Pinterest Party: Fail-Proof Pizza Dough

I'm linking up with Our Front Door today!  Head on over to Our Front Door to link up or see other Pinterest Posts.

As I have mentioned a time or twenty, David and I lead a room of kindergarteners through second graders at church every Friday night.  David becomes quite spunky during this hour and has earned the nickname:  "Mr. Microphone."

If you know David, this is funny.  If you don't know David, well, you are probably super confused and wondering what on earth I am blabbing about.

David, aka Mr. Microphone, gets up onstage every week and warms the kids up with an opening question.  The point is to get the kids out of their seats and meeting new friends.  So, one week, he opens with this question:

"Find someone who goes to the same school as you do, and ask them what their favorite lunch is."

Now, as luck would have it, I was looking at my daughter, Daisy Mae, at the time he announced the opening question.  I watched her little face light up as she stood up to go and meet new kids.  Then she got a look of discouragement, such as this one:

and sat back down.

For you see, dear readers, we homeschool.  I had mercy on the poor girl's soul and went to her:

"Hey!  I go to the same school as you!"

*giggle, giggle, chuckle, chuckle*

And I asked her what her favorite school lunch was and she said without hesitation:

"Your homemade pizza!"

My kids do love it when I make pizza for lunch.  I have tried a few recipes and I like a couple of them.  But I saw on Pinterest the other day this pin for Fail-Proof Pizza Dough and Cheesy Garlic Breadsticks:

(Recipe Link and Image Source)

The above link will take you to another blog written by Lauren.  Lauren has a recipe for Fail-Proof pizza dough, along with a recipe to make Garlic Cheese Breadsticks using the pizza dough.  The other night, I knew we would be working on getting the garden ready until dark, so I threw some spaghetti sauce in the crockpot and got the dough for breadsticks ready and rising.  Then we went and worked for hours upon hours, because have you heard?  My husband is a slave driver.

I kid!  I jest!

I ran inside at 8pm and was able to prepare the breadsticks easily while the pasta was cooking!  They were delicious and tasted like something you would get at a restaurant.  I used the full recipe for dough, even though Lauren's recipe is for half of a recipe.  I did try to use less butter and cheese than she recommended.  Because I am the epitome of healthy habits.  And isn't epitome a fun word?  The answer is yes.  Yes, it is.

Here is a picture of my breadsticks:

They were gone in a flash!

So, I decided to give her dough a try for pizza one day for lunch.

The only thing I did differently was I used unsweetened applesauce in place of the oil.  I do this all the time with pizza dough and rolls and such.  My kids never notice and it cuts out a lot of fat.

Try it sometime.  Do it.  I dare you.

If you aren't sure about it, you could sub only half of the oil for unsweetened applesauce.  I did this, and then I just started trying out using the entire amount.  We think it is fine, but if I were making pizza for company, I probably would only use half.  Because I have great fears of others passing judgement on me.  Which is super healthy and completely normal.

Although, if I were you, I would try it with just my family before serving it to guests, just in case you don't find it to be as brilliant of an idea as I do.

And here my kids are, getting ready to enjoy their favorite "school lunch."

Sadly, the five of us eat that all in one meal.  Because we are dainty like that.

And now some links, for I know you loveth them.

Click here to go to Pinterest. 

Click here to go to my Pinterest account, as exciting as THAT is.

Click here to visit Lauren's site with the pizza dough/breadstick recipe.

Click here to go to Our Front Door to see what other Pinterest-y Pins bloggers are trying.

Later, Gators!

Fat Tuesday (oh darn)

Anyone interested in doing Fat Tuesday again with me?  Does anyone remember Fat Tuesday?  Is anyone even reading this?

Blogging.  Not for the paranoid.

Well, here's the sitch.  I am feeling like I need to get fit.  Because, hello?  I've never really been "fit," per say.  A long time ago, I started Fat Tuesday on this blog and people could check in on Tuesdays to see if they were meeting their goals.  Anywho, I was thinking of starting something up again.  And since misery loves company, I thought I would see if any of you would like to join me.

My plan is to set some goals and try with all my might to stick to something . . . anything . . . for one full month.

You may proclaim:  "Taylor!  One full month?!  There's no way you can do it!"

True, readers.  True.

But perhaps this time I shall.

So.  Here's the deal.  I will post some fitness/eating goals tomorrow for my first Fat Tuesday post.  I shall try my best to also be trying out healthy recipes and posting them on here.  You can join me if you'd like.  Or you can tune in on Tuesdays and giggle as each week I post things such as:

"Shoot!  I totally forgot I was supposed to be exercising all week!"

"Oops!  Ate three scoops of ice cream . . . twice."

"Oh!  Is it Tuesday already?!  I gained weight.  Again."

Come on.  You can't deny that I am inspiring.  Perhaps I shall be the next Jillian Micheals?

One can only hope.

But I would love it if you would like to join me!

Also, I am in need of some advice:

Shall I:

1)  Try running?

2)  Do the 30 day shred (oh for humanity!)?

3)  Do my eliptical trainer?

4)  Zumba it up?

Fun Fact:  I've had 5 knee surgeries.  So bear that in mind.

Okie dokes!  Let me know if you are in.

Or not.

