A Menagerie of Cleaning Supplies

I am going to try and be a more responsible blogger (for reals!  or realz-whichever you prefer) and post the COW more regularly.

Shall we take bets on how long this little phase of mine will last?  Hmmm?  Hmmm?

Does anyone even remember what COW stands for?  Probably not.

This week's COW goes to Lisa Buchanan with her comment on The Camping Summation:

Speaking of diarrhea on couches . . . I happen to be sitting next to some AS WE SPEAK. Only mine isn’t doggie diarrhea . . . it’s poor sick oldest boy diarrhea. And yes, he did it last evening and I, being the excellent house keeper that I am, LEFT IT THERE OVER NIGHT. Why? Because after my baseball tournament slash camping weekend, I. Am. Beat. and just wanted bed. So, your story hit real close to home for me. Like real close. I can smell it, in fact. I, however, will not have the luxury of two Holla-Girls-Holla to clean it for me. That will be me. And, my couch will be undressed all day being washed so we will have no place to sit and read Sonlight for school. No place. School closed is for the day.

Can we not all agree that Lisa deserves the COW simply for the fact that we must all feel very, very badly for her?  Yes?  No?  Yes?

Yes.  The answer is yes.

Let this be a lesson to all campers:  Always carry a menagerie of cleaning supplies in your trailer.

Thank you.

I will be back in a bit with a post.

And that makes God sad.

This week has been busy!  I decided to look up on the calendar when our last day of school was and guess what?!

It's today!

Let us take a moment to stop and hear the angels singing.

We worked hard Monday and Tuesday to finish the new rabbit fences.  We have been using hutches, but decided to give them more of a fenced in yard so they can run around. We have been working on the fencing for their yards-we have five areas for them. Did you know we raise rabbits?  Yes. We are weirder than you think.  Tuesday we worked until 9pm to get it all finished up.

Towards the end, David had to pull the rabbits out and determine their gender before putting them in the appropriate stalls.

Sweet Pea is socializing with the rabbits who are awaiting an escort to their exciting, new locale.

Please notice the one rabbit who is about to make a jump for it.  He/She senses freedom.

No!

I do not know how to "sex" a rabbit.  We've been through this.  Don't you people listen to me?

I opted to pick up tools and the like instead of stare into the private areas of a rabbit like my husband.  Clearly, I am the smarter one.

The kids were off the charts excited.

I don't know why they found this so thrilling.  But they are homeschooled and don't get out much, so what can you do?

The kids were so excited to visit the rabbits the next morning, so after breakfast they all went out to see them.  While I was doing the breakfast dishes, Little Dude came inside to inform me of the horrors that were ensuing outside.

Little Dude, shouting as per his usual custom:  MMMMOOOOMMM!  Hey-hey-hey-hey-hey-Mom?  MOM!

Me:  Yes?

Little Dude (still shouting):  TANK AND . . . TANK AND . . . TANK AND . . . TANK AND MILEY ATE A WABBIT!

Me:  The dogs got a rabbit?!

Little Dude (about to explode from his own volume):  YES! AND THAT MAKES GOD SAD, RIGHT MOM?  RIGHT?  RIGHT?

Little Dude spoke the truth.  But the biggest problem was that the rabbit was not all the way dead.  It was going to die, but it was not there yet.

These are the things I did not sign up for, my friends.  I don't think I can "put an animal out of its misery."  Besides, I don't have any suitable firearms.  Nor do I want any.  So while I started to panic over THAT issue, the girls got the naughty dogs into the house.

And then this is what I hear.

"Blood!  Blood is everywhere!"

Which is what every mother wants to hear.  I don't know what happened, but Tank the Dog injured his foot while slaying the rabbit and was bleeding.  So I got the dog contained and the wound looked at, because I am Dr Quinn Medicine Woman now, and then looked at the rabbit sitch.

