Shunning the Maliblahblah Name

I have no business writing this post, but here I am, rebelling all the same.   I am about to embark on a five day camping trip.

Yes.

Be envious.

No.

I am not ready.  Hence the irresponsible blogging.

Next year, if I mention buying tons of fruit to can anywhere near or around Labor Day Weekend, you have permission to smack me upside the head.

A good, firm, smack.

We bought 60 pounds of peaches and 30 pounds of pears on Saturday.  The pears were ready, but the peaches were not ripe.  I checked them yesterday and they were ripe.  Like about to summon fruit flies, ripe.  I finished school around 1pm and decided to tackle the peaches.  Even though I should have been getting ready for camping.  Perhaps I am in denial about having to go camping and think that maybe, just maybe, if I don't get those brownies baked, I will simply have to send my regrets and stay behind.

(source)

So.  Yesterday, I start to can the peaches and hear a loud pop.  As luck would have it, my entire cook top is broken and there is smoke coming out of it.

Even my kitchen thinks I am canning too much.

I call my beloved.  I feel confident that he will make it all better.  He is afterall, an electrician.  Plus he's cute.  He feels the stove is, and I quote, "A gone-er" and when he comes home he will set up the camping stove on the deck so I can finish my canning.

He arrived around 9:15 and I finished up one batch of peaches while he got the trailer all ready.  We fell into bed at 11:30 and while he was setting his alarm for 3:30 IN THE AM, I casually said,

"I think our lives need to calm down."

And he said, "Yup."

But who has time to come up with a new life plan when there are ripe peaches summoning fruit flies on one's counter?  So, I woke up at 6 to finish the canning and basically, I never want to see a peach as long as life endures.

I am ready to list all my canning jars, pressure canner, water bath canner, and all my garden produce on Craigslist.  This would basically shun the Maliblahblah name, but can somebody tell me WHY I am canning the life out of everything?

I want to go to Paris.

I don't want to can food anymore.  I want to go to Paris and sip coffee.  That's all.  Is that too much to ask?

Maybe with all the money I save on canned peaches this year, I could pay for a trip to Paris with my husband.  Paris looks exactly like they place he would like to visit.  I'm sure he would fit in well.

Alright.  I have nothing to say.  But you already gathered that.  I'm just tired and cranky and now I need to buy a new cook top.

What are your plans for the weekend?

Please share.  Or not.

The choice is yours.

A Day in the Life

Remember that fateful day early last week when I informed all y'all that I was going to start homeschooling early?

The following post will illustrate why that was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea.

1)  I wake up in the morning full of hope and promise.  The day is fresh!  My kids are asleep!  It's going to be a good day.

2)  Out of the corner of my eye, I see the fruit.

Oh, yes.  The fruit.

This is all the fruit we bought this weekend.  On a whim, if you will.  Also this weekend, we went to church, cleaned our rental twice (yes!  TWICE!), went to the fair, and helped David's parents with yard work.

We are busy bees.  Who buy fruit when we have no business buying fruit.

3)  I decide to move school to the good ol' kitchen table so I can deal with the canning of the pears.  This is a brilliant move on my part.

4)  All the kids start math.  Daisy Mae takes over the teaching of the boys and all is well as I peel and slice pears.

5)  Fun Fact:  I am not even certain my family likes pears.  It is a good thing I have 30 pounds of them to feast on.

6)  Handsome Dude has explosive *ahem* diarrhea, so he is off the hook after math.

7)  This is good news for the homeschool schedule.  For I don't have time to teach him why the word "nap" it not sounded out like:  "UM . . . . TRUCK???"

This is bad news for Mt. Laundry.

8)  Little Dude, in all his preciousnesss, asks if he can go collect eggs.  I say yes!  I am nice and accommodating like that.  Plus, it removes him and his shouting voice from the kitchen, aka classroom, aka pear canning central.

9)  Unbeknownst to me, Little Dude decides to also visit the hens and goes into the coop.  He is unable to latch the gate behind him, decides it is not something he needs to worry about.  He comes back inside, where I am canning pears and blissfully unaware of the sixty, oh yes, SIXTY, escaping hens.

More on that later.

10)  Yes.  I have SIXTY hens.  Don't you?

11)  Also.  Little Dude came back with zero eggs.  It is a good thing he is cute.

12)  Math is done.  Silent Reading is done.  History is done.

Pears are done.

13)  And when I say pears are "done," I mean that one batch was done.  I still have about 6 quarts left to can.

14)  And lets not forget the SIXTY pounds of peaches my husband found this weekend for a smokin' deal on the Craigslist.

15)  It would appear my husband enjoys the number SIXTY, would it not?

16)  We actually probably do have SIXTY rabbits, too.  Maybe more.  I am in denial about my life half the time.

