tell me I missed a payment?

LJ:  Guess not.

Me:  Wait?  Why me?  I don't make any money.

LJ:  I know.  You just cost me money.

Me:  Word.

LJ:  Well, the Lenderly Lady wants you to type out an explanation for why you went to collections for $68 in 2007.

Now, dear readers.

Lumberjill is in charge of the bill payments in our home.

And I pride myself on paying everyone when they ask for their money . . . not just when I deem fit.

So, I am slightly perplexed as to the events that are occurring.

A)  Shouldn't I have been notified that my payment was late?

B)  Wouldn't they have just turned off my phone at some point?

C)  Wouldn't it be more than $68 since 2007?  You know . . . with the late fees and such?

D)  Shouldn't they let someone know when they are being sent to . . .gulp . . . collections?

So, last night, I call this very large, popular, national phone company that many people would know of so it would be best to not specifically name it on this here blog.

And the first person to greet me is the automated-computerized lady.

I am sorry, folks.

But I really do not like talking to this lady.

Fake lady:  Are you calling about a home phone?  Please say "yes"  or "no."

Me:  Yes

Fake lady:  I'm sorry!  I couldn't quite understand you.  Let's try that again.  Are you calling about a home phone?  Please say "yes"  or "no."

Me:  Yes

At the very, exact moment that I say yes, Little Dude asks for milk.  And, in doing so, he has thwarted my plans of communicating with fake lady.

Fake Lady:  I'm sorry.  Let's try something different.

Me:  REPRESENTATIVE!

When all else fails, just yell representative.

Fake Lady:  I'm sorry!  I didn't quite understand you.

Me:  REPRESENTATIVE

Fake Lady:  Ok.  I will connect you to someone.  But first, let me get some information so I know where to send you.

I really have a hard time with the fake lady.  I hate to admit it, but she gets to me.  She really does.  Even when I am mad, she remains calm. 

And that is just annoying.

Fight back, Fake Lady!

Fight Back!

So, I get to talk to someone.

Who does not know how to help me . . . so he transfers me.

Holding, holding, holding . . . .

This person thinks he can help me.

Person:  You are in New Jersey, right?

Me:  No . . . I am in ______, not New Jersey.

No offense to the fine people of New Jersey.

Person:  Oh, I cannot help you.  Let me transfer you.

Holding, holding, holding .  . . your call is extremely important to us . . . holding, holding, holding . . . . cue "Lady in Red" (name that singer) . . . holding, holding, holding . . .

Alright, people.

I'm going to spare you all the details, but I was transferred about 5 times over 1 hour and it ended with them finally transferring me to the correct office, only for that office to be closed and could I please try my call tomorrow.

Which brings us to this morning.

It was a lot of the same rig-a-ma-roo, folks.

I got disconnected twice.

I had to talk loudly (not yelling, of course) to fake lady numerous times.

I met several helpful, yet clueless customer service associates.

All of whom agreed I owed nothing.

All of whom could not find anything that went to collections.

All of whom who searched my social security number for any clues.

Nothing.

Nada.

I am clean.

Ha!

Take that, Lumberjack!

And I would like to add that I have also never had a cavity, nor have I had a speeding ticket.

Go ahead.

Ask the Lumberjack how many speeding tickets and cavities he has accumulated over his 29 years.

Go ahead.

For kicks and grins.

Anyways, I am transferred to the last lady.

She was supposed to be my helper, the woman who make all the wrongs right.

And guess what.

She was rude.

So, I did what any rational, responsible, cavity-less, mother of four would do.

I cried.

You would, too, people, after a combined total of 2.5 hours of phone time only to learn that no one can help me.

So, I asked rude lady for a number where I could reach her customer service department.

Yes.

I am one of those people.

Oh, I didn't call.

I was sick to death of being on the phone.

But I bet she's shaking in her boots.

So, now I get to call 3 credit bureaus and dispute this mysterious collections charge of $68.

Stupid.

I will pay someone $68.

Anyone.

I don't care.

Just leave me alone.

Anyways, I am in no humor to call now.

I must gird up my loins first.

Happy Tuesday!

A Tale of Two Posts.

(Name that author.  Kind of)

Oh!

What a different post title!

Have I piqued your interest?