The rabbit died on its own.  Which is sad, but good, because I did not want it to suffer, but I did not want to have to figure out a way to kill it.

So, yesterday was full of much excitement and we didn't start school until 10am.  And maybe I won't complain about teaching math and grammar anymore because dealing with injured dogs and dying rabbits is much worse.

And that makes God sad, right readers?

Right?

RIGHT?

***

On Tuesday, I asked why Tamaracks were important.

Reader Wichiepoo got the answer right first:  Tamarack is, according to my lumberjack, the best firewood out there.

Holla, Wichiepoo!

***

Yesterday, when I was checking on the rabbits, I noticed this little bit of excitement:

See all that gray/white fluff?  That is rabbit hair.  But underneath it are six live newborn rabbits!

The astute reader might recall awhile back that the girls informed me of a rabbit giving birth.   I had asked David about it later that night, and he said no rabbits had been born.

I found this to be odd, but I forgot to talk to the girls about it.

So, yesterday, this was a little convo between Daisy Mae and I:

DM:  Mom, remember when we told you that mama rabbit was having babies?

Me:  Yeah?

DM:  Well, that was a boy.

Me:  What?

DM:  I asked Dad and that rabbit was a boy, not a girl!

Me:  But you said you saw babies coming out.

DM:  We thought so.

Me:  Hmmm . . .

DM:  Well, something was coming out down there!  I don't know WHAT it was.

And I will leave that little disturbing statement to your imaginations, dear readers.

Homeschool.  Biology.  Check.

The Camping Summation

Yes.  This is my THIRD post today.  Excessive, is it not?  Ask me how my house looks. And when is school out for summer?

When?

WHEN?

But we must discuss the most recent camping adventures, don't we?  So, here we are.  Writing the THIRD post for today.

First of all, David got home way later than he had planned on Friday night.  This was stressful because I was in charge of cooking the Friday night dinner for the people.  And the people get cranky when the dinner-preparing-campers arrive at 8:10pm.  Which is exactly when we arrived.  The people also get cranky when they hear I am browning up elk flesh for tacos.

I kid!  I jest!

David's people actually like elk.  The odd species that they are.

When we pulled up, I noticed a horrific smell in our camp trailer.  The dogs, Tank and Miley, who were riding in the trailer, must have gotten trailer-sick because there was doggie diarrhea all over the couches of the trailer.  Yes.  That's right.  DIARRHEA.  Be jealous of my glamorous life.  So, I was about to explode, but my darling girls got right to work on cleaning up the poo-poo, so I could prepare the elk flesh.

Holla, girls!  Holla!

On Saturday, a hike was planned.  And we can't just "hike", per say.  No.  We must drive many miles to the top of a mountain hike to a secret, hidden mountain lake.  Because hiking on the trail located right at our camp site would be very un-Maliblahblah like.

So, we drove and drove and drove and this is what we saw when we arrived:

No.  That is not a dirt rainbow left by dirty windshield wipers.  Why do you ask?

Anyways, that was the road to get us to the trailhead.  So, we would still have to take that road for another mile.  Amy and I went to the little ladies room, or outhouse as they are more commonly known, certain that we would be turning around and going home.  You know . . . since no one was dressed for the frozen tundra and the last hiker came out on cross-country skis.

But, no.  While we were taking care of business, the "others" decided we were going to try for it.

Can anyone guess what happened next?

One of the trucks got stuck.

So, David, who was driving the not-stuck truck, gets to pull the other truck out.  This, my friends, is David's life purpose.

Just look at that face.

That is the happiest I have seen him ALL YEAR.

After a 30 minute ordeal that may or may not have ended in someone's smashed bumper, we made it out and decided to ditch the whole hiking idea.

We went to a teeny-tiny town and ate our lunches.

It was so cold and windy that day.  David, or should I say Mr. Chivalrous, let me wear his heavy-duty jacket.

Small town also had a awesome museum and it was F-R-E-E.  I took this photo for you.