17)  I start to clean up the kitchen and transition to lunch time while Daisy Mae and the boys inform me that they plan to go out and dig for gold.

18)  That's right.   Gold.

19)  Before they go, I inform them they must put away the clean laundry.  Daisy Mae looks out my bedroom window and shouts:

"ALL the chickens are out, Mom!"

20)  Little Dude heads downstairs for a timeout.

"Did I made a BAD choice, Mom?  Huh, MOM?  HUH?  HUH?"

21)  The older three go on a chicken rescue mission.  The dog is napping in the loft so there were no chicken fatalities today.  Amen.

22)  Little Dude gets lectured, once again, on making GOOD CHOICES, and he joins his sister and brother outside to pan for gold.

23)  Sweet Pea, who is 9 now and above such trivial games, took a chair to the back deck to read in peace.

24)  Before I start lunch, I decide to go start watering the garden.  I pass by the little gold prospectors who have found no less than 18 shovels, 10 buckets, and 3 toy dump trucks.  They have gathered several ziplock bags full of dirt and have declared their wealth for all to hear.

25)  As I am in the garden, I see a flash of white.  There are two fugitive baby rabbits in my garden.  This will not do.  Do you know how much time I spent WEEDING that garden.  Them rabbits are NOT eating my produce.

26)  I grab the trusty fishing net and chase the rabbits around the garden like a normal, sane person.

27)  They escape and hide somewhere else.  I wash my hands of it.

28)  I feed my cherubs lunch and received no complaints whatsoever.  I throw dinner in the crock pot.  David will be home by 6 tonight. Glory!

29)  I send the gold diggers outside to clean up their mess and help water the pets.

30)  I go gather the eggs and decide to try and pull some more carrots.  Because, apparently, I feel I have time to can carrots, too.

31)  ?

32)  Those rascally rabbits are in the garden again!  I call the troops over and we all go into full-attack mode, each of us armed with a fishing net.

33)  After about a half of an hour, the two rabbits are safely back in their pens.

34)  Tank, the dog, is, thankfully, still napping in the loft.  It's a shame he is so lazy.  He could have had a delightful feast today.

35)  I decide I have no business harvesting carrots and come inside.  On my way in, I see a horrible severed, dead mouse that Peter that Cat has slaughtered for me.

36)  I did not take a picture.  You are welcome.

37)  Little Dude, helpful as ever, decide to do do some harvesting of his own before coming inside.

38)  Rest time for boys!  Hallelujah!

39)  I get Language Arts done with the girls and start to listen to Daisy Mae read when I hear strange sounds from downstairs.

40)  The boys, instead of napping, are playing in their sisters' room and spraying each other with Cherry Body Spray.

41)  "Did I made a bad choice AGAIN, Mom?  Huh?  MOM?  HUH?  MOM?"

42)  It is now 4pm.  We have finished with school and I allow the children to go upstairs to watch a show.  I have two hours before my beloved comes home.  I decide I will read my book for a few minutes.

43)  Yes!  At times, I do read for leisure.  Thank you.

44)  My beloved calls.  He is on his way home early and how would I feel about going blackberry picking?

45)  Close the book.  Finish fixing dinner.  David comes home, we eat quickly and rush out to the mountains to pick some berries.

46)  Because I have time to deal with berries.

47)  We picked at least three gallons, maybe more.  We were giddy.  GIDDY, I tell you.

48)  We got home at 9pm.  I am sitting here this morning and I have no time to blog.  I have to wash and freeze those blackberries, can some more fruit, teach some school, and I promised the kids I would take them to the water park today.

49)  It is a busy life-but we do have a lot of fun.  I love my husband and kids with all my heart and we have a blast together.

Most of the time.

50)  Happy Tuesday!

When Country Comes to Town

I am madder than a wet hen.  And I even know what that means now.

Today started off with much hope and promise.

Actually, it didn't really.  I knew it was going to be a drag, but it turned out to be a HORRIFIC day, laced with sweat, a hostile rooster, and rabbit urine.

Allow me to elaborate.  If I may.

Today was the day I was to haul the animals to the fair.  David and the children had picked out the lucky contestants and got them all caged and ready to go in the garage.  I simply had to load the caged creatures into the pickup, along with my four children, and toodle on down the road to the county fair.

However.

There is something wrong with David's truck.  Imagine that.  The back tailgate is extremely hard to lower and I could not get it to lower.  Have you ever tried to hoist a cage full of rabbits and/or chickens into a truck with the fear of the urine from the urine tray pouring out onto yourself?

Have you?

Have you?

Hmmm?

I called my beloved.  I informed him of the truck problem.  He apologized, like a smart man should.  I told him I could not lift the huge Daddy Woo-Ster cage up over the side of the truck.  He suggested I drag over the chicken butchering table, get the rooster on to that, and then stand in the truck and lift the rooster into the truck that way.