The choice is yours.

Z is for The Zoo

When we first moved out here, we had Mabel.

  Three months later, Mabel died of kidney failure.  We were all very sad-Mabel had been with us for ten years.

To cheer the kids up, we got Lucy.

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Oh, don't let that cute puppy face fool you.  That dog turned into nothing but trouble.  She quickly earned the nickname: "LucyFur."  Do you get it?  Do you get it?

LucyFur was a wild beast that could not be tamed.  She was running around the "neighborhood" (and I use the term "neighborhood" quite loosely) chasing horses and cows and all sorts of large, expensive animals that owners tend to get a bit sensitive about.  We had to find a new home for Lucy before she got shot.

So, in short, we used to be a one pet family.  Not quite sure how this happened, but we currently have 70-80 animals.

Let us take a tour of Le Zoo Maliblahblah, shall we?

First, we have rabbits.  And lots of them.  Currently, we have 40, but at one point we had around  120.  Because, have you met my husband?  He is insane.


The kids and I have gotten to loathe the rabbits.


Rabbits are freaky.  If you think rabbits are all sweet, kind, and innocent, well, you have been misinformed my friend.

You have been misinformed.

The dads eat the babies.

The moms will eat the babies if the baby has a problem.

If the mom is hungry, cold, or scared, she will abandon her litter.

And then eat them.

They rip their hair out to create nests, sometimes drawing blood.

I'm telling you.  It's horrifying over here.

Plus, we are plum sick of them.


But for some reason, my husband dreams of being a rabbit farmer.  Because, haven't you heard?  Farming rabbits brings you great wealth and prestige.  The problem is that our rabbits aren't breeding.

?

We are simply at a loss as to how to encourage such amorous activities between rabbits.  Perhaps we need to play some Marvin Gaye songs to help set the stage?

But don't worry.  We take good care of our rabbits, even though we loathe them.

Oh, and we totes don't eat them.  We sell them.  Did you really think I could eat rabbit?  Hmmm?

Hmmm?

Next up is chickens.


I kind of like the chickens.  They are pretty low maintenance.  I have yet to touch one, however, as I find their wing-flapping to be a bit unsettling.

They do leave me lovely presents everyday.


Of which I am too disturbed to eat, because, have you heard?  I was never meant for country life.

We had turkeys for about a week.


But they were disturbing, to say the least.  They are in the freezer, which is better than their previous position of guarding the eggs and threatening us with instant death, what with their freaky, blue heads and slimy, dangly things.

Of course, I won't be able to eat the turkeys.  But I am sure someone will.

And what is a farm without your trusty dogs?

We have the world's laziest dogs-a nice change from LucyFur.

Tank


Miley


And don't forget Peter the Cat!


We also have a goldfish but this post has gone on long enough and I have no ambition to find a picture.

So, there you have it.  A zoo.

How many animals do you have?

Happy Monday!

Y is for Yesteryear

I have been working outside all day with my husband.  My leg muscles (yes!  I have leg muscles!  Who knew?!) are tingly and my arms feel like Jello.  I have tilled no less than 4,000 pounds of rabbit poo into my future garden.  My shoes are stinky.

Building fences and tilling gardens.  Not for the faint of heart.

I was just about to fall asleep when I remembered my dumb, needy blog and the letter "Y" post that had yet to be written.  Darn it all.  So, I made my husband fetch the computer because I did, afterall, dig trenches and the like today and he hardly lifted a finger.

I kid!  I jest!  He is the muscles behind all of the goings on here.

I also forced him to basically come up with today's post.  Because he cares a lot about blogging, didn't you know?

A few days ago, I posted a list about how my husband has changed from when I first met him.  Lisa commented:

I think you should have the LJ do 10 points on how you’ve changed . . . it’d be mighty interesting!

Brilliant idea, Lisa!  So, without further ado, here is a list of how David says I have changed since when he first met me:

1.  She digs ditches and does more physical labor outside.

2.  She doesn't shop at Abercrombie and Fitch of Gap anymore.

3.  She owns rabbits and chickens.

4.  She knows how to drive a 4-wheel drive vehicle.

5.  She knows what a fertilized egg is.

6.  She now knows the difference between a cow, bull, and a steer.

I used to, but I forgot.  But we'll let him think I remembered.  I think a steer is "less of a man" than a bull.  But who really cares?  Honestly.

7.  She lives in Ruralville and not in a subdivision.

8.  Her hair is darker.

9.  She knows how to can food.

10.  She makes her own bread.

So, there you have it.  A most exciting post on a Saturday night if there ever was one.

I am absolutely exhausted and have a cold something fierce.  I need to get some beauty sleep so the fun can continue tomorrow.

Goodnight, all!

X is for eXasperating

No.  That's totes not cheating either.

I am feeling cranky today . . . eXasperated, if you will.  Here is a list of all the irksome things that are irking me today.

1.  I haven't been sleeping well.  I blame Peter the Cat.  He has been attacking my head in the night, because, apparently, my head is a ferocious beast.

Have you ever been sound asleep and have a kitten, who imagines himself to be a fierce lion, pounce on your head?

It's a treat.  Please experience it immediately.