100 (meaningless) points to anyone who knows why THAT tree is important.

Come on, you tens of regular readers.  I know you can do it!

Later that night, a few of us went on a hike/bike ride.

Handsome Dude, Daisy Mae, and my niece.

Look at Handsome Dude's glasses!  Still in one piece!  Bam!

The next day, there was another bike adventure.  There was a boy team and a girl team.

I offered to take Team Toddler.

Can you guess which team lost?

Go on.  Guess.

Mason Jar Candles

Look!  I remembered to do a Pinterest post this week!

Go me!

My mother had Friday off, which is slightly rare for her, and she drove down to my neck of the woods for some Pinterest-y fun.

We made mason jar candles.  Which begs the question:  What CAN'T you do with a mason jar?

According to Pinterest . . . nothing!

(original pin and image source)

The blog from whence we got this idea called these "Survival Candles."

Alas.

We were not making them in hopes of surviving.  We were making them because they were cute!

The candles were quite simple to make.  We added lemon essential oil to the hot wax, but we did not add enough, so next time we will plan on adding more.  My mom had purchased the wax flakes at Hobby Lobby and paid an arm and leg.  If you plan on making these, buy the flakes from Amazon.  Your wallet will thank you.

Here is one of our finished, weakly lemon-scented, candles.

Holla!

If you are interested in making these, please go to the original blog that posted the project by clicking here.

To see more Pinterest posts, head on over to Our Front Door.

To follow me on Pinterest (which is not as exciting as it sounds), click here.

Happy Pinning!

Fat Tuesday: The Final Chapter

I always start these lame "Fat Tuesday" thingies with much hope and determination.  In my mind, I envision being inspirational to others.  You know.  I would say things like this:

(source)

and this.

(source)

Instead, I start to sound more like this.

(source)

and

(source).

So, what can we learn from this Fat Tuesday month, hmmm?

Let us do a list.  For this pleases us.

1)  Taylor CAN find time to exercise.  Amazingly enough.  With the exception of David's appendicitis week, Taylor was able to exercise 5 times a week throughout the entire month of May.

It can be done!

2)  Taylor has a weakness for chips and salsa.

There is nothing like the first chip out of a fresh, new bag.  There's no denying it.

3)  Taylor has a weakness for Moose Tracks ice cream.  Taylor had three Moose Tracks ice cream cones while on her "diet."

And Taylor uses the term "diet" quite loosely.

And Taylor also wonders how she managed to switch this post to third person.

4)  Taylor enjoys some forms of exercising.  Taylor looked forward to her time WITHOUT CHILDREN in her room, exercising and watching a humorous show.

It put a little sunshine in her day.

5)  Has the reader noticed that Taylor is still writing in third person?  Annoying isn't it?  Taylor can't figure out how to stop it.

Taylor wonders how she will get out of this third person nonsense.  Taylor is not that clever of a writer.

6)  Taylor lost two pounds overall.  She wishes it were more, but she will take it.

7)  Taylor is still afraid of swimsuits.  As she should be.

Taylor thanks you for participating and she hopes you will post your final check in here.

Thanks bunches!

A big, fat braid.

You would not believe how much food prep I should be doing instead of sitting in front of the computer.  Its slothful, that what it is.

We are camping, yes we are.  And I am in no mood to deal with all that needs to be done.  This is the first camping trip of the year with the Maliblahblah side of the family.  These camping trips can be a bit more, oh, what's the word . . . active?

I am already too tired to go.  Perhaps I will get sick within the next few hours and will have to stay in bed and read.  Which would be devastating.

The kids are SO excited.  I think Little Dude is going to explode.  Last night, he insisted on putting his blankets and pillows in the:

"Tramp Tray-wer!"

And that would be camp trailer, for all of you who don't speak "Little Dude."  I told him "no" and this resulted in:

The Complete Meltdown of 2012

Me:  Buddy.  You are sleeping at home tonight.