Yes.  We have a chicken butchering table.  Don't you?

His brilliant idea worked and Sweet Pea and I were able to load one rooster, three hens, two adult rabbits, and five small baby-like rabbits into the back of the truck.  Because we are farm and ranch gals now.

Folks.

This is what they mean by the phrase, "When Country Comes To Town."

I, yes, I, Taylor Maliblahblah, had to drive that truck packed full of rabbits and our fowl friends 45 minutes into town.

Ironically enough, when I turned on the radio, David's favorite country station was playing this song:

I found it to be quite fitting.  Although I don't live in Louisiana.  FYI.

Because of last year's fiasco, I informed David that he would, most assuredly, be meeting me at the fairgrounds to help with the registration of our furred and feathered friends.

So, we get there and Oh!  Fun Fact.

We had to pre-register. There is no room and my four darling children and their cherished, albeit stinky, animals are turned away.

The horror!

The audacity!

The gall!

David had to rush back to work and I had a big problem on my hands.  Daisy Mae, who was having severe ear pain and running a fever, was scheduled for a doctor's appointment in one hour.  I was thinking it would not be the wisest decision to leave all the animals out in the hot sun in the back of the truck whilst we were at the doctor.  Might be frowned upon.  But what do I know?

I needed to claim sanctuary for the animals somewhere.  My parents' house is on the market and was scheduled for three showings today.  I was pretty sure me dropping off 11 farm animals at their place would not be groovy.

I called my inlaws.  Their house, which is also, ironically, for sale, was available to act as an animal shelter today so we toodled on down the road to their place.  Sweet Pea and I laid newspaper on the ground and began the fun process of  unloaded the animals out of the truck.

The Daddy Wooster was none to happy with us and started to fly around all crazy-like in his cage, causing Sweet Pea to almost drop her end.

Don't fret!

She kept her cool.

So, we rushed to the doctor and Daisy Mae is in tears at this point.  And instead of the hot sun I was worried about, there was instead a huge thunderstorm outside, so I suppose that would have been a less than ideal environment for the animals to socialize in while being caged in the back of the truck.

Daisy Mae has a nasty ear infection.  You can all rest easy now knowing her diagnosis.

We went and grabbed her medicine and hit the grocery store, because us country folk must make the most of every trip to town.  Then we went to collect the animals.

This time, we had to lift all the cages without the help of a chicken butchering table.

We loaded them up and cleaned up the pee-pee newspapers, but there was a bit of urine and hay still on my inlaws' garage floor.

I didn't want to be known as THAT person who leaves rabbit urine on other people's garage floors, so the girls and I poured water on the pee pee and then had to pick out the hay with our FINGERS in the URINE water.

And my inlaws do not have one bit of soap on their property.  Not a lick.

I needed coffee in a big, bad way, so we headed to Starbucks to grab some and wash our grimy, country hands.

And I am pretty sure that I am the only person who has parked a truck loaded with 4 chickens and 7 rabbits at a Starbucks.

I could be wrong, but we all know I'm not.

I was absolutely amazed at how well my kids handled this situation.  They had been looking forward to entering animals into the fair all year long, but not one of them whined or did any sort of fit-throwing.  I really appreciated that.

Because if they did, I might have snapped.

So.  We are home.  The animals are all safely back where they belong, exhausted from their exciting, albeit unnecessary field trip.  Daisy Mae is feeling better.  I am sweaty and stinky.  David is still at work.

So.  Ask me how the SECOND day of school went.

Go on.  Ask.

PS- I never wanted to be a hillbilly.

Honest.

Pink! Sparkles! Glitter!

On Saturday, we celebrated David and his dad's birthday.  David's sister, Lisa, prepared the beloved huckleberry pie for the occasion.

I don't know if you can tell, but that's David's, "I am so happy and blessed in life!" face.

On Sunday evening, my friend Bimlissa and I were conversing over the Internets and discussing homeschool rooms and organization. She sent me a picture of her daughter's desk.

Check out the sign above the desk.

Pink!  Sparkles!  Glitter!

Hilarious.  And a fine homeschool motto if there ever was one.

Therefore and henceforth, my girls and I decided to go make some magic in our own homeschool room.  As a result, my girls were certain that homeschool is, and always will be, The Most Awesome Idea Known To Man and begged, nay, pleaded with me to start school early.

Like FIFTEEN days early.

So.  Guess what we did yesterday.

We had ourselves our first day of school.

In August.

It was like a dream come true.  Except it wasn't.

Things started off promising, but then Sweet Pea, the perfectionist that she is, missed THREE problems on her math assignment, and, well, the world basically ended and life is too hard and she just can't take it.