2.  I cannot be certain, but we all might be getting sick.  This is never fun.

3.  Somebody stole the lawn mower from our rental house.

Hooligans.

4.  I have to drive the truck into town tonight.  This is always stressful for me.  Remember the last time I had to take the truck?

5.  The chickens keep getting out.  I find this quite vexing.  I wouldn't care, but Tank and Miley, our faithful dogs, find it to be their duty to slaughter all chickens.

One chicken has died, two have been saved, albeit slightly chewed on.

6.  I have been cleaning our rental.  Cleaning up after other people in a house that used to be your own is always disconcerting.  I found some "questionable paraphernalia."

And we'll just leave it at that.

7)  The kids keep closing the door to the bathroom where the kitten's litter box is.  Thusly (is thusly a word?  I care not), the kitten has been leaving me special presents around the house.

You know what's fun?  I found poop on the floor by the toilet and I had to try and ascertain whether it was:

A)  Little Dude

B) Handsome Dude

C)  Tank

D)  Miley

E)  Peter

That was quite the investigation, let me tell you.

So.  I am going to make some tea with honey to soothe my poor, scratchy throat and show you some pictures.

Please try and feign interest.

  From Left to Right:  Miley, Peter, Little Dude, and Sweet Pea.

Pop Quiz Hot Shots:  How many items can you find in this picture that AREN'T put away?  Which is odd since the children assured me all their messes had been cleaned up.

Fun Fact:  Little Dude walks around the house repeat/shouting:

"Children (except it sounds like "Trilldren") obey your parents in da Lord."

And, yet, he does not.  Ever.  Nope.

Daisy Mae and I are trying out a new curriculum for grammar, as if her life could not be any more exciting.  She begged and begged all morning to do it.

So, we did it.  And at one point she had to use a dictionary and I don't think her day could have gotten much better.

< >

Me:  Why are you so happy?

Daisy Mae:  I just LOVE dictionaries!

I know, I know.  It's probably because she is homeschooled.  Note to self: need to get the child out more.

Alright.  That's all I got.  Aren't you glad you made the trip over to my blog today?  I didn't waste your time at all, did I?

Tell me, dear readers:

1)  Got any plans for the weekend?  We are (surprise, surprise) working on more fencing.

2)  Do dictionaries rock your world?

3)  Have you ever had a kitten attack you at 2am?

4)  Do you like driving ginormous, fickle trucks with a manual transmission and four "spirited" children?

Later gators.

W is for Where's Waldo

This posting-everyday-nonsense is kicking my hiney.  I can't do it!  I repeat!  I can't do it!  There are kids to be schooled, fish to be flushed, eggs to be gathered, and turkeys to be butchered.

And would not BELIEVE what my floors look like right now.

Marian came up with "Waldo" for "W" and I could just kiss her.  It reminded me of this post from the days of yore.  And, yes.  I am reposting.  Again.  No!  It is not cheating.  It is called "Thinking Outside the Box."  And it is brilliant.

This post was written two years ago-David and I took a trip to Cancun without kids to celebrate our 10th anniversary.  I wrote a plethora of posts regarding the trip, but this one was conveniently named "Where's Waldo."  Which works out quite well for my "W" day.

***

(originally written on March 2, 2010)

Alright.

So, we boarded the plane and no arrests were made.

(Confused? Click here to catch up!)

When we finally made it to Cancun, we had to wait in line at customs for 2 entire hours. And I had not eaten lunch. These sorts of things make me cranky.

We finally made it through all the rigamaroo and we tried to leave the airport.

But, no. That would not be an easy task. This was when all the kind peoples stopped us to ask us if we were honeymooners.

Don't they understand that Taylor gets cranky when she has not eaten?

We get to our hotel and after a very confusing check-in procedure, they slap on our all-inclusive bracelets and send us on our way.

Food!

This means we can eat!

But, wait.  We must get stopped again.

And now, dear readers, I present to you:

Our Conversation with the 9th person to stop and ask us this very question on this hungry, hungry day:

"Hola, honeymooners! Welcome!"

"No, no. Not our honeymoon."

"What!? Why are you here?"

"Anniversary."

"Bien! Bien! Verde muchos los tortillas muy bienvenidos!"

Interruption: I am simply making stuff up here.

Reminder: Me no habla espanol and me no remember espanol.

"Yes. Our 10 year anniversary!"

"What!? No, no no! How old are you, sir?"

"29"

And, no.

He does not care how old I am.

"You look so young, Senor! I am 31 and have one bambino."

Interruption: 100 (meaningless) points to anyone who can tell me what the Spanish word for baby is.

I went with bambino.

You go with your gut.

"We have four bambinos!"

"What? No!"

"Yes!"

"Tell me, Senors, are you going on any tours while in Cancun?

I would like to tour one of your fine restaurants, Senor Blabs-a-Lot.

"Um . . . maybe?"

"Well, if you book it with the hotel, you can receive 60%off the tour price! Does that sound good? No?"

"Yeah. Sounds great!"

"Ok. What time you want to come for meeting tomorrow? 8:30? 9:30?"

"Um . . . ."

"Just quick presentation for 90 minutes. You just listen. Then you get discount. You have credit card?"

Danger, Lumberjack! Danger! I sense a scheme!

"Yes."

