Brainless Bird

A Friday List.

1)  Do you remember how I asked you all what was growing in my garden?



Sure you do.

Good news!  This is not the first time I have been a ditz regarding home grown produce.

I would like to remind you of the Great Zucchini Debacle of 2009



You know.  When I shredded a "zucchini" so I could make "zucchini" bread . . . only to discover I was shredding a cucumber?

Life is hard for me.

2)  I made brownies last night.  And when I was getting ready to watch Lost, I put two in a bowl and headed upstairs for a good, ol' gorge fest.

Me:  David, would you like a brownie?

David:  No, thanks.  I'm not hungry.

What is wrong with him? 

I would like you to know that I could only eat one.  I returned the other brownie to the pan.

What is wrong with me?

That has never, ever happened to me.  And I hope it never happens again.

3)  I am leaving the reservation today for the first time in 9 days.  Can you BELIEVE it?  I need to don my fancy jeans and uber cute earrings for this momentous occasion.

4)  I really do have a neighbor who is called Jungle.  You can't make that stuff up, people.

5)  Before naps today, I was reading my boys a book.  We always read "Horton Hatches the Egg" or "Brown Bear, Brown Bear."  As we were reading, I realized that Handsome Dude will be in Kindergarten next year.

This saddens me.

Why do they have to grow up so fast?

Even though my boys drive me Captain Insano, I really do like them.  They are so cute and they tell me I am "wee handsome."  Will they always they I am "wee handsome?" 

It almost makes me want to have another one . . .

almost.

6.  The girls have two friends over today.

Jealous?

Anyways, we had a little "incident" this morning. 



A bird flew into my house!

A real bird!  Like, from the wild!

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Do you know how fluttery and flappy and poopy birds are?  Gives me the peepee shivers.

Do you guys know what peepee shivers are?

Do you?

Do you?

Anyways.  How should I know how to get a bird out of the house?  The last thing I need is for the bird to become injured or horribly maimed whilst in my home.

I don't have time to nurse a bird back to health!



Yes.  I need to dust.  Get over it.

This poor bird lacked a brain.  It just kept hitting the window.  Over and over and over . . .   Unfortunately, Brainless Bird chose a window that does not open.  Anyways, me and the six children discussed all the different ways to catch this bird.

And I bribed them, yes I did.  I offered money and popsicles to any child brave enough to try to grab the bird and set it free amidst our rolling hills.



So.  They took me up on that offer.

First they threw several pieces of bread around the house.  Because that seems reasonable.

Then they freaked out and giggled and ran in place every time the bird moved.

They discussed all their options in their sassiest, pre-pre-teenaged voices.

And, finally, Sweet Pea, my sweet little farm and ranch girl, scooped up Brainless Bird in an empty Cool Whip container and set the bird free.

Go, Sweet Pea!

So, everyone got a popsicle and I remineded everyone to please REMEMBER TO SHUT THE DOOR, THANK YOU.

And on that note . . . farewell!

I am about to don my pearls and load up the rig!

What are you doing this weekend?

Tomorrow, I am cleaning my darn rental house (groan, poo, yuck) and then David and I are taking the kids to see Cars 2!

Do you know what there is to snack on at the movies, dear readers?

Do you?

Hmmmm?

Hmmmm?

Ok.  Bye.

PS-I don't have pearls.

The Great Rabbit Evacuation of 2011

So, I was enjoying my morning cup of coffee and perusing my comments from yesterday's post, when I came to some comments  that made me worry a bit more about the soon-to-be-coming plane that would be dropping the spray meant to kill the tree-killing moths.

Remember?  The moths?  Jungle?  Snakes?  Bears?  Do you people listen to me?

Anyways.

Interruption:  Thank you for the comments you leave!  I know it takes extra time, but it is always appreciated and they make me smile. 

That was not a shameless plug for more comments.

I promise.

I looked at the clock.  8am.  I was informed that the plane would be coming between 8 and 9am.  Therefore and henceforth, I decided I needed to fret about the rabbits.