Daisy Mae got an A+ for attitude all day and got a 100% on her math.  I wrote, and I quote,

"100% You rock, girl!"

on her paper, so basically, heaven opened up and angels were singing and she proudly displayed her perfect math paper on her desk and showed her father immediately upon his arrival.

Handsome Dude.  You know how I have been dreading the schooling of the boy, right?  Well, he started off full of hope and promise.  He traced all his letters and numbers and did the most beautiful job I have even seen him do.  He did his Bible lesson and he did math, and, of course, got a 100%.

I never doubted him.

But then he had what I would like to call, The Great First Day of School Meltdown 2012 and had to take a nap.

It happens.

For Handsome Dude, I am doing a curriculum called All About Reading.  After his meltown/nap combo, I started his lesson and he immediately looked at me and informed me that he had to use the facilities.  So while he was taking care of business, Little Dude walked over to me and he and I did an All About Reading lesson.  Little Dude breezed through it with flying colors.

Enter Handsome Dude, fresh from the toilet.

"Mom?  This is pwetty twicky."

So, as he is trying to sound out the word Nap, and throwing in the unnecessary sounds of the letters "t" and "s" and all sorts of fun stuff, Little Dude would come by and say things like:

"Oooh!  Nap!  See, mom?  That says NAP!"

Helpful.

Finally, it was lunch time.  Hallelujah!

Daisy Mae, who had been doing her silent reading, came upstairs sobbing that she did not feel good.  I took her temp and she had a fever!  So, I gave her some Ibuprofin and set her up with a smoothie, hot dog, and American Girl movie.

I was like The Best Mom Ever.  I thought I was off the hook for school, but Daisy Mae made a miraculous recovery and begged, nay pleaded with me to do history.

It was a long, hot school day and we did not finish up until 4:30.  Of course, we did have a movie/fever break, but still.  I am entitled to whine.  It is my right.  I will admit the day completely wore my brain out and I am going to need a lot of coffee and patience to get these kids through school this year.

Pink!  Sparkles!  Glitter!

Today, Daisy Mae has taken a turn for the worse and I am probably going to have to take her to the doctor.

Well, folks.  Country is coming to town today!  I will be driving my husband's truck and in it will be 2 hens, the Daddy Woo-Ster, and five rabbits.  We are taking ourselves and our livestock to the county fair.  Do y'all remember my last encounter at the fair with Susie Fantastic, Rabbit Expert Extraordinaire?

Yeah.  I am NOT going through that again.  I am making my beloved meet me at the fair to help me.  He can stare at the rabbits' private areas and genderify them.  Thankyouverymuch.

Random Topic Quick Change!

Little Dude.

He is becoming quite the country boy.  As you can see.

Well, yesterday, the girls found a dead snake.

Lovely.

David came home about an hour after that.

Me:  Boys!  Tell Daddy what you saw today!

Handsome Dude:  A snake!

David:  A snake!  Cool!

Me:  Go show Daddy where it is!

Little Dude:  Oh, I fed it to the trickens.

(That would be "Little Dude" for chickens.  Keep up.)

Me:  What?

Handsome Dude:  Yeah!  He just picked it up and gave it to the trickens!

Me:  Oh.  Did they, um, eat it?

Little Dude:  Yes!  They said yummy yummy!

Me:  Oh.  And you just picked up the snake?

Little Dude:  It was squishy!

Me:  Oh.

Little Dude:  Squishy, Squishy!

Yes.  Be jealous of my life.

Mr. Birthday

On Wednesday night, my parents invited us to dinner.  While David was away from the table, I did as any good wife should and informed the server that David was a soon-to-be-birthday boy.

As you can probably imagine, David LOVES making a big deal of his birthday.  He loves getting his picture taken . . .  loves people singing to him . . .

loves, loves, loves.

Fun Fact.  David used to be a server at THAT very restaurant.  Back in the glory days.

Handsome Dude gave David his very first birthday present.

It is a play-do ball with Italian flags proudly mounted in it.  Just what every 32 year old father of four needs.

Yesterday was David's factual birthday.  Of course, he had to work.  Because have you met him?  But the kids and I were planning on heading into town to clean the rental anyways that day.

Alas.  The stomach bug visited.

So, there I was.  Two kids vomiting and having it, *ahem* come out the other end and the others had head colds and fevers.

Thankfully, my friend, Shelly, offered to help Mr. Birthday clean the house so I would not have to drag the sickies to town.

Holla, Shelly!

While we were recovering, the girls and I taught the boys how to play Uno.

Handsome Dude won.  He was excited.

\

Please ignore the mismatched clothes.  He had, *ahem*, blown through about 6 pairs of pants already.

Little Dude lost Uno.

He took it well.

Since I had not planned on being home for David's birthday, I had no plan for a special birthday dinner, nor a cake.

For shame.