"Visa? Mastercard?"

"Um . . . Mastercard?"

"Muy bien! Muy bien! Ok. You leave me deposit of five U.S. dollars and if you come back you can have them back."

Hmmm . . . .

"Alright. Here you go."

Yes.

The Lumberjack handed him 5 $1 bills.

No.

I did not try to talk him out of it.

I was too hungry to care.

"Wonderful! Bien! Fajitas! Anaranjado! And if you need anything else you come find me, no?"

"Ok, sounds good!"

Can we eat now? Me no eat since 0400.

"My name is Waaaaaaaalllllllll-Do . . . ok?"

"Ok? What?"

"You know. Like funny American cartoon man with stripey shirt? Where am I? Where did I go?"

"Waldo! Right! Ok, Waldo! See you later!"

"Si! Waldo! Ok. One more thing Senor. Can I call you in the morning to remind you about your presentation?"

"Sure."

"Wonderful! Miercoles! Frijoles! Adios!"

Now, folks.

It is the moment we have been waiting for.

Dinner.

Oh.

My.

Good.

Ness.

Do not put a starving girl in front of a delicious all you can eat buffet and tell her it is free.

And then don't tell her there is also a menu she can order off of for free.

And please, please, have mercy upon her jeans and do not inform her that she can also order room service any time she would like.

For free.

It was a glorious meal.

And I ate.

A lot.

***

We go to the secret presentation meeting place where we are certain to be scammed.

No Waldo.

Where's Waldo!?

Oh, I crack myself up.

A kind lady who seems up to par with Waldo's shenanigans leads us to a secret waiting room.

Where we wait.

Then we have to follow a man named Carlos into the restaurant.

I like Carlos.

Carlos gets me.

Carlos: Please. Eat your breakfast. I wait presentation for you.

Sounds good, Carlos.

Sounds good.

Carlos: You like this place, no?

Us: Yes! It is very nice!

Carlos: And you like hotel, no?

Us: Lovely!

Carlos: Tell me. Just how important is travel to you. And do not consider money.

Mayday! Mayday!

Us: Um . . . well, we like it. It is hard to go. It gets expensive-

Carlos: No! Don't consider money!

Well, Carlos.

I do not appreciate your tone.

LJ (Lumberjack. Keep up!): It is very important.

Carlos: That is what I thought. Where do you want to go in this life?

Us: Um . . . .

I want to go to the beach.

Carlos: Europe? Australia? Hawaii?

LJ: Maybe Alaska?

Carlos: Hmm . . . .but also Europe?

LJ: Ok.

Carlos: My job is to guarantee you 50 years worth of vacations. Would you like to go on vacations for 50 years?

Us: Um . . . .

Carlos: It does not matter to me where you go. Hawaii? Italy? It is your problem. You want to go to Disneyland? It is your problem. Not mine.

Ha! He kept telling me everything was "my problem."  It was humorous.

Next, Carlos leads us to a secret pyramid located in our hotel.  Only the extraordinary members of this special and elite club are eligible to stay in this pyramid.

He shows us rooms that have kitchens and living rooms and hot tubs in them.

They are divine.

They are exquisite.

They are expensive.

Carlos leads us back to a secret club meeting room full of other potential club members.

Carlos has been studying us this whole time.

And Carlos has come up with the perfect vacation plan package for us.

And guess what!?

It is only $78,000 US dollars!

Amazing!

But, wait!

It gets better!

We only need to come up with $38,000 right now and then we can make monthly payments of $1800 from now until eternity.

I can see why they are offering us this package.

Clearly, we are . . .

Upper Class.

But, wait! There's even more!

Everytime somebody else in that room joined this club, they would all cheer and pop open a bottle of champagne.

And this happened at least 3 times while we were in there.

Who are these people?

What do these people do?

Who can afford this stuff?

Where's Waldo?

Sadly, we had to break it to Carlos, that no, we cannot afford his vacation plan.  Carlos was a nice guy. We felt bad that he wasted his time on us.

We held our heads up high, walked past the gloating rich peoples sipping their champagne, and collected our 5 $1 bills.

And did we get our discount on the tour?

You better believe it.

We did not sit through 2 hours of humiliation for nothing.

We milked that presentation for all it was worth . . .

and went snorkeling!

Then we ate.

Then we relaxed.

Then we ate.

Then we relaxed.

Then we ordered nachos by the pool.

Because they were free.

Then we relaxed.

Then we ate.

And then it was time to eat again.

Before I go, I just must share with you this HI-larious picture.

Why, yes!  I'm glad you asked!  That would be a random local giving my husband bunny ears while I was trying to take his picture.

De Nada!

Bibliotecha!

Leche!

Fresa!

Pinterest!

In May, I am joining a group of bloggers who will be trying out things from Pinterest and posting the results on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

If anyone else would like to participate, you can read all about it on Mindee's blog.

Click here.

Thanks!

I'll be back later today with a "W" post.  Although I have NO idea what "W" will be for . . .

Here's to hoping that something "W"-ish will happen in the next couple of hours!

V is for Vent

At the beginning of this A to Z challenge, I had a couple of requests for the "Psycho Daddy with a Newborn" story.  It was one of the first posts I ever wrote . . .plus it really helps out with the letter "V" . . . a tricky letter if there ever was one.

