Lumberjacklings, Mabel, and a Camera.

It rained and poured here all weekend long.

I promise.

It was dreary and dreadful. 

But on Sunday, the sun came out for a few hours.  So, we loaded up the Lumberjacklings and went to visit my parents at their campsite for a bit.

Now.

You all know that I cannot take pictures worth a darn.

But, I would like to warn you all, that today, on this first day of June in the year Two-Thousand-and-Ten of our Lord, I am going to toot my own horn.

And you will like it.

You will be amazed, nay, enthralled, at my mad photographical skills.

Let's look at the classic "Lumberjacklings Group Shot," shall we?

Interruption:  I am going to super-size the pictures so you can truly appreciate my awesomeness.

What?!

Lumberjill knows how to "supersize" pictures?

That's crazy talk.

Before we begin this epic journey, I feel I must give you all a quick head's up into who is who in this crazy world of Lumberjacklings.

Girl with white shirt and piggy tails:  Daisy Mae

Girl with Red shirt and glasses: Sweet Pea

Boy with Gray hoodie:  Little Dude

Boy with red shirt, glasses "optional":  Handsome Dude.

The above picture is lovely.

But Little Dude is not cooperating.

Daisy Mae is gently breaking his neck in order to get her Mama a decent picture.

Bravo, Daisy Mae!

Bravo!

She was successful!

Holla, Daisy Mae!

Holla!

But, no.

Handsome Dude has looked astray.

Try again.

It is at this point in our session that I wonder why I am even trying.

Who am I kidding?

Look at them.

They don't care.

I am jumping up and down shouting promises of cookies and candy and all sorts of glorious treats of bribery goodness.

But my pleas have fallen on deaf ears.

Classy, Handsome Dude.

Classy.

That'll do, pig Lumberjacklings.

(Name that movie)

That'll do.

Alright.  Enough of that foolishness.

We must now discuss Mabel.

Remember Mabel?

The dog who looks like me, as you all so kindly remarked?

Whatever, people.

Well, Mabel . . . who was apparently on her death bed only hours before this high-class photo shoot, made a miraculous recovery and has become one of the gang again.

This is good news.

We took a vote and we decided that we do, in fact, enjoy the presence of Mabel's company.

Even with all her shedding, her bad breath, and her tricky skills as an . . .

Escape Artist.

Mabel.

She is such a naughty-pants.

Look!

Handsome Dude is bringing yours truly some "boot-ee-full flowlers."

He, too, can be a naughty-pants.

Aaaaaannnnnndddddd . . . I love him.

So, we had a lovely time, but I decided to torture my children once again and try to make them all look like decent human beings who like each other and occasionally enjoy life in a single photograph one last time.

Was that sentence a poorly constructed run-on?  Thoughts?

I was determined to be successful and was willing to do whatever necessary to capture this perfect moment in time.

Yes.

Whatever necessary.

Even to the point of death.

I kid! I jest!

They did that out of their own silliness and Tom Foolery.

I was merely snapping  pictures of the catastrophe.

Please, kids?

Hello?

Kids?

If you smile nice and big this can be our Christmas card so you won't have to do this ever again!

Please?

Cookies?

Anyone?

 

Spoiler Alert:  I did not get one, I repeat, not one, decent picture.

This is Lumberjill, signing off, defeated and discouraged.

Over and out, folks.

Over.

And.

Out.

Happy Tuesday!

I'm Like . . . Baby, Baby, Baby . . .

It is Saturday night.

It is late.

Johnny Cash is singing something called "Ira Hayes" right now in my very own kitchen.

And here are tonight's top stories.

1)  I forgot to do the COW!

Lest any of you are confused . . . COW stands for comment of the week.

Keep up, people!

100 (meaningless) points to anyone who can inform me as to whether or not I am using the word "lest" correctly.  I will probably still use it no matter what, simply for the fact that it is an uber fun word to write.

Okay!  COW!

The COW this week goes to "namacura" with her comment on The Camping Trip Part 2.

She said,

"It appears that Lumberjack has a slight smile on his face. Was he thinking about the ice cream or admiring your camping hair?"

That just about made me spit out my coffee, which just happened to be flavored with delicious chocolate raspberry creamer.

Too funny, Namacura.  I would love to believe he is admiring my hair.  And I thank you for giving me that hope.

Namacura does not have a blog.

Please shout, "Hi, Namacura!" at your computer-ish devices.

That will suffice.

2)  I don't mean to be a whiner, but I am going to be one at this moment.

I wrote to you all on Thursday morning about my tragedies.