I remembered a recipe for Teriyaki chicken that tickled his fancy.  Then I went to check on the garden and saw a plethora of green beans and blueberries.

Garden for the win!

I was able to make a cake from scratch, but did not have enough ingredients for frosting.

Don't lose heart!

The astute reader might recall that my husband prefers his chocolate cake smothered in our homemade applesauce, instead of frosting.  Because he is totally normal.

I must say, I was pretty proud of our impromptu birthday dinner that we were able to pull together amidst a house full of sickies.  And Shelly was a rockstar at the house and did so much of the work that David was able to get home at a decent hour to feast with his beloved wife and offspring.

The kids decorated the cake with a hunting theme.

The toy soldier is supposed to be David.  Apparently.  And I was far too lazy to wash the toys, so I just laid some wax paper on the top of the cake.  Because I strive for greatness.

Daisy Mae, who had been sickly all day, got all dressed up for her dad's special dinner.

Precious, is it not?

And now, David is the sickest of all.  Poor boy.

Lest any of you are confused, he is , in fact, at work.

Happy Friday!

Swineherd

Did you know that pumpkin plants grow to be HUGE and have beautiful, orange-yellow flowers?

I have yet to see a pumpkin, but I am enjoying the flowers all the same.  Oh!  And from what I can gather, basically all the plants flower before the fruit/vegetable comes on.  I had no idea.

Teller's Blog.  Your Go-To resource for gardening knowledge.

Pumpkin plants look a lot like zucchini plants, what with the orange-yellow flowers and all.

Look at that!  I made a zucchini!  Look at me with my Big-Girl-Gardening pants on!

I also have some cucumbers.

Sweet Pea loves pickles, so I thought I might try making her some.  But I never have made them and I am not sure if I have the right type of cucumber.

Please Advise.

When I weed, I sometimes toss tasty green treats over to the rabbits.  Their little yard borders our garden . . . risky business, I know.  But so far, no rabbits have figured out how to get into our garden for an All You Can Eat Buffet.

Anyways, whenever I come into the garden now, this little lady get all excited and waits for a treat.

Yes.  These are my friends now.  My husband moved me out to the middle of nowhere and I am forced to find companions in rabbits and chickens.

In other news, there is a chicken feather on my carpet.

Sad, is it not?

Come on!  You have chicken feathers on your floors, too.  Don't deny it.

Sadly, I do not have time to pick it up.  I have been busy with the homeschool planning.  I started to write out all the subjects and whatnot and had a minor panic attack wondering how I would get it all done.  I'm guessing I won't, but gosh darn it, I am going to try!

To clear my head, I went outside and walked up and down the driveway a few times.  Then I spotted the trampoline and decided I would try that for the first time in about 15 years.

Not a good plan.

I felt like my brain was going to launch out of my head.  True story.

So, I went back inside to try and sort out this homeschool scheduling mess I had created.  I found a website called Donna Young that offers tons of free printable planners.  So, I have the girls' weekly schedules planned out, but have yet to figure out how I am going to incorporate Handsome Dude into the mix.

My boy.  A kindergartener.  Seems like he is not old enough yet for such things.  I probably feel that way because the boy can't seem to aim correctly into the toilet yet.  But I am sure he is ready for math.

On Monday, I was in the garden and I saw something moving out of the corner of my eye.

Be warned!

The next picture is kind of . . . gross.

I went over to investigate and found that there was a newborn rabbit flailing about in MY garden.

As Little Dude would say:  "What world is this in?"

ha.  He means, "What in the world is this?"

But, HELLO?!  Why was there a baby rabbit in the garden?  I ask you?  It was fine and not hurt in any way, so we picked it up and gently placed it in a little rabbit house.  Of course, David was not home at the time so I, Mrs. Dr. Dolittle, had to deal with the sitch.

It will be a blessed day when David decides to stop raising rabbits.

In other news, a friend might be coming over today.  I am a bit nervous because her house is all beautiful and serene.  Being in her house is like being in Pinterest.

I am sure she will be impressed with my house with the peach walls, chicken feathers on the carpet, and newborn bunnies in the garden.

Maybe I should tidy up?  Perhaps?

And now, I must answer some huckleberry questions that I received yesterday.

1)  A huckleberry is actually very delicious.  I don't think it tastes like a blueberry at all.  It is sweet and tart.  We usually use them in milkshakes or sprinkle them on cereal.

2) I have never heard of anyone successfully growing a huckleberry plant.  They only grow at very high elevations.  This is why they are so desired.  People sell them for $40 a gallon.  I am not exaggerating.

3)  Not that I ever exaggerate.

And now, to conclude this well-organized post in which I have covered homeschooling, pumpkin flowers, rabbits, and trampolines, I shall leave you with a hilarious auto-correct text from my mother in law.