***

 

I was a stupid new mom.

You might think I am a stupid old mom, too, but keep that to yourself.  I had no idea what was coming when my daughter was born.I had no clue what the meaning of the word "tired" was, until she came along.This child completely had her days and nights mixed up.

She was up ALL NIGHT LONG.

And each day I was growing more and more deliriously tired.

My mom called me one afternoon: "Hi! How's it going over there?"

"Horrible!" I snapped. "I got 1 1/2 hours of sleep. I am never having any more kids. Never. Why do people do this again? Are they STUPID?"

Never having any more kids. Ha!

I began to loathe the Lumberjack each night around 10pm.

He would happily brush his teeth and then come into the living room where I was imprisoned by this fussy and very awake newborn.

"Goodnight!" he would smile.

Oh. I would just want to throw my Boppy pillow at him.

He made it sound so easy.

Goodnight.

"Hope we're not too loud for you." I would say.

"Nope!"

And off he would go . . . to bed . . . to sleep . . . for 8 hours solid.

Traitor.

He would stumble out of the bedroom at 6am, and there I would be, either nursing or rocking the child, and fuming that I had not EVEN been to bed yet.

And then HE would take a nice, long, hot, uninterrupted shower, get dressed and head off to work with adults.

And there I would still be.

On the couch.

With a baby.

No shower.

No sleep.

No adults.

Not dressed.

And the most annoying part was that people kept making comments to me like:

"Your poor husband. He is so tired. He needs more sleep."

What?!

Yes.

Let's feel bad for the guy who gets 8 hours of sleep and gets to LEAVE.

Never mind the tired new mom.

Remember her?

The gal who had to spend 22 hours in labor before giving birth to this screaming creature?

The same gal who now has to breastfeed (and she HATES breastfeeding) around the clock?

Remember her?

Anyone?

Please.

I did not like this new arrangement in life. I found it quite unfair.

So, I told him we needed a new arrangement.

He agreed and said that he would go to bed at 10pm and then if at 2am, I was still up, we would switch.

Fine, I said.

So, that is what I did.

At 2am, I went and woke him up.

And on that night, I discovered something about my Lumberjack that I had not yet known in our 2 1/2 years of marriage:

The Lumberjack is INSANE.

It's 2 am and his turn.

I wake him up.

He does not understand what is going on.

He does not know where he is.

He might not even be sure of who I am.

He makes weird grunting noises, rolls over, and goes back to sleep.

I do not find this cute.

I attempt to wake him up again:

"Hello! You said you would take her at 2am so I could sleep!"

"HHHMMMPPPHHHH."

He dramatically threw all the blankets off of himself and stomped out of the room, and then he went into the bathroom.

And just sat on the toilet.

With the toilet lid down.

Fully clothed.

Just sat there.

"Ahem! Can you take her?"

Still sitting.

The baby was extremely fussy at this point in the evening.

Knowing what I know now, the child just needed to be laid down in her crib, cry for 2.5 minutes, and she would be off to lala land.

But I was a stupid new mom and was sure she needed to be held every second of every cry.

So, while Mr. Lumberjack was taking a moment to "reflect" while sitting on a toilet, I was trying everything I could think of to calm the baby down.

Finally, LJ let's out a big sigh, and walks over to me:

"Give her to me," he says in a very sassy voice.

This was also new to me.

Now I hear it often: LJ's too tired and insane SASSY voice.

It is quite annoying.

But I have come to realize, that if he is using the sassy voice, it isn't the real LJ.

It is the insane LJ.

And I should just ignore it and let him go back to sleep.  Because he truly is not himself.

And he will not remember one bit of this the next day.

He's not a bad guy.

He's actually quite wonderful. And handsome, I might add.

He's just insane in the middle of the night.

"What are you going to do with her?" I am not sure of this new, sassy husband of mine.

"Fix her."

"How?"

"Just give her to me."

"I want to know what you are going to do first."

"Give me the super glue."

"Are you serious?"

"Huh?"

"You can't superglue a baby!"

"She'll stop crying, won't she?"

It is at this point that I now fear for my child's life.

He snatches her from me and says,

"Go get some sleep."

Right.

I watch him for awhile.

He lays down on the couch with her on his chest.

She is furious.

He begins to hum extremely loudly and just kind of move her up and down with his arm.

And then he falls asleep . . . while she is flailing and screaming.

I am not okay with this.  This is not safe.

So, I go and wake him up:

"You are doing this wrong! You can't sleep with her awake on top of you! What if she falls?"

He finds me to be quite annoying at this hour.

He is mad that I am up and he is up.

Somebody needs to be asleep.

So, he banished me to our room.

For the life of me, I could not go to sleep.

You can understand why, can't you?

Well, about 30 minutes later, he came back into the room, alone, and got into bed.

"Where is the baby?"

"You know where she is."

"No, I don't."

"Yes."

"No. Where is she?"

"Where she always is!" the sassy voice was very much back.

"And where is that!?" this poor newborn was sleeping somewhere new every night: bassinet, swing, car seat, crib, wherever. We just wanted sleep!

"Uh!" he is quite annoyed with me. And sassy. "She is in the vent."