Oh!  I'm sorry!  Did I not tell you?  We have 14 billion rabbits on our lands.  Such a blessing.

So, I gathered up my troops:

and we rushed outside to begin The Great Rabbit Evacuation of 2011.  It is no small feat to move 28 billion rabbits from their outside hutches to cages in the garage.

Especially when these are the troops working with you:

You know.  I try to be patient with life, but sometimes, I just have to admit that I never imagined myself  running around like a crazy person transferring 56 billion rabbits from inside to outside hutches.

Daisy Mae is almost as excited as me.  Daisy Mae informed me that she HATES living in Ruralville.  She likes the city and pedicures.

Tough break, Daisy Mae.

Tough break.

Speaking of Ruralville . . . I hate that word.  Why do we call my home that?  Whose idea was that?  Let's change it!  Because we can!

All in favor?  Say aye!

We are supposed to be talking about rabbits.  Focus, people!

Have you ever tried to move a rabbit?  They are so bouncy and fluffy, it's really quite vexing.  Gives me the peepee shivers and I just want to drop them.  Don't you worry, dear readers, I did not drop any of them.  I was a good farm and ranch wife today.

I'm pretty sure that during the evacuation, the 56 billion rabbits doubled again to 112 billion rabbits.  That's what bunnies do, you know.

You know what bunnies don't do? 

Sell.

Ask me how I know.

Daisy Mae is just killing me here.  She is looking into the rabbit hutch and thinking to herself:

"How on earth did I become the caregiver to 224 billion bunnies?"

Kind of like how I look at my children and think:

"When did I have four kids?"

And, since I know Daisy Mae is entertaining you as well , here is another gem of a shot:

I need to get that girl in for a pedicure STAT.

Sweet Pea is like the Rabbit Whisperer.

She neeedeth not a pedicure.

So.  We rescued all 448 billion rabbits and then headed inside to take cover from the plane of doom.

Now, just so you all know, the plane was not spraying our lands.  Just our neighbors.

This plane provided joyous entertainment for the children.  It took about a half an hour and they had a great time watching it fly all around the house.

Sweet Pea:  That would be a FUN job!

Me:  Yeah.  You could be a pilot when you grow up!

Sweet Pea:  I mean, that's almost as cool as a zookeeper.

Me:  Yup.

Sweet Pea:  Can anyone do anything they want when they grow up?

Me:  Yeah, for the most part.  You have to work hard at it though.  But if you want to do something, you should go for it!

Sweet Pea:  Oh!  Did you always dream of working at the hospital?

Me: *sigh*

Yes.  She is referring to my not-so-brief stint as a kitchen worker at the hospital. 

This job included a hairnet, nametag, and standard, uniform pants that would only button at my rib cage.

Comfy.

It was the job I had to take in order to get me through college.

Yes!  I did go to college!  And, yes!  I did finish!

I am a very well-education stay at home mom/rabbit evacuator.

So, we waited several hours and then we went back outside to begin the rehoming of all 896 billion rabbits.

Want to know what happens when you put rabbits in the garage?

Unforunate, no?

Alright.  I must sign off.  For I am making

B-R-O-W-N-I-E-S!

Works out well since I am just feigning to be on Weight Watchers.

Holla!

God is Good, Repost

This post, which was written by me, was originally published as a guest post over at Ostriches Look Funny.

JoAnn, author of Ostriches Look Funny, asked me to write a post finishing the statement: "God is good, in spite of _______."

I am linking this post up to Kelly's Korner:  Show us Your Life, Parenting Advice.

Growing up, I always thought I would do something fantastic with my life.  In middle school, I dreamed of being a writer.  Then  the day came when two boys got a hold of my journal and teased me endlessly for A) having a journal and B) my use of the word measly.

I still maintain that measly is a fantastic word.

Later on, I apparently became full of myself and decided maybe I had the chance at being a model or something of that nature. 

(my sister, mom, and me)

Here are my glamour shots.  Don't be jealous.

  You can understand why I felt modeling was in my future.