I have no idea what she was trying to say, but she was basically telling me she had a 5 gallon bucket to give me and her text read like this:

"I will get it to you swineherd."

Swineherd!

Ha.

I shall take it as a compliment.

The Elusive Huckleberry

Yesterday, we loaded up the children and set off on an adventure.

The astute reader might notice that the boys each have sticks.  These were their treasured "drumsticks."  And, yes.  They were as annoying as you might have guessed.

We were off to find the elusive, and highly valued, huckleberry.

Oh!  Are you new here?  Do you not know about the magical powers of "The Purple Gold?"  Well, then.  Allow me to enlighten.

Huckleberries are prized possessions around these here parts.  Crazies from all around live for this season and go traipsing about the woods, fighting bear and bird alike, to try and harvest these delightful berries.

Herein lies the problems:

1)  They only grow high, high, high up in the mountains.

2)  They are the world's tiniest berries.  True, I have no facts to support that statement, but it works out well for me in this post to tell you that they are, so just go with it.

3)  You might pick for one hour and get one cup.  Then your 4 year old wants to come show you the ONE berry he found and trips down the hill and knocks over your bucket. Not that I know from experience.

People from our regions get all crazy-like when it comes to this berry.  Once they find their own huckleberry "sweet spot," they never, EVER, share the treasured location with anyone else.

Ever.

Huckleberry Harvesting.  Vicious and cutthroat.

Who knew?!

So.  Yesterday we set off with great hopes to find our own "sweet spot."  We took three wrong turns and were severely scolded by man with no less than 55 dogs and a handlebar mustache for driving on "bleepity-bleep" private property.

Oops.

Finally, David found the right road that would take us up the mountain. Up, up, up we drove for miles upon miles.  We saw what we thought was hucklberry brush and got out to check out the sitch.

We found green berries.

This was not good.

We must get back in the car.

Sweet Pea, full of pre-pre-teenage angst, sat in the car, unimpressed with our adventure.

Check out the dirty back window.

Classy.

David was getting pretty discouraged when we could not find the Berry of all Berries.  You see, dear readers, David lives for the Huckleberry.  Personally, if I never went huckleberry picking again, I would not shed a tear.  But this is the equivalent to Disneyland for him.

Why?  I cannot be certain.

But he is my beloved and I shall be his helpmeet.

After about four false alarms, we were ready to just about give up.  He was driving up a logging road when I saw a flash of purple.

I don't think he believed me, but he put ye olde minivan, a fine rig for maneuvering up logging roads, in reverse and humored me.

And, guess what.

Bam!

I, yes, I, Taylor Maliblahblah, was the esteemed huckleberry finder of the day.

We picked and picked and picked with sweat on our brow and the sun on our backs.  We picked for an hour and half and we got . . . wait for it .  . . . wait for it . . . .

13 cups.

This is where you clap.

We were hot, dirty, and tired.  So, we loaded up and hit the lake!

This beach has a diving board.  All four of the kids had a blast jumping off of it.  Even the little boys!  The beach had a life jacket station, so they were able to jump off and swim back to the ladder to go again.

Sweet Pea

Daisy Mae, always the trickster, tried to push her dad into the water, but he took her down with him.

Handsome Dude, waving to his mother.

Little Dude, jumping off the diving board.

The water felt so good after picking those
dreadfulwonderful berries.  I went swimming and raced the girls.  I will have you know that I kicked their hineys.

After we swam, we stopped for ice cream.  Shocking, I know.  Then we went blackberry picking!  The blackberries were not quite ready yet, but we still found about 8 cups.

It was a fun-filled day.

And today, I am going to be busy freezing the huckleberries.  And sit in the freezer they shall, for we can never find an occasion worthy enough to actually eat them.

They are more precious than fine rubies.

Easter Eggs and Washing Machines

Alex and Holly were in town  last weekend.

Do you know who Alex and Holly are?  Are you confused?

You are not alone.

It is the first time we have seen them since we became chicken entrepreneurs.  Alex asked if he could buy a dozen eggs from us.

He looked at them.

Alex:  Whaaaaat?  Did you dye them?

Me:  Yes.

Alex:  Really?

Me:  It is an extra service I throw in.  If you want plain eggs, it is $2 a dozen.  If you get the pretty Easter eggs, we charge $2.50 a dozen.

Alex:  Oh . . . .but these are already dyed so I have to buy dyed?

Me:  Looks like it.

Oh, man.  I kill me.

Lest any of you are left confused and bewildered, no, I do not dye eggs.  Different chicken breeds lay different egg colors.  And we have a plethora of chicken breeds.

Please. Try to keep up.

Oh!  And Alex is David's brother.  He is best known for all of his wild shenanigans.

Like torturing my children.