At this news, I jump out of bed and frantically search the house to find my precious baby who I mistakenly left in the care of her insane father.

Checked the swing: no baby.

Checked the car seat: no baby.

Checked the bassinet: no baby.

Checked the vent: no baby.

Checked the crib: sleeping baby!

Kind of sad that an insane, sassy father can get a newborn to sleep in her crib in the middle of the night . . . something I could not accomplish yet as a stupid, new mom.

From then on, I did not ask the Lumberjack to help me in the middle of the night.

I did not ask him to help with each subsequent child, either.

Our marriage would never survive it.

But when he is awake and alert, he is very loving, very helpful, and very attentive.

And not one bit sassy . . . most of the time.

 

U is for Underpants. Captain Underpants.

It's no secret that my boy is a free spirit.  He's never too concerned with clothing himself.  In fact, this child went outside, stripped completely naked, and joyously jumped on the trampoline for all the world to see.

Fortunately, we don't live near "people."

So, it was no surprise to me to see Little Dude outside chasing loose chickens, wearing just a shirt, his underpants, and rubber boots.

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Pants.  Who needs them?

Chasing chickens.  It's the boys' new favorite pastime.  Did you know chickens dig holes and sneak under fences?  Because I have nothing better to do than run around filling holes with dirt.

Did you know that filling in holes with dirt makes a gal ueber sweaty?

Ask me how I know.

Little Dude is one with the animals.  He will oft sneak into the coop, forgoing pants of course,  and visit the chickens.

Word on the street is the rooster did not appreciate his visit and kicked Little Dude in the hiney.

Roosters.  Not ones to be messed with.

In OTHER animal news (have you heard?  we have a zoo), Peter the kitten is still alive.  I have declared it a rule that Little Dude may not hold Peter without adult supervision.


Sure.  Peter looks calm.  But inside he is screaming:

"Save me!  Oh, the horror!  The horror!"

***

"B" left this comment and I thought it was time for a little step back in time:

Did you and David have any of these discussions before you married (she is referring to the fact that David "takes care of turkeys" and I can't hardly stand the thought of meat anymore)….how long did you date?
Did you know he wanted to be the farmer in the dell? Do your children know that little ditty? Do they think it is your family?

Well, dear readers.  The David of today is not the same David of yesteryear.  Here are some fun facts about the David I dated:

1)  He went to tanning salons.  For to tan.

2)  He highlighted his hair.  Actually, he had ME highlight his hair.  And my grandmother walked into the kitchen while I was playing beauty parlor with my fiance and grumbled:

"I didn't know my granddaughter was marrying a sissy."

True story.

3)  He thought it was "uncool" to listen to country music.

4)  We planned day trips to the nearest Old Navy . . . which was 3 hours away at that time.  And we both loved to shop there.

5)  We also shopped at The Gap and Abercrombie and Fitch.  Now, we shop and feed and farm stores.  So,  yeah.  Be jealous of that.

6)  He did not hunt.

7)  He did not drive a truck.

8)  He owned nothing Carhartt.

9)  He took swing dance class with me in college.

10)  His ebay username contained the name "JCrew" in it.  Because he was such a fan.  Of JCrew.

I know none of you will believe any of this.  But I speak the truth.

We dated for two years before we wed.

So, yeah.  That's why I am generally in a state of confusion over here.

And, because I am so good at remembering this, let's do a COW.


Deb wrote this after I posted on David's reckless free chicken spree, when we were not yet ready for chickens.

Good gravy, Taylor.

I mean, really.

I hope that man knows how lucky he is.

Holla, Deb!  Holla!

I showed it to David.  He seemed unimpressed.  But I think it should be framed.

Yes.  Yes, I do.

PS-He knows.  Trust me.  No sane woman would have moved to Ruralville.  And the locals know exactly what I am talking about.

PPS-Lest there be any confusion, I love my husband a great deal.  And although I oft joke about my life, I am very lucky and blessed.

Later, dudes.

Kendra Update

Thank you to everyone who is praying for Kendra and who left kind messages for her last week.    Please continue to pray for her, and especially her four children who are without mom and dad right now and are getting anxious. My friend, Angela, who introduced me to Kendra, has posted an update on Kendra's health.  Angela is in touch with the family and has more information that I do.

Click here to read that post.

Thank you!

T is for Toodle-oo, Tom!

So.  My husband, in the spirit of my husband, found a smokin' deal on Craigslist last week and got an entire flock of chickens for free.  The deal was, however, that he had to take the guy's turkeys, too.  And since that fateful night, we have been dealing with the terror that is Tom.   Tom is not nice . . .  not a "kindred spirit," if you will.  He is a terrifying and ferocious beast with an odd, blue head.  And I like him not.

On Friday, the girls came into the house and happily announced that Tom (the turkey of course . . . please, try to keep up) had turned a new leaf.

Sweet Pea: Mom!  He didn't even yell at us!  He just sat there and let us get the eggs!

Me:  Huh?  Maybe he just needed time to get used to us?

So, we were full of warm fuzzies for our new-found friend, Tom.  Although, to be fair, if someone were to call from The Craigslist, I would have made them quite the deal right then and there.