That dream died once I overheard a classmate shout: "When Taylor walks into a room wearing a red dress, everyone runs away and yells 'Kool-Aid Man!'"

It's something I've obviously never gotten over.

Next, I went through a phase where I wanted to be a senator.  Senators can be plump, so it would be a good fit for me.  I wanted to live in a city. I wanted to be a world-class pianist.  I wanted to have my name in history books. I wanted to be someone. 

I am now thirty years old.  I have not accomplished any of the goals I had once set out to do.   I struggle with a restlessness in my heart, a sort of panic that overtakes me when I remind myself that I am, in fact, thirty, and have accomplished nothing.

All the days seem to merge together.

There are dishes to be washed . . .

floors to be swept . . .

messes to be picked up . . .

and don't EVEN get me started on the laundry.

The days are long, but the years are quick.

When did my babies grow up?

Now, I can say this:  God is good, in spite of me.

Me and my selfishness, impatience, and crankiness.  Me and my insecurities and my restlessness. 

Me.

Even though I didn't come up with this plan for my life, He did.  I am right where I need to be, accomplishing something fantastic . . . raising my four, healthy children.

I am blessed because of it.

Oh, the days are not easy.  I've had my share of poo and vomit, tantrums and fits, hitting and screaming. 

And let's not forget the "joys" that homeschooling brings.

"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men."

Colossians 3:23

Being a mother and a wife is what I do, it is the role that God has placed me in.  I am not here to please others, I am not here to impress anyone.

God has taught me in the past few years that life is not about me. 

 I know.  I found it to be a shock, too. 

Even though my daily tasks can seem boring or meaningless, I am making an impression on my children and those around me. 

 I am serving the Lord, and that is the best job one can have.

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy and where thieves to not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
Matthew 6:19-21

So, here I am.  Thirty years old.  I have accomplished nothing that I thought I would, but I am blessed beyond words.

I have a husband who loves me and thinks the world of me.  I have four healthy children who can make me want to wring their necks and lovingly hold on to them tight all in the same moment.  I get to raise them, watch them grow, help them learn, and just . . . be with them.

Yes.  God is good . . . in spite of  me.

Jungle

It has been brought to my attention, by myself,  that I have not left the reservation in over a week.

A week!

Did you know I live on a reservation?  Have I shared that bit of nothingness with you?

It's true.  You know I wouldn't lie to you.  Anyways, I am starting to get a bit weird and creepy.  Good news!  I have plans to go to the big city on . . .

wait for it . . .

wait for it . . .

FRIDAY!

My husband is still not home for the day.  This means I am in dire need of adult communication.  And since everyone has a life except me, I am going to blog.

Lucky you.

Pop Quiz Hot Shots:

What on earth am I growing out there?  It appears to be of the green, leafy vegetable family?  I, being the fool that I am, threw away all my seed packets.  I know I had some lettuce, maybe multiple lettuce types, some green onion and perhaps basil?

I cannot be certain.

I grabbed some of the stuff on the right and used it as basil the other day, but now I am not so sure . . .

Yes!  I am the woman my husband has entrusted the education of his fine children with!

Pray for them.

So.  I'm thinking I will make a salad to go with dinner.  Because some of that is bound to be lettuce.  And I have an abundance of it.  Whatever it is.

So, I told you about the bear warning neighbor.

Do you remember?  Do you?

Well, he just called.  On the phone. Yes.  We have exchanged phone numbers with two, count them TWO, other humans who live on this dirt road of ours.  Anyways, bear-warning neighbor is now warning about deadly moths.

Deadly moths!  Who knew?!

Turns out some sort of plane will be dropping off some sort of deadly-moth poison to kill the moths who are killing the trees.  The tree killing moths are irking the neighbors (of whose phone numbers I have because I am IN the club now).

Another neighbor, named Jungle (Jungle has not exchanged numbers with me.  I hope to someday have this connection with him) is worried for the safety of my children and is asking me to keep them indoors ALL DAY.

Me and Jungle are gonna get in a rumble.

Yes.  I have a neighbor named Jungle.  Don't you?