And stealing Daisy Mae's vest to get around an inconvenient, "No Shirt, No Service Rule" when he had a hankering for ice cream.

But, I digress.

Carrots!

We now have carrots from our garden.

Be excited.

Also, I have been meaning to show you this new canned chicken photo.  Because I am always so popular when I post the picture of the canned chicken.

You thought I was going to post the old, horrific photo, didn't you?  DIDN'T YOU?

Nope.  I have a new one.

Chicken Noodle Soup.

Or, as I like to call it:

"Dinner for when Taylor is not home and David is in charge."

Why did it turn orange?

Why?

WHY?

So.  We had a bit of stress this week.  We had renters leaving Thursday morning and new renters coming Thursday afternoon.  I knew about this a couple of months ago, so I recruited my mother to take the day off from work to watch my cherubs and my sister in law, Amy, said she would come to the house and help me.

David cannot take a Thursday off in AUGUST!  That is crazy-talk.

Earlier this week, I started to feel sick.  Like, I knew I needed to go the doctor, sick.  But my husband is on some crazy schedule of leaving around 5am and coming home between 8 and 10pm,  and I had no desire to load the aforementioned "cherubs" up and drive the 45 minutes to the doctor.

However!

I knew that Thursday was my crazy rental cleaning day and I needed to be up to par for that.  I won't go into details, because it might make me blush, but it was something that an antibiotic would clear up pretty quickly.

Around 5pm, I decided to rest for a bit and see how I felt the next morning, when lo and behold, David, my husband, called me.

Yes!  He CALLED me!  Before 8pm!

David:  You still feeling sick?

Me:  Yeah.

David:  Alright.  I will be home in an hour.  I am taking you to the doctor.

That's right, folks.  MY husband, David Maliblahblah, was quitting work at the slothful hour of 5pm, to drive all the way home, load us up, and drive all the way back to where he was just working to take me to the doctor.

And I didn't even ask.

I became terrified.  What if I was not really sick with what I thought I was sick with?  What if my extremely exhausted husband had to drive all around the world, only for me to hear the doctor say that I was fine?

Oh, the horror.

I am happy to report that I was infected with what I thought was ailing me.

And the kids all cheered for "Daddy's Dinner," which was Frostys and Fries from Wendy's.

So.  That was Tuesday night.

Wednesday, I still felt sickly, but was on the mend.

Thursday was the dreaded cleaning day.

My parents just put their house on the market this week and their house is the cleanest house in the world.  No joke.

So, I had to warn the cherubs to not make a mess.  Because, have you met them?

I got to the house before Amy and lo, and behold, the washing machine was broken.  David had gotten to the house before me to start a load and noticed it was not working.  He took it all apart and removed items such as:  a box of floss, coins, and hair clips.  He thought he got it working again, but, alas, it was making strange noises and no longer draining.

I called David and he asked if Amy and I would be up to buying a new washing machine.

?

Because apparently we look THAT muscular.

Amy, that dearheart that she is, took all the bedding and towels to the laundromat and I stayed behind to clean the house.

While Amy was washing laundry and making friends at the laundromat, I was receiving calls from my girls to inform me that Little Dude was being extremely naughty for his Grams and could I please talk to him?

Me:  Dude.  Are you being naughty?

LD:  Hi, Mom!

Me:  Are you being naughty?

LD:  Nope!  I'm a good boy!

Me:  I want you to listen to Grams for m-

And he hung up on me.

But did I have time to deal with that boy?  No.  No I did not.

I had to start the lawnmower.

Oh, yes.

I, yes, I, Taylor Maliblahblah, started the lawnmower all by myself.

True.

It took me a good ten minutes and I had to use ALL of my muscles.  But I did it!

I am happy to report that Amy and I got the house all cleaned up by 3pm.  David somehow managed to get a new washing machine in there before 5pm and the renters were none the wiser.

We are like the Rental House Dream Team, are we not?

Oh!  And if anyone wants to buy a cute house that rents well in Downtown Wherever We Live, let me know!

Later, dudes.

Life Lessons by Teller

Life has been busy, as usual.  On Sunday, we went to the beach for Jason's birthday.  Little Dude has decided to become a fish in the past few weeks and works on his sweet, swimming skills.  Or skillz, if you prefer.

He thinks he is swimming, but he is basically doing belly flops and then giving his mother a heart attack when it takes him a bit of time to resurface.

He "swam" for a long time yesterday.  After the party, we stopped for ice cream on the way home.

Because we feel having an ice cream cone right after eating birthday cake isn't excessive at all.

Here is Little Dude, enjoying his frosty treat at 5:30pm.

And here is Little Dude around 6pm.

When we got home, we tried to wake him up, but to no avail.

Somehow he ended up in the middle of the living room floor while we went about unloading the car and putting things away.  Finally, I gave up and took him to bed, even though I was worried he would be up and ready to party soon.