Over our camping trip, the girls shared this exciting news with my parents.

Me:  David!  Did I tell you?  The turkey was nice today!

David:  Yeah.  I think his legs are broken.

Me and the girls:  *gasp!*  Oh, no!

Because, remember?  He was our new friend.  For five minutes.

Well, folks.  Tom was fat.  He was a certain type of turkey that was bred for his large-ness.  Turns out they are so heavy, they can no longer reproduce naturally and the only way to get babies is to take them to a vet for a little "artificial insemination."

And who has time for that nonsense?

But, anyways.  Tom's girth ended up being his demise and his legs could no longer handle it.

Ok, even though I loathed Tom, isn't that kind of sad?  Poor Tom.  So, my husband left the camp site and, allow me to put this delicately, "took care of Tom."

I'm still getting used to the idea that I'm married to someone who "takes care of things."  Oh, to live in the city.

Tom is in our freezer, now adding turkey to the list of foods I cannot stomach to eat any longer.

Folks, country life is killing me.  I can't hardly eat meat anymore.  I was a fan of chicken, but now I have chickens.  And they are so . . . winged.

I was ok with eggs.  But, oh the poo-poo on the eggs.

David was making a joke about getting a cow.

Me:  A beef cow or a dairy cow?

David:  Beef.

Me:  Oh, good.  I'm not ready to give up milk yet.  It's my only source of protein these days.

Oh!  And my main man is taking all the rabbit poop and dumping it in the garden site because, apparently, rabbit poop makes your vegetables sing.

So, now I can't eat stuff out of my garden.

I'm just going to live off of Cheetos or something.

***

Camping.

Camping was fun and lovely.  We totally don't "rough it," so please don't feel too badly for me.  We went to a site where we could just plug our trailers in.  Plus, while David went home to "take care of Tom" (shudder), the rest of us went to a nearby town to do a little shopping!

Camping shopping!  Try it!  It's all the rage!

We even popped some corn and watched a DVD in my parents' trailer.  So, yeah.  Not so rough.

Here are some pictures of our trip.  You know.  To delight you.   Sweet Pea and my mother.

  David, Daisy Mae, and Little Dude.

Me:  David.  Could you please try and attempt to look like you somewhat enjoy your life?

  Is anyone else surprised that I actually got him to look somewhat pleasant?

  Daisy Mae and I

  My parents.

  One of our many attempts to get a decent family photo.

As you can see, it was a gorgeous weekend.

***

And, finally, I would like to leave you with the following convo between my mother and I.  My purpose in sharing this with you is to show you my roots and to give you a better understanding as to why I sometimes have a hard time with the country life and all the glory it entails.

Me:  I want to get rid of our rooster.

Mom:  Why?

Me:  I'm a bit weirded out by the whole fertilized eggs thing.

Mom:  That makes no sense to me.

Me:  Well, since there is a rooster, the eggs are fertilized.

Mom:  Don't get it.

So, now I get to try and explain the birds and bees to mother.  Which is an odd turn of events, don't you think?  Plus, I have four children running around, so I need to put things "delicately."

Me:  Well, mom . . . the rooster . . . he's the boy . . . ?

Mom:   Ok?

Me:  So, if we let a hen sit on that egg for awhile it will turn into a baby.

Mom:  And wouldn't that always happen?

Me:  No.  You need the rooster . . .

Mom:  Are you telling me that hens lay eggs no matter what?!

Me:  Yes!  They will lay an egg with or without a rooster.

Mom:  I did not know that!

Me:  So, if you don't have a rooster, you won't get a baby chicken.

Mom:  Huh!?

And there you have it.  A little glimpse into why I am that way that I am.

Happy Monday!

Ridiculous and Sweet

I'm going to cheat and combine my "R" and "S" posts.  I KNOW!  I am such a rebel.  But herein lies the truth:

I HAVE to go camping this weekend.  And blogging is generally frowned upon when one is trying to "rough it" out in the wilderness.  Although I am totes bringing my hair dryer, and I am not ashamed to admit it.

Let us all sing praises of thanksgiving that my husband, David Maliblahblah, bought a trailer with a generator.  And don't judge me for bringing a hairdryer.  Its probably going to be about 40 degrees tomorrow morning and a gal can't have wet hair whilst being in the 40 degree weather.  And don't judge me for showering either.  Or bringing my coffee pot.

Not everyone can "rough it" like we can.

I know what you are thinking.  "Taylor!  How exactly will you be 'roughing it?'"

Well.  My curling iron shall be left behind.  Feel badly for me.

The astute reader might recall that we had to go camping last April for my dad's birthday.  I wrote about it in a post aptly named:

"Camping in April."

As if I could not be any more creative with the titles of my posts.

The astute reader might also recall that we had some trouble last year with getting our trailer hauled out of the spring muck.  Well, we had the same problem this year.

So.  This was my husband's plan.

Little Dude:  Dad?  Why does mother always insist on photographing things?

David:  Because she is insane, son.

So, I have to drive the truck, which is of course, towing the trailer, and the bulldozer has to tow the truck.  Its like a train.  Yes.  A redneck, hillbilly, camping-fun train.