Anyways.  Bear-warning neighbor is turning out to be a bit of a naysayer, a bearer of bad news, if you will.

Total downer, if you ask me.

So.  My mom just called.  Right as I was typing this very post you are reading right now.  She called because she misses me.

Remember?  I haven't left this place in OVER A WEEK?

Anyways, as I was speaking with her and walking in my dangerous bear/deadly moth 'hood, a snake slithered right by my toes!

A snake!

Moths!  Bears!  Snakes! Bison! Elk!  Deer!  Rabbits!

It's like I am living on the island from Lost.  David and I are watching Lost right now.  We are in season 3.  Don't tell me what happens at all, because I am totally into it and it's all I have to look forward to in life.

Don't steal my joy.

Good news!  My husband might be home soon.  So, now I must make the dinner.  No.  I had no dinner planned out.  Have you met me?  But I am making a salad.  And chicken alfredo with penne because who has time to remember to buy fettucine?

But.  I think I am going to start freezer cooking!

I'm sure I got the smarts to handle that.

Sincerely,

Taylor from the Land of Bears, Bison, Snakes, and Mysterious Neighbors named Jungle.

We Have a Door Bell!

Hello.  I am reporting to you live (barely) from the trenches of home school planning bliss.  As if my life couldn't get any more exciting.  And it's not.

I am bound and determined to be organized this year.  It is going to take me all summer long to get the first 6 weeks of my enviable homeschooling life planned out.  And after those first well-planned 6 weeks, I shall lose all control and break into survival mode and eat a lot of chocolate and gain 5 pounds immediately.

Not that I know from experience. 

Yesterday, after many hours of the aforementioned joyous home school organizing, I had HAD it with my kids.  I know, I know.   They are so precious, so sweet, so how could I ever lose my patience?

Well.  I'll tell you how. 

 One tends to lose her patience when certain girls decide to "help" with homeschool organizing and dump several things out around the living room and then become fatigued and no longer want to assist.  And then boys wake up cranky from their naps and need snacks and milk made of chocolate immediately and cry and whine and tinkle on the toilet seats for unsuspecting mothers to sit on (ask me how I know).  And then mother starts to feel sickly and has to visit the toilet too often (you know.  the toilet with the precious little boy tinkle on it?).  And that same, poor mother has to cancel her night out with friends because she is certain she will not make the drive without needing a restroom.

And why do we have so many broken crayons?

And scrap paper?  Who needs this much paper?

And I have 18,000 pairs of useless childproof scissors, yet not one pair of adult scissors.

Where did the adult scissors go, I ask you?

And why do the kids keep walking around with granola bars when I specifically say:

"Please sit at the table with your food."

So.  Take all that into consideration and feel badly for me when I tell you I had a  "moment", and I snapped and yelled (yes, yelled.  See?  I do lose my patience.):

"I SAID SIT DOWN WITH YOUR FOOD!  NOW!"

And at the very instant that wretched yell was out of my mouth, the doorbell rang.

*Gasp*

I didn't even know we had a doorbell, I kid you not.

  It was the most eerie sound that has permeated our peach, Ruralville walls.

A human!  A live human!  Coming to call and I just yelled the wretched yell of motherhood.

Goshdarnit.

It was a friendly neighbor coming to call.  The same neighbor who came to warn me about the bears.  So, I had to go out there and hope that he has terrible hearing and did not hear my fit.

Because I threw a fit, dear readers, yes, I did.

But that is neither here nor there.

I thought it might be fun to share some homeschool and/or household organization tips.

You know.  For kicks and grins.

Because some people, obviously not myself, might be a little frazzled and need them.

So, if you feel so inclined, leave a comment sharing a tip for how you keep it all together so you don't have a "moment" and scream when unsuspecting, bear-warning, neighbors come to call.

How do you plan out your lessons?

How do you store supplies?

Where do you keep PAPER?  You know.  The used kind.  That is deemed precious by the children?

Do your kids eat granola bars whilst walking in the living room?