Alert!  My day got worse.

Much, much worse.

The boys were naughty (shocking, I know), the girls were exasperating (oooh!  a fancy word!) , and The Lumberjack did not get home until 9pm.

It was a tiring, exhausting, and boring night.

So, we had a tea party.

Daisy Mae?  Where are you?

There she is (blue/green shirt)!

This is her "informant" look.

As in she is informing me of one of her siblings' wrongs.

Handsome Dude found a bottle of Tums and ate an undisclosed amount.

Me:  Dude!  Did you eat these?

HD (short for Handsome Dude . . . keep up, people!):  I not!

Me:  Dude!  I can see them in your mouth.

HD:  OK, mommy.

Me:  How many did you eat?

HD:  Huh?

Me:  How many did you eat?

HD:  Huh?

Me:  Did you eat 1?  Did you eat 3?  Did you eat 5?

HD:  I ate one, two, free, bour, bibe.

Super.

I sounded like a well-informed-on-top-of-things-excellent-mother when I called the Pediatric office to find out if I needed to be calling Poison control.

And you all know that Mabel's health continued to worsen.

So . . . Thursday was bad.

Ok.

The whining shall cease now.

3)  I think Mabel is on the mend!  She has eaten some food, taken her pills, and not thrown up once!

I am very thankful.

And I will be the best human mommy to her ever now.

4)  Boys.

What are you looking at, dudes?

Oh, yes.  The lawnmower.

For it has wheels.

Silly me.

5)  Alright!   Here's the exciting part!

Is anyone still here?

Hello?

In order to show my blogging friend, Christina, that my house is a dreadful disaster right now, I decided to post some pictures of my kitchen.

Please still be my friends when we are all done with this photographic journey into the horror that is currently my life.

*Thank you*

Oh, dear.

Let's examine this picture, shall we?

Yes.  Handsome Dude has pop.  This is his father's doing.  Go to his blog and leave a disapproving comment there.

No.  Handsome Dude is not wearing his glasses.  I do not know where they are.  This is my fault.  You can leave a disapproving comment here.

Yes.  I am cooking dinner and cookies amidst this chaos.

For what is life without cookies?

I know!  Life without cookies would probably involve a more pleasant bathing suit shopping experience.

But, I digress.

I am making no-bake cookies for my oven no longer works.

Other points of interest:

*  I have a dirty crock pot.

*  We got a printer, but have procrastinated in finding it a proper home.

*  Spaghetti sauce is in the crock pot . . . if you must kn0w.

*  I have a lot of clutter.

*  The plastic is up to separate the laundry room from the kitchen, as The Lumberjack was using the airless paint sprayer to paint it.

An airless paint sprayer?!?

Yes.

My Lumberjack is kind of a big deal.

Rest assured . . . I am hiding my head in shame.

Please look out the window.

Please be super impressed that we have a freezer with a large, hardly-used roaster sitting on our porch.

Classy.

Don't lose heart, folks!

My Lumberjack is breaking out all his muscles to make this the dream home I have always wanted.

Exhibit A:

The Laundry room.

Exhibit B:

A tiled kitchen backsplash.

Dear Lumberjack,

Thank you for all your hard work and for inviting me to the gun show upon multiple occasions throughout these 7 years of remodeling bliss.  I would, however, like to submit a request.  Please, please, please, install the under cabinet lighting so I can stop looking at these darned wires:

You are, in fact, an electrician.

Thank you.

Yours truly,

Lumberjill.

6)  I have a confession to make.

As I was creating the delicious no-bake cookies, and my man was tiling my delightful backsplash, I began listening to this enjoyable song:

The Lumberjack walked by.

LJ:  Are you listening to this on purpose?

Me:  Um . . . yes.

LJ:  What is it?

Me:  Um . . . I think he is like a boy band.  But he is just one boy. 

LJ:  Is this that kid that was on Saturday Night Live?

Me:  Yes.  I thought this song was just delightful.

LJ:  Taylor . . . you are a dork.

Yes.

Yes, folks.  I am a dork.

But I find this song to be so truly catchy.  Especially if you don't watch the video of the boy-child.

All those flashing lights and dance moves are a little much for a woman of my age.

And I think that boy needs a hair cut.

And look!  The song features another fellow, named Ludacris.

That's ludicrous!

No, dear readers.

It is ludicrous is that I greatly enjoy this song.

Happy Weekend!

And Happy Memorial Day!

Thank you to all who are serving . . . . like my cousin Neil . . . and to all who have served, like my grandparents.