LD:  NO!  NO!  NO!

Me:  Yes, yes, yes.

LD:  MMMMOOOOOMMMMM!  I need them!  I NEED them!  NO!  NO!  NO!

Me:  But you aren't camping until TOMORROW, dude!

This news was just more than his little heart could bear and resulted in him laying prostrate on the ground, wailing for all the injustice his mother brings upon him.  And I almost wrote "prostate" and that would just change EVERYTHING, now wouldn't it?  It's a good thing I didn't.

In other exciting news, we are now incubating eggs.

Right on my kitchen counter.

I never intended to be this weird, honestly folks.  I mean who grows LIVE CHICKENS on their kitchen counter?

Me.

That's who.

Next up, its long denim jumpers and socks with Birkenstocks for me.  And as soon as I learn to braid my own hair (which will be never), I'll be donning a fat braid down my back.  Because this is just where my life is headed.

But the day you hear of me getting all handsome with my farm animals and hugging and kissing on them, then please, send help.

Let's do a COW!  Because what is life without consistency?

COW stands for Comment of the Week.  And I always remember to do it every week.

This week goes to Christi with her comment on the post Trashbag!

Lol, trashbag. Well at least he is a little fella. My mom does that. My pastor calls it chasing rabbits. My mom telling a story about a book. “There was this guy and girl and they had met at this store, (it wasnt a big store, just a small store, you know like one that I used to take you too when you were small, and oh remember that guy that worked there, he is dead now, oh you know who else died, our neighbors dog, poor guy he misses her, I miss my dog, you remember that dog, he was reddish, about the same color as your favorite dress, oh yeah you know the one you wore to church that one time, oh wait that was your cousin, anyway…)what was I talking about.

Oh my goodness.  I have someone in my life who does this, yes, yes I do.  But I won't say who.  No, no, I won't.

It is time.  I must face all that raw meat now.  It just gives me the pee-pee shivers.  Oh, and I have to cook bacon.  BACON!  I hate cooking bacon.

I hate meat, in general.

So, dear readers.  Tell me,

1)  Do you know how to cook bacon?  Because I sure don't.

2)  Would you like to come deal with the raw chicken and raw elk flesh for me today?  I can sit in bed and read?  Sounds fair.

3)  Have you ever grown live chickens on your kitchen counter?  Don't lie, now.

4)  Can you braid your own hair?  Will you teach me?

5)  What are your plans for the weekend?

Happy Weekend!

A Glasses Story

Once upon a time, there was a precious baby boy.

His parents found him to be quite charming, but noticed that he was constantly cross-eyed.  They discussed their concerns with the doctor, and, sure enough, the boy could not see.

Ever seen a 6 month old in glasses?

There you go.  Do you think it is easy to keep glasses on a baby?  You are gravely mistaken, my friend.

Keeping glasses on the lad was no easy task.  In all truth, he probably wore them about 15% of the time, and not for a lack of trying on his parents' part.

By the time he turned one, things started to get a bit better.

Yes.  You can stop wondering.  His mother is pregnant in the above photo.  Again.

Soon, he grew out of the baby glasses and moved up to a bigger size.

This is when the fun begins, my friends.

And I use the term "fun" quite loosely.

Quite.

Having a toddler boy in glasses resulted in his mother making weekly, sometimes daily, trips to the place the children became to know as "The Glasses Doctors."  The Glasses Doctors exhibited much patience with Frazzled Mom and her well-behaved crew of four and did everything in their power to make sure the boy was able to see.

This was no easy task.

Eventually, the glasses in the above picture became missing, and were presumed dead.  This was fortunate timing because the eye doctor decided the boy no longer needed glasses at all.  This was worrisome to the mother, but she was a bit over the whole novelty of a young child in glasses, so she listened to the doctor.

This was a mistake of gargantuan proportions.  The boy's eyes became much worse and were constantly crossing.  The mother went back to the doctor and got the boy back in glasses.