What are some things you have the other children do when you are working individually with one child?

Do you, like, know what you are making for dinner tonight?  How?

What ARE you making for dinner tonight?

I am making tacos.  Only because I have camping leftovers.  Holla!

Go look at your toilet seat.  Do you have pee pee on it?  I bet I do.

And if you don't have a tip, surely you have a story that will make me feel better about my "moment?"

Hmmmm?

Hmmmm?

Ok, Bye.

7 Cheeses Made of String.

Is it normal for a 3 year old boy to eat 7 string cheeses in one sitting?

I think not.  And yet my own son accomplished that very feat this weekend.

You may ask, "Taylor!  Why did you allow your son to feast on such a high number of cheeses in the string form?"

And I would say: "I didn't!  It was that darn Uncle Alex!"

Remember Uncle Alex?

But that is neither here nor there.

We went camping this weekend?  Are we surprised?

No we are not.

It was a gorgeous and warm weekend for it.  The kids made a delightful sand castle with Uncle Alex.

See?

I want to know how Uncle Alex has such energy?  It's all I can do to get us to the beach.  Then I plant myself down in my chair and repeat:

"Mommy is just going to sit.  Mommy needs to rest.  Mommy does not want to get wet.  Don't splash mommy."

Over and over and over . . .

I am not waterproof, you know.

Anyways, camping was fine and splendid with only two children throwing up.  And only one of them was mine.  Holla!

We had lots of fun on the water.

Daisy Mae created her own boat . . . complete with a pink life-saving feature.  She is ingenius.

And I don't think I used the word "ingenius" correctly in that sentence.  But who cares?  Not me.

Here is my husband ready to do a sweet jump off the dock, him being the stud muffin that he is.

He is smiling, yes he is.  This is because his sister is about to join him so they can do some more sweet tricks, like back in the old days.  You know.  Some cool bro/sis action.  You can't beat that.

I would have snapped a picture.  But, alas.  Battery failure.  It would have been epic.  They were twisting and turning and whatever it is one does to show off whilst bonding with your sibling on such contraptions.

May I remind you that I am not waterproof, so I do not partake in the sweet tricks.  Nor would I want to impose on the bro/sis water sports dream team.

In the days of yore, I used to go on the tube.  And I have never been dumped off the tube.  I hold on to it with a Vulcan death grip because I refuse to get my hair wet.

And my hair isn't even that cute.

But you can imagine what it looks like when it is wet.

And I am not sure of my use of the phrase "vulcan death grip."  Nor do I know what such a death grip is.  But do I care?

No, I do not.

Remember how my husband suffers from "sleeping immediately upon sitting" syndrome?

I just had to snap this delightful photo of him this weekend.

Mere seconds before I snapped this picture, he assured me that he was awake and would not be sleeping. 

Oh, yes he did.

And I told him he would sleep and he said he wouldn't.  And I was right and he was wrong.

So, I took this picture and texted it to him.

Because I like to be right.

And I was.

So, I hope you all had a delightful weekend. 

What did you do?

You can share it with me.  Or not.  The choice is yours.

Happy Weekend!

PS-Would you mind praying for my cousin's baby?  Her name is Abigail and she was born about 4 weeks ago  at 26 weeks.  She is pretty sick and could use your prayers.  Thank you!

Peach Pie

Our family members always tease me about the “peach pie incident”.  This incident happened within the first few months of our marriage.  The Lumberjack, more commonly known as David,  was working as a server at a restaurant when we were married.  I had these dreams of him coming home, tired and hungry, and I would have a delicious feast prepared for him.  In this dream, he would arrive at his work place and he would tell all of his work buddies:

“My wife is the best cook.  I am the luckiest man in the world.”

David would try and guess what time he would be home.  Since he was a server, it was kind of hard to predict.  One night, I decided to make dinner and dessert.  I do not remember what I made for dinner, but I know it was a new recipe.  I know this because I had gotten the recipe for dessert from the same new cookbook that I was making dinner from.  Fresh peach pie.  Oh, he will surely love me. 