Poor Mabel.

I thought taking the children to my doctor's appointments was the most dreadful task imaginable.

I was mistaken.

Try taking 4 children and a sick, large canine to a veterinary office when you have no appointment and must wait for them to work you in.

Good times.

Good times with kids.

Good times with kids and dogs.

Good times with kids and dogs and a husband who is worried about how expensive this is all going to be.

Allow me to explain, dear readers.

As I mentioned on my Tragical Thursday, Mabel, our beloved dog of nearly 10 years, threw up.

This is not a rarity.

She throws up on occasion.

But on Thursday, it just kept coming.

Then I noticed she was acting funny.  She wouldn't come when called.  Her eyes were droopy and sad.  She was shaking.  She would not eat.  She would not drink.

She would only sleep and throw up.

By Friday afternoon, she was seeming slightly more perky, but still throwing up.  So, I called The Lumberjack, who was working, and he said he could meet me at the vet.

And then the waiting began.

It was actually quite entertaining, watching all the pet owners coming in with their dogs and cats.

It is super true that people kind of look like their pets.

What do you think . . .

Mabel

Me.

Thoughts?

I don't see it.

She is much better looking.  And has better camping hair.

Any-whooooo . . .

Some people are really wacky with their pets, treating them like their children and such.

I never treated my dogs like they were my children.

(Yes, we used to have two dogs.  To hear all about that nonsense click here, here, and here.  In that order.  That is important.  The whole universe will collapse if you click out-of-order.  Thank you)

So, we waited and waited.

And we saw the largest dog known to man, a Great Dane, come in with NINE puppies!

Ouch.

We finally got called back to the tinier exam room.  And the super nice escort lady brought each of my children their very own balloon.

Yes.

All six of us were crammed into this tiny exam room, that was the size of a fairly roomy bathroom, the kids are competing in Balloon Wars 2010, and Mabel is hovering with fear in the corner.

It was a treat.

The doctor came in and long story short, we spent a sizeable amount of money and we don't know what is wrong with her.

We are supposed to try to get her to take some medicine to help with the vomiting.

But she will not eat it.

We have tried several times.

The Lumberjack hid the pills in some food.

Nope.

The Lumberjack actually put the food/pills in her mouth and tried to help her chew them and swallow them.

Nope.

So we have to keep trying to fish out the pills for later use, seeing as how each pill costs like $6, and she needs to eat them all.

I guess.

I don't know.

Also, the doctor wants her to drink Pedialyte.

Nope.

She won't even smell it.

I did, however, in all my awesomeness, get her to drink about 1/4c of water.

Holla, Taylor!

Holla.

Lest you are confused, Taylor is the person who is sitting here typing out all of this rubbish.

So, last night we went to bed.

I could not sleep.  I am worried she is dying.  And I don't know how to help her.

I really don't want her to die.

She was our baby when we were first married.

She has always been around.

She is our dog.

We all love her and she is a part of the family now.

Besides, we are most likely moving to Ruralville with 20 acres for her to run around and get to be real dog at.

So, hopefully, we will be able to get her to take some pills today.

And maybe even drink some Pedialite. 

Because everyone knows, sick dogs crave grape-flavored electrolyte-filled beverages.

Pedialyte.

For a dog.

Honestly.

Poor Mabel.

Please get well, old dog.

 

Because I am certain you care.

Well, I was, most certainly, a bummer of a blogger in my last post.

Sorry about that.

We are going to do a complete 180 degree turn from that and switch into a "happy-happy-joy-joy" (name that tv show) post.

I am going to share with you all some of my favorite things.

Because I am certain you care about such matters.

Right?

Right?

Hello?

My First (grown up) Bible

My parents gave me this Bible for Christmas when I was 13 years old.  I loved this Bible and used it often, so much so that it had started to fall apart.  I wrote on the inside,

"A Bible that is falling apart is usually owned by someone who is not."

I don't remember where I originally heard that quote, but I always liked it.

I had asked my parents for the King James Version.  I always loved the sound of the old words.

 

 Hebrews 1:1 is where I first heard the words, "sundry" and "divers."

I love this Bible. 

I can see verses in my head exactly the way they look on the pages in this Bible still.  It is the Bible I used when I first truly began my relationship with God.

My Children

 I love them.

Even though they will be the death of me.

My Husband.

 

 

The Lumberjack.

Who is not a Lumberjack at all.

He is, in fact, an electrician.

Big Train Vanilla Chai Tea

Have you tasted this?

It is like heaven in a cup.