I hope so.

This is my plan:

I am going to write a new post . . . and then stick on an old post . . . making one complete post . . . that will

 Rock

Your

World.

Actually . . .herein lies the truth:

1)  I don't have much to say.

2)  I took some cute pictures of the boys tonight.

3)  I was reminded of a post I did back in December about my precious boys while viewing aforementioned photos.

So, I said to myself,

"Taylor (that's my name-keep up, people!), why not merge the posts, creating an ultrasonic, subatomic, neonatal power post!"

And that  is exactly what is going on here today.

Hold on to your pants, people.

This is going to be the highlight of your day.

Little Dude.

Oh, how I heart him.

He loves his books.

Here he is "reading" his train book.

I must be honest with you.

My 1.75 year old does not read.

He actually just mumbles a lot and then will randomly shout, "All Aboard!"

Then he slams the book shut and calls it good.

Alright.

You are going to be quite disappointed in me and my photography skills for the next photo.

Well, not as disappointed as if i were to show you this photo:

But you will be shaking your heads at me nonetheless.

Darling Readers!

I finally had the opportunity to capture Handsome Dude nursing the dolls!

And that was the photo I got.

Let us have a moment while I hang my head in shame.

*Thank you*

All teasing aside, Handsome Dude is pretty darn cute with those dolls.

He is such a good little papa.

He talks sweetly to the babies as he loads them in the shopping cart and shops for organic, low fat, low cholesterol, weight watchers friendly foods.

Just like his mama.

See, people?

I set a good example!

Children always imitate their parents.

Although I do not specifically remember ever laying on top of my babies.

Nor do I recall nearly smothering them to death.

Then again, you don't get much sleep in those early days.

Anything's possible.

Oh, Handsome Dude.

Precious to my heart.

Glasses Update:

Pair #1:  Missing for at least 1-2 months.

I cannot be certain.

Pair #2:  Permanently broken-temporarily fixed-currently bent so wide they fall off his face.

And lost.

Pair #3:  On order.

Keep them in your prayers.

All Aboard!

***

And now,  for the old post.

Please.

Try to contain your sheer and utter joy.

 

Boy with the blue earrings

(from Dec 5, 2009)

Points to notice: 

1)Little Dude has hair!

2)  Our elliptical machine is still in the same position, leading me to suspect no one has used it during all these months.

3)  Handsome Dude is not wearing glasses.  Hmmm . . . that's odd.

Handsome Dude.

What were you doing in my room?



Did you hide something in your pockets again?



Please stop taking my earrings.



I don’t want to wear blue earrings today.



Seriously.

Blue earrings to not match my overly bright red pullover fleece.

Clearly, you do not have a future in fashion, dude.

Then again, neither do I.

But that is besides the point.

Turquoise blue earrings cannot go with bright red.

No.

They simply cannot.



I know you love them.

You pick them out for me every day.



Dude.

I said no.



I am already wearing my super cool, oversized costume earrings that are more neutral in color.

No blue today.

No.



Fine.

I’ll wear blue.



Attention all fashion-conscious adults who might see me in the next 2 weeks-2 years (or however long this phase of his lasts):

Please make every attempt to ignore me and my newly-accessorized self.

I fear I will clash every day.

But, you see, I have this boy:



and for now, all he wants is for his mother to wear her blue earrings.

True.

They are cheap earrings.

I bought them from Walmart.

They came in a pack of 3 for $4.

But irregardless of how cheap they are, my boy thinks I am beautiful in them.

And I have a hunch that he won’t sneak upstairs, pick out the prettiest blue earrings he can find, and proudly present them to me when he is a teenager.

I doubt that he will continuosly move my hair from my face to check and make sure I am wearing the blue earrings forever.

I am certain he will not always grin and clap when he sees that his earrings of choice are where they rightfully belong.

So for now . . .

I will probably wear my blue earrings.

Every.

Single.

Day.



Oh, Handsome Dude.

Please don’t ever grow up.

***

News of Sadness:  The Blue Earrings have been lost.

Handsome Dude stuck him in his pocket and wouldn't you know if they went through the washing machine.

One survived.

I have never found the remains for the second one.

And now, a moment of silence.

 Thank you.

You may resume your daily activities.