Who does not like fresh peach pie?  Find me one person, I beg of you.

I was baking, and boiling, and cooking away at 7 in the evening when it was about 90 degrees outside.  No air conditioning.  Plus, our house was 700 square feet.  I was sweaty and stressed.  Not a good combo.  He was supposed to be home by 9ish.  So, I had it all ready to go by 9.  Table set.  Food ready.

I was an ignorant overachiever.

The clocked ticked on and on.  And on.  I remember he came home at 11:45pm.

I tried my best to remain calm.  This was hard for a clueless 19 year old stressed and sweaty bride, such as myself.

Me: “Are you hungry?”

David: “No.  Just tired.  Plus I ate something at work.”

This is very discouraging.  But I have placed my hope in my redeeming pie.

“Would you like some fresh peach pie?”

“No, thanks.  But I will wrap it up for you.”

And he happily got out the foil and proceeded to cover up the pie, along with all my hopes and dreams of ever being a good wife.

Poor, silly, young Lumberjack.  He didn’t know what was coming.

It was our first fight as a married couple.

Seriously.  Have you ever peeled fresh peaches?  It is not easy.

I do not remember much more, other than I was pretty upset.  And he was pretty confused.

Looking back, I was totally in the wrong.  It was not his fault in the least.  At the time, however, I was only interesting in seeing how he wronged me.

Instead, I should have been more understanding that he had been on his feet since probably 11am, running around, working hard, and earning money to provide for the finer things in life . . . such as fresh peaches, for example. 

This is one area in my life where I am glad I am “older and more mature.” 

After 11 years of being his wife, I know that my role is not to necessarily have a meal ready for him the minute he walks in the door.

Nay.

He wants peace.  And quiet.  And a happy wife.  And a wife who just lets him work when he needs to work and rest when he needs to rest.

  A wife who lets him hunt when he feels the need for fresh blood on his hands. 

And even snaps pictures of the perfect rack.

(I am speaking of deer antlers.  Let's keep it clean, folks.)

I am lucky.  I have a husband loves me, provides for us, helps out around the house, and even sings in falsetto whilst picking his beloved berries.

(Don't tell him I told you that part.)

So, if I were to be able to go back in time and give myself some marriage advice, it would be this:

Calm down.

Life gets messy and things don't always go as planned.  Show your husband the respect and grace he deserves, and  he will show you the love and kindness you need.

And don't make peach pie.

Since I have decided to go all marriage-pro on you all, I thougth I would leave you with a quick list.

You know.

A few more helpful hints in the marriage department.

You can thank me later.

1.  Be sure to always be impressed with the engine in his truck.  If it makes loud noises, do not say:  "Is something wrong with the truck?"

No.

Please say: "Wow!  Listen to the POWER!"

2.  Pay attention to the little things.  My husband loves himself a new toothbrush.

So, I quickly learned that new toothbrush=wife of the year

3.  Wear Carhartts simply because they are his favorite:

No matter how ridiculous they make you look.

4.  This next one is the hardest one.

Brace yourselves.

Let him have his glory.

But stop it at 2 mounts.  Otherwise, things start get weird and creepy.

5.  Make sure to just appreciate him for who he is.  Even if that person bugs you from time to time.

(I am joining in at Kelly's Korner for Show Us Your Life:  Give Us Your Best Marriage Advice.)

Baby birds and mice

David:  Hey, Hon.  Can I do anything to help you out?

Me:  Could you read with Daisy Mae?  She needs someone to listen to her read.

David:  Sure

My husband has "sitting-down-sleeping-syndrome."  He comes by it honestly.  Everyone in his family also has this syndrome.  Back in yesteryear, (ooh!  a fancy word!), I would be watching a movie with my crazykin inlaws and they would all be asleep.  All of them.  Except the other lone inlaw, Jack.  It was always odd.  It's hard for me and Jack, you know . . . being the only normal ones.  They are blessed to have us.

Since Lucy has been gone, we have been invaded by mice.  Thankfully not in our house, but in our garage.  The children caught a baby mouse and made a little habitat for it to live in. 