But, alas.  The boy still had trouble.  He did not seem to be seeing all that well and his eyes would cross terribly once his glasses were off.  And his glasses were off a lot, seeing as how he broke them daily.

Then, one day, the boy laughed and said,

"Two mommies!  I see two mommies!"

This freaked the mommy out and she decided she had better get the boy into a new doctor post haste.

New doctor looked at the boy's eyes and looked at the boy's vision history and said the boy has never been in a strong enough prescription.  New doctor eased the mother's worries about her son someday having a permanent lazy eye, but warned her that her son's brain was going to have to relearn all images, because he has never seen the world like he is about to start seeing.

The boy was given an extremely strong prescription.  When The Glasses Doctors put his new pair on for the first time, he almost fell down and said,

"Everything is wiggly!"

The mother has been encouraged since switching to new doctor.  The boy has caught up and learned all his letters and numbers and seeming able to do more things.

But, alas.  The boy's glasses kept breaking.

The Glasses Doctors have been doing everything in their power to keep glasses on the boy.  He has gone through about 5 frames in the past year.  Since the family now lives far away from The Glasses Doctor, the father has been attempting to keep the glasses in working order on his own.

It's just not working out.

So, the Glasses Doctors recommended new, indestructible glasses for the boy.  They were $300, but were promised to never break.

The mother and father like the sound of the word indestructible.  They, do, however, feel like their son now looks like a Space Man.

The boy LOVES them and thinks himself to be a rockstar.

The mother is having a hard time with them.  As is the father.

The mother and father need to get over themselves.  Rest assured, the mother and father only praise the boy and tell him how awesome he looks.

But you can certainly understand their pain, no?

Happy Thursday.

Love,

The Mother of Space Man

Trashbag!

My Little Dude is growing up so quickly!  He will be four next month. I was reading through some old posts from this time last year and I realized how much he has changed.

Last year, he wore cowboy boots everywhere and told everyone and their mother:

"My bunny's name is Screamer."

He also could not go to the bathroom without becoming fully undressed and had to sing train songs before an elimination was possible.  Which wasn't odd at all.

I am happy to report that he only takes off the necessary clothing now during an elimination break and songs are no longer required.

This boy is a talker these days.  Remember Saturday when I had to take
my oldest boyDavid on a car ride to get an ice cream cone so he wouldn't give himself a hernia or worse? (click here to read that post)  The older three children amazingly fell asleep for that car ride.

But not our Little Dude.

The spunky boy that he is.

He talked nonstop.  And this is exactly what is sounded like:

LD:  Hey-hey-hey-hey . . . hey, Dad?  Dad?  Who made the trees?

David:  God

LD:  Oh, right.  GOD.  Who made the branches?  I think God.  Right, Dad?  Right?  RIGHT?

David:  Right.

LD:  Trashbags!

There were several trash bags on the side of the road for about 5 miles.

LD:  And who made the ducks?  Dad?  DDDDAAAADDDD!  Trashbag! People or God?  Dad!

Dad:  God.

LD:  Ducks are squishy, right Dad?  Trashbag!  Right?

Dad:  Sure.

LD:  Like fish.  Trashbag!

Dad:  What about fish?

LD:  Fish are-trashbag! squishy!  Who made the lellow (yellow) lines on the road dad?

Dad:  Someone.

LD:  Who, Dad?  Trashbag!  Dad, why did someone leave all these trashbags?  That's funny.  Trashbag!  Who made the sun, Dad?

Dad:  God.

LD:  Ooooh, God!  Right!  Trashbag!

Seriously.  He would not stop.  It was enjoyable.  Reminded me of the dog in the movie UP who would keep getting distracted.

Squirrel!

Little Dude has been obsessed with letters and their sounds lately and today we sat down and he read a BOB book by actually sounding the words out.  I just had to brag there.  Because tomorrow my other son is getting Space Man glasses, and sometimes a gal just needs something to get her through the day.