If you have not ever intrigued your taste buds in this manner, I implore you to try it immediately.

Dry Shampoo

Ok, Sparkies . . . here's the deal . . .

(name that movie)

When I go camping, I look a fright.

But last camping trip, I ran some of this spray through my hair and it absorbed all the oil so my hair did not look filthy-dirty.

Because what is camping if your hair looks dirty?

Honestly.

And, Finally . . .

Yes.

It is true.

I have been sneaking my beloved chocolate raspberry creamer into my steamy mug of joe daily.

Rest assured, I am hiding my head in shame.

But, truly folks.

It is delightful.

That is all, friends.

That.

Is.

All.

 

Thursday Morning Tragedies *Updated*

Hang on to your pants, folks.

This is going to be a bummer of a post.

***

Yesterday.

Yesterday, I read this post from the blog "Let's Talk About Boys."

It is about a mom forgetting to seal the lid to a paint can, resulting in her boys spilling aforementioned paint and splashing it all around her floors.

I chuckled to myself as I read it, sure nothing like that would happen to me.

Or.

So.

I.

Thought.

About 6 hours , yes just 6 HOURS, after I read that post, Handsome Dude and Little Dude were playing grocery shopping.

This is, in fact, precious.

They push around the toy cart and shop all day long.

Handsome Dude: Cokey! (Cokey is what HD calls Little Dude.)  Want some chocolate milk?

Little Dude: Uh-huh!

Handsome Dude:  Cokey!  Want some pop?

Little Dude: Uh-huh!

As you can see, we never allow our children to drink their calories.

Interruption:  I would like to inform the Tribal Council that Lumberjill does not agree with giving the Lumberjacklings soda pop.  But the Lumberjack, in all his handsomeness, insists on driving me insane and gives them soda pop whenever he deems fit.

Boo, Lumberjack.

Boo.

Aaaaannnnnddddd . . . . I love him.

Any-whosie-whatsie . . . they decide to play,

"Shop at Home Depot."

Handsome Dude found the unopened, sealed paint cans in the laundry room.

Alert!  The Laundry room is STILL not finished!  Alert!  It is STILL not finished!

I told him he could not play with those, and he, being the good boy that he is, walked them back into the laundry room and dropped them.

Resulting in the paint can breaking open and beautiful, white paint flowing all over the new laundry room floor.

Tragic.

I am, however, amazingly awesome, and got it all cleaned up with nary (did I use that word right, Erin?) a droplet of paint remaining, so as to fool my Lumberjack into thinking no such incident ever occurred.

We must have him believing that I am an excellent help meet who always has a watchful eye over the youngins'.

I am going to need a 10-4 good buddy from anyone else who has ever heard the phrase, "Help Meet."

Over and out.

***

American Idol.

Oh, how it toys with my heart.

I loved both Lee and Crystal.

And while I am so super excited for Lee . . . I still feel a smidgen sad for Crystal.

Was anyone else conflicted?

They were both the cats meow.

Does anyone else watch American Idol?

Is it okay for 28 and 3/4 year olds to watch American Idol?

Attention Lee: 

I will always heart the bagpiper night.

***

Ruralville.

To move or not to move . . . that is the question.

I am packing.

Are we moving?

Attention bank:  Let's wrap this up.  Thank you.

***

**Updated Portion**

I published this post and completely bypassed this dreadful part of the day.

It happens.

I have been going through the closets and weeding out needless materials that can be donated to the local thrift stores.

I determined that the upstairs, hardly-ever-used bathtub would be a swell and dandy place to store these goods.

No.

No, dear readers.

No it was not.

One of my precious dudes . . .

who shall remain nameless, turned on the water, creating a bathtub full of water-soaked, unused goods.

So.

I am trying to get that mess cleaned up.

And I am cranky with set socks.

***

It is a rainy, gloomy morning.

I was just girding up my loins for a morning of fun-filled packing and blinds cleaning.

100 (meaningless) points to anyone who can tell me the best, quickest way to clean faux wood blinds. 

I usually use Swiffers.

But I am open to other options.

My dear-heart friend, Amanda, called and asked if she could bring me a Starbucks.

Holla, Amanda!

Holla!

And while she was getting the quick laundry room tour, our dog Mabel

threw up.

Like everywhere.

It was nasty-wrong.

100 (meaningless) point to anyone who can guess which stay-at-home-mom who occasionally writes in a pointless blog is out of paper towels.

Tragic.

So, I dealt with the mess.

And decided to sip my latte and complain to all of you.

You're welcome.

Happy Thursday!