What is wrong with them?

They went to check on it and it escaped.  Lovely.  I'll have you know my kids used to be scared and squeamish around animals, bugs, and rodents.  Now they touch mice like it ain't no thang.  Country life is making them weird and creepy.

We also have a bird's nest.

It's hard to see, but there are little babies in there with their beaks open.

Here's the mama.  Does anyone know what kind of bird it is?

It should be easy for you to tell, seeing as how I have provided you with an professional, completely in-focus picture.

It's the kind of photography excellence you have come to expect from me.

That bird's nest is in our front porch thingie.  I don't know what it is called!  It's like a roof.  But over a porch?  And there are beams?  You KNOW.  The front porch thingie.  Anyways, a bird lovingly placed a nest there last year when we had just moved in.  But Sweet Pea and Bimlissa's daughter knocked it down with sticks and murdered the baby birds who were still in egg-form.

I don't think I ever told Bimlissa this.

Bimlissa, is not this disturbing?  Should we be concerned?

Luckily, no baby birds have been murdered thus far.  My kids are now a little more wise in the ways of animals.  I just wish they would get a little disturbing on the baby mice.

I kid!  I jest!

I need a cat.

My kids all love to read together.

It's a huge time saver for me, but then I started to feel kind of badly about it.  I remember the days when I just had Sweet Pea.  After lunch, I would sit in her room and watch her play with her toys and help her.  Then we would read books together and I would put her down for her nap.  There is no way I have time to give each of my children this kind of attention daily anymore.

Just feeling a little guilty.

Alright!  I am headed to town today!  This is exciting and my nicest jeans are clean and ready to go!

I realized I forgot to share with you the link for the coffee filter wreath:

My mom said she wants to try it.  Perhaps I should do it with her!  It could be a fantastic opportunity to get a Goober Parent Update.  Or, depending on how well the craft goes, a Goober Taylor Update.

And, since we are on the subject of Goober Parents, I shall leave you with the following phone call that took place between my dad and I.

Remember my dad?

You may recall that my parents recently got smart phones.

Why?

We cannot be certain.  But pigs can now fly.

Me:  Hello?

Dad (shouting because he is confused and feels the need to shout):  I AM JUST LETTING YOU KNOW THAT I FIGURED OUT YOUR PANDORA THING

Me:  Oh!  Do you like it?

Dad:  I TYPED IN MY FRIEND BURT.  AND THEN YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE THE TYPES OF SONGS THEY WRE PLAYING.  HORRIBLE.

I think he is referring to someone named Burton Cummings.  It's ok.  I don't know who that is either.

Me:  Well, just mark that you don't like it and it will soon tailor it to your likes.

Dad: THE ONLY PROBLEM IS I CANNOT HEAR A DARN THING.  IT WON'T LET ME TURN IT UP.

Me, the smart phone expert that I am:  You need to turn up your media volume.

Dad:  THAT DOES NOT EXIST ON MY PHONE.  IT IS IMPOSSIBLE.  MY PHONE WILL NOT TURN ANY VOLUME UP.

Me:  Alright.

Dad:  GOODBYE.

Peace out, dudes.

A Plethora of Coffee Filters

Ok, so, I hate to be all needy again and everything, BUT . . .  I am guest posting today over at The Little Brown House and would love it if you would come and visit me!  Aren't I just full of shameless self-promotion these days?  I know.  I find it to be annoying, too.

So, while you are there, you should totes check out Ms. Brown House and her awesome blog.  She has an eye for decorating and has come up with some really neat projects.

Allow me to give you a sampling.

You know.

To whet your appetite.

What would you do, dear readers, if you had a plethora of coffee filters in your pantry?

Would you:

A)  Make LOTS of coffee . . . enough coffee to equip yourself to handle whatever challenges arise in your day?

OR

B)  Make this nifty wreath and have all peoples admire your work and rise and called you blessed:

Isn't that wreath cute?!  It's made simply out of coffee filters, I kid you not!