Not so!  He slept until 8:15am.

Yesterday, I lost my marbles and decided to make and can two batches of strawberry jam, fix one batch of runny blackberry freezer jam from last year, and pressure can 4 quarts of green beans.

Did you know you can fix runny jam?  It's true.  Click here if you don't believe me.

By the end of the day, my back was killing me.

Sweet Pea asked me why I don't just buy jam.  I am thinking she is my most brilliant child.

***

Alright.

I have been getting lots of questions regarding the private and personal lives of chickens.  And since I am clearly the expert on all things farm and ranch-y, I thought I would give you a bit of a chicken tutorial.

You are so welcome.

*Warning*

This post might need to, *ahem*, be flagged for adult content.  Consider yourselves warned.

Chickens.

Chickens is the umbrella term for all the fowl that are currently residing at my property.

A chick is a baby.

A pullet is like a teenager.  Maybe?  What do I know?

A hen is a female chicken.

A rooster is a male chicken.

If you are one of my boys, you call the male the "Daddy Woo-Ster" and think all the big eggs are laid by him.

But don't listen to my boys.

They live in their own worlds and pinch each other in compromising places when they are excited.

Roosters don't lay eggs!  I repeat.  Roosters do not lay eggs.

Now.  I have heard some confusion on the whole egg sitch.  So allow me, your farm and ranch expert, to shed light on this mystery.

I have gotten a few questions about the mysterious ways of the poultry.  One person thought that hens only laid eggs if the rooster had, *ahem*, visited them.

False.

Another asked if the hens laid eggs and the rooster went around somehow "sprinkle-fertilizing" the eggs.

False.

The hens lay eggs no matter what, if they are the right age and all that nonsense.

If you have a rooster, there is a good change your eggs are fertilized.  The "Daddy Woo-Ster" struts his stuff around the chicken yard and acts like The Ladies Man.  He, *ahem* "visits" the ladies as he pleases.  Then the hens lay an egg every day or every other day.

If the egg is gathered right away, it is just an egg.

Imagine that.

If the egg is kept warm under the hen's feathered hiney for about three weeks, it magically turns into a chick.

If you do not have a Daddy Woo-Ster, you would still get eggs, they would just never turn into baby chicks, no matter how long they sat under the feathered hiney.

And if you are a hen who stops laying eggs, you must fear for your life.

You might find yourself in one of Teller's Special Cans of Mystery Meat.

And lest any of you are confused, there is NO WAY I am ever going to be able to eat the canned chicken.

Nope, nope, nope.

This concludes today's edition of:

Life Lessons by Teller

I hope you are all a bit wiser.

***

On a completely unrelated note, this is what Handsome Dude asked me the other day:

HD:  Mom?  Can you make me a turkey sammich for wunch?

(That would be turkey sandwich for lunch, for those who don't speak HD)

Me:  Sure.

HD:  But can I have a turkey sammich without the turkey?

Me: What?

HD:  I NOT LIKE TURKEY!

Me:  Dude.  What do you want on your sandwich?

HD:  Bread.  White stuff. And Trees.

Allow me to translate, dear readers.

The boy wanted bread, mayo, and cheese.

This is why I drink coffee.

Later, dudes.

Jammin' harder than a Rock Band

We have been busy little food preservers these days.  Oh, yes.  So hold on to your pants and prepare to be dazzled!

Amy came over and, as Jason put it, we "jammed harder than a rock band."

Plus we had cute aprons.  We are THAT cool.

Amy and I feel like we are truly earning the right to represent the Maliblahblah name.

We may or may not have shared in a celebratory hug once we discovered that all the jam had set up properly and all lids were sealed nice and tight.

Jam making.  Not for the faint of heart.

Our green beans are on.  Daisy Mae, who is a true Maliblahblah at heart, went out to the garden and gathered some beans.  She then helped me cut up the beans and pack them into quart jars to prepare for the pressure canner.

I have used the pressure canner thrice now and have had no disasters.

Be impressed.

The boys went and gathered blueberries from our garden.  They were extremely excited.

And is Handsome Dude pinching Little Dude's chesticular area?  I ask you?

Yes.  I believe he is.

It is time for a COW.  Because I am really good about remembering to do a COW once a week.

\

This week's Comment of the Week was probably the best comment I have ever received.

Back in April, my blogging friend, Kendra, aka The Queen of the Brussels Sprouts, suffered from several mini-strokes.  She has been recovering in a hospital and has had a miraculous recovery.  She is still recovering, but she is now home.

My heart skipped when I saw her name come through.  She wrote:

"hi friend
i am home again
it was good to laugh at your posts again…."

I am so glad she is home!  She is such an amazing lady and I pray for her continued recovery.  You can check out her blog here.

Happy Weekend!