I spend the entire time praying for my life.  I do not enjoy this Tom Foolery that my husband seems to always get us in.  But the trailer is out of the mud and I am supposed to be packing it.  But here I am, drinking coffee and blogging.

I'm a little concerned as to how we shall camp in the future with our newly-founded farm.  Because, oh!, did I tell you?  David brought home NINE MORE CHICKENS last night.  I think he needs to see a professional.  I'm like Dr. Doolittle over here.  I think we have about 40 rabbits, 33 chickens, 2 dogs, 2 goldfish, 1 kitten, and two turkeys.

Yes.  Tom is still with us.

Unfortunately, we are not getting bombarded with interested Craigslist-callers as I had originally anticipated.

I don't think I really even like animals.  Yet, here I am.  Running my own zoo.

Let's talk about the kitten, shall we?  Oh, and FYI:  The "R" in ridiculous was for how ridiculous life is and the "S" is for Sweet as in, oh the kitten is so sweet.

Yes.  My girls oft steal my camera and take no less than 4.2 million photographs.  And, yes.  Sweet Pea is feigning sleep.  But she is such a good actress, I bet you couldn't tell.  And, no.  Sweet Pea does not believe in using pillowcases.  I wash my hands of it.

Handsome Dude was so excited that cat was a boy.  He promptly named him "Peter."

Why?  I cannot be certain.

I think Peter fears for his life.  And rightly so.  I've decided we need round-the clock babysitters for Peter.  Because I think Little Dude shall kill him.  Little Dude is not gentle, folks.  But we are surviving.  Peter is still alive.  And the girls are learning to do their schoolwork with a kitten on their laps.

Before I go on my FREEZING camping trip, I shall leave you with a little pop quiz.

Please.  Try to contain your excitement.

Which of the following did my boys do?

A)  Stuff the kitten in a toy "pet carrier" and accidentally drop it down the stairs?

B)  Give the kitten a haircut.

C)  Take kitten food and scatter it all over my bed to try and give the kitten a snack.

D)  All of the above.

Yes.  Let us all be concerned for the safety of the kitten.

This is Mrs. Dr. Dolittle signing off, hoping everyone is jealous of her upcoming camping trip.

Later.

Q is for Quietness

One of the best parts of blogging is getting to meet new friends.  I joke with my husband that some of my blogging friends are starting to replace some of my "in person" friends! But, truly, it has been such a blessing to me to get to meet new people and have people to share my life with.

One such friend is Kendra.  She and I have been visiting each other's blogs for over two years now.  She, like me, homeschools four children, although she seems to have things a bit more under control that I do.  She also shares many wonderful recipes and has a warm, kind heart.

Kendra is now fighting for her life.  I have copied this from an update I received from someone else:

"On Sunday, April 15th, Kendra had an adverse reaction to a medication.  She began having a hard time speaking and moving, so she was rushed to the Emergency Room.   Doctors discovered that she had suffered from several mini strokes."

She is now in a hospital far, far away from her four children, fighting hard to recover.

Will you join me in praying for my friend?  I am going to print this post out and mail it to her.  If any of you would like to leave a comment of encouragement or a verse for her, I am sure she would appreciate it.

Before I go, I wanted to share with you something that Kendra wrote when she was a contributing author for a website called Those with Young.

(this is being posted with permission by the owner of Those with Young)

Recently, I found myself getting grumpy and out of sorts over mundane tasks. and chores around my home.

I was wiping a very sticky table down for the 147th time that day. Well, maybe the 5th time, but who's counting...

In the midst of my grumpiness, I realized the history of that table was something that should bring me joy.

My husband and I bought that table in the early years of our marriage. I wanted a small 4 seater. He wanted a 6 seater. His reason was, "One day we are going to fill those chairs."

I laughed at him.

A few years later, I was told we would never conceive children "on our own". That table became a sore spot for me. I prayed to fill just one more seat at the table. I begged, cried, and eventually bent to God's will. I thought the table would seat 2 forever.

13 years (and 4 children) after we bought that table, it had become a sore spot because it was always a mess. It was full, overflowing to be precise, and it was always sticky, chunky, and a plain ol' disaster.

Then, I realized that table should be a source of praise for me. Each time I clean the sticky chunks off of the table, I need to offer praises and thanks for two things: 1- the children that make the sticky mess and 2- the food that the children use to make that sticky mess.

It humbled me to address my grumbling spirit and put it to rights.

I found these verses:

2 Kings 25:28-30 (NIV)

He spoke kindly to him and gave him a seat of honor higher than those of the other kings who were with him in Babylon. ²⁹So Jehoiachin put aside his prison clothes and for the rest of his life ate regularly at the king's table. ³⁰Day by day the king gave Jehoiachin a regular allowance as long as he lived.

Now, I am not in prison, but I was treating my table as if it were a punishment. I want to be like Jehoiachin and put aside my grumbling. I am eating a table provided by, and filled to overflowing by THE KING. For that, I am going to choose to be thankful. My "allowance" is the joy that God has given my heart, should I choose to accept thankfulness over grumpiness...

...even when I have to figure out how to wipe crayon, glue, syrup, and dried rice off of the top of the table!!

Is there a spot in your home that brings you grief?

Please join me this week as I travel around the home, trying to find Joy in the items/places I see each and every mundane day.