Do you know what a BOB book is?  Are you wondering why I am bothering you with this nonsense today?

You are not alone.

Alright.  I'm off to do more laundry.

Trashbag!

Fat Tuesday: The Boring Week

I'm going to keep this short and sweet today!  I made little progress this week and I only exercised three times, but that was because my world got turned upside down with David's bout of appendicitis.  I plan on jumping right back in to my normal routine.  I lost no weight this week, but feel good about the exercising I have done this for.

Go ahead and check in here if you joined Fat Tuesday.

Do it.

Go on.  Do it.

Farmer Brown

Daisy Mae:  Mom, since we live in the country, I have to wear a cowboy hat all the time.

Me:  Sounds good.

Wait!  What's that?  Your table isn't always covered in math manipulatives, too?  That's odd.

It is Monday and I am exhausted.  Not surprisingly, David went to work this morning-after just having his appendix out on Friday afternoon.  Don't get your panties in a knot, I truly tried to keep him home.  He cared not.

I think he kinda overdid it this weekend.  He came home yesterday from picking up an entire ranch worth of straw and fell asleep.  He decided what was bothering him the most was his belt digging into his stomach . . . right near the incisions.  His solution was to wear suspenders.  He woke up from his nap and the girls thought he looked HI-larious, so they snapped a photo.

Well, hello, Farmer Brown!

After that photo, I cut his hair.  Because I am Susie Fantastic, didn't you know?

Fun Fact:  I have yet to have a day where I cut his hair and he does not go and "fix" it afterwards.  I don't care anymore.  I am numb, people.  NUMB.

I vote we all just go to the big city to get our hairs cut.  But to each his own.

So, anyways.  I would scold David for doing too much all weekend long and attempt to get him to rest.  However, when Daisy Mae told me there was a live mouse running around inside of our wood stove, I determined that David was certainly well enough to come and take a looksie at that sitch.

Because there is no way I am going to willingly look at a mouse.  And, oh, do I have mice stories from our old house.  But that shall be for another day, my friends.

David went downstairs to deal with the mouse.  Pleasantly enough, it was a cute, much more aesthetically pleasing, bird.

Crazy!

In other exciting weekend news, the girls had a piano recital.

Sweet Pea

Daisy Mae

I realized when I sat down for the recital that I had not one clue which songs either girls were playing!  Isn't that awful?  Usually, I listen to them play a few times the week of the recital, but things have been a bit crazy over here.  I will say that it is nice to take one subject (music) in school and be able to completely check out of it.  Perhaps I shall hand David all those math manipulatives and check out of that as well.

I kid!  I jest!

Besides.  David teaches them some serious life skills.  Like 4 wheeler driving, trailer-hitching, rabbit sexing (again.  not as naughty as it sounds.), and fence building.

You can see now why Daisy Mae feels the need to wear the cowboy hat, no?

I have a headache something fierce.  I must wonder if my post is even making sense?  Probably not.

Here's some more pointless info I shall now dump at you.  For your reading pleasure.

1)  David bought an egg incubator off of Ebay and it came in the mail today.  This means that not only can he bring chickens home from ladies selling them on the side of the road, but he can also grow his own.

2)  Would anyone be interested in buying some chicks from Maliblahblah Farms?

3)  Speaking of mice (were we speaking of mice?), Daisy Mae found what appears to be a mouse nest in my craft bin.

4)  I think its time Peter the Cat started earning his keep.

5)  We are going camping this weekend.  Along with the rest of the world.  David suggested we fry up Tom.

Remember Tom?

Come on!

You're jealous, admit it.  I mean who wouldn't want to feast on Tom?

So, let's hear some good side dishes to compliment Tom, shall we?

Oh, and rest assured, I will not be eating Tom.

Just like I don't eat my wall-friend, here.

Alright.  This post makes no sense.  I'm leaving now.