If you were me, you would, of course, choose A.  BUT, if you are Ms. Brown House, you would choose B!  And, if you were the aforementioned Ms. Brown House, you would be that much more awesome and have a cute, aesthetically pleasing house.

Unlike myself.  I have clogged toilets and these dreadful things adorning my walls:

Don't be jealous.

Thank you to The Little Brown House for featuring me today!  Please come and say hi over there and check out The Little Brown House.  It would help me feel a bit better about my shameless begging. 

Are you ready Mom and Dad?

Wait for it . . . wait for it . . .

CLICK HERE

Alright.  Now please go and get all handsome on the guest post.

(Did you see what I did just there?)

Thank you!  I really appreciate it!

 Happy Tuesday!

PS-Aren't I hyper today?  It's on account of all that coffee I am pouring into myself before the children wake up.  And it is delicious.  And I don't have any cute wreaths.  But at least I am perky . . .

for now.

Good Morning, Gil

You may recall that my husband loves to pick huckleberries.

He finds it enchanting.  

I find it dreadful.  Well, my husband also loves strawberry picking.  When we decided to go yesterday morning, there was a skip in his step and a song in his heart.  We picked for 45 minutes and reaped about 39 pounds.

You may exclaim: "Taylor!  What on earth will you DO with all those strawberries?"  Well, dear readers.  I make my own jam, because I am super on top of things.  We go through a pint of jam at least a week, so we need lots of berries to satisfy our household.

Lest any of you are too impressed, I have only made my own jam thrice.

Thrice is a fancy word to be used in place of saying"three times."  Feel free to steal it, as it is always impressive.  And one should alway strive to sound impressive, particularly if one is a homeschooling mother such as myself.  Sounding like you are fancy and knowledgeable helps ease the fret of the homeschooling naysayers.

So we picked and picked and then we, along with our bounty, had to get to my sister's birthday party straightaway.

Sister Meagan received a 4-man boat for her birthday.  4-man boat is always code for "maybe two adults can fit comfortably . . . maybe."

Here she is on her maiden voyage. 

(Meagan is on the left, friend Caylee on the right)

Ahoy!

I told her she needed to name her boat something fantastic like, "Ina May" and she looked at me like an insane crazy  person.  Whatever.  I think any decent boat should have a name.  My parents have a canoe.  Her name is "Nona."  If I get a boat, I am going to name her "Norma Jean Riley."  Even though I already named one of the rabbits that.  It is that fantastic of name.

Ina May floated like a champ.

My kids are like fish.  You cannot keep them from the water.  It is their lifeblood.

Good Morning, Gil.  I said, Good MORNING, GIL.

ha!  Name THAT movie.  Hilarious.

Here are my girls with their cousins in Ina May.  Did you notice how I just decided Sister Meagan's boat shall be called Ina May without her approval?  I am the big sister and it is my right to do so.

Handsome Dude was getting a bit impatient to eat a cupcake.

"Grams, can you put the fire on these so we can eat them?  I am hungry."

Ha!  He was talking about lighting the birthday candles.  Keep up!

You may recall that my mother is following the Weight Watchers diet.  And not for pretends, either!  So, she made cupcakes and a cake.  Brother Danny (he is my brother.  And his name is Danny.  Hence the name) is a little wary of my mother's baked goods as of late.

Mom:  Danny, would you like some cake?

Danny:  Umm . . . who made it?

Mom:  Me.

Danny:  Ummm . . .

So for all that sass, he had to try it.  Because she is still his mother and she said so. 

 

He was super excited.  Apparently it was a recipe where you take a cake mix and add a can of diet root beer, stir it up, and bake it.

I did not try it because I am pretending to be on Weight Watchers again and was hoping for frozen yogurt on the ride home.

And, I did get some.  Oh, yes I did.

We had joyous times and did not return to our homestead until about 10pm.  And, because my husband is a maniac, we had to clean/slice/bag/freeze all of those strawberries.

I didn't go to bed until 11:30pm!

Look at me and my party-animal self!

It's like I am back in my 20's again or something.