Thanksgiving Clothed Open House

People.

I bring you this post with much pain and agony.  I was serving some bacon to my eldest and I burnt my right middle finger.  Right after my husband told me it was too hot.

He is such a know it all.

 And, as a result of this, each time I type any of the upper right letters of the keyboard, a tear is brought to my eye.

I do it all for you.  Is anyone reading this?  You better be.

Who has bad photography skills, a lumberjackish husband, a burnt finger and dislikes the taste/look/feel/thought of bacon?

This girl.

Bacon.  Another meat product I don't like.  Meat gives me the willies.

So.  I trust you all had a lovely Thanksgiving, no?  We did make it out of our driveway afterall and forged ahead through the 3 UNPLOWED roads before making it to the slightly plowed highway. 

We drove past the nudist resort.  They had a sign outside that read,

"Thanksgiving Open House.  Clothed."

Too bad we didn't have some extra time.

Then we drove with much stress and skidding and sliding and stress. We did all this for two turkey dinners.

Turkey.  Another meat product.  Gives me the pee pee shivers.

Our first stop was my inlaws.  It was a quieter meal seeing as how the boys were both out of town.  The boys, of course, being my husband's adult brothers.

Remember Jason?

Remember Alex?

Apparently they are too cool for us.

Whatever.

Sweet Pea reading to her cousin.  Fun Fact:  Sweet Pea had that same dress for her first Thanksgiving.

Where does the time go?

*tear*

Hold on to your pants, folks.  I am about to show you the star of the Maliblahblah Family Thanksgiving Table:

The Huckleberry Pie.

Let us have a moment to commemorate the 7.2 man hours of dreadful berry picking it took to create this yummy pie.

***

Thank you.

And now, I bring you:

Goober Parent Update:  InLaw/Husband/Computer/Internet Edition.

LJ (Lumberjack):  Dad.  Where did you butcher your pig?  Did you get a good deal?

Yes.  This is a typical Maliblahblah holiday meal conversation.

FIL (Father in Law):  Why?  Were you able to get your pig off the side of the road?

LJ:  How did you know about it?

FIL:  Somebody told me it was in that blog.

MIL (Mother in Law):  Taylor.  We cannot ever find your blog!  We need help.  Where is it?

My husband, being the silly that he is, went and got the laptop and pulled up my blog right then and there for my inlaws to read.

Oh,  for the horror.

MIL:  Ok.  So I see the blog here.  But how will I find it on my own?

LJ:  www.thelumberjackswife.com

MIL:  Every time?

LJ:  Every time.

MIL:  So, next week if I type in www.thelumberjackswife.com, her blog will be there?

LJ:  Yes.

MIL:  Every time?

LJ:  Every time.

So.  Now I am nervous to blog because it is uber weird to think that my inlaws are reading this.  And I know they have no idea what uber means.  Or holla. 

And they are probably wondering who this so-called Lumberjack is.

Wait!  Why am I worried?  They will probably visit www.theelectricianswife.com or www.oursonswife'sblog.com or www.howdidweendupwithsuchastrangegirlforadaughterinlaw.com.

Phew.

Holla, Inlaws!

Holla.

After we ate and fellowshipped and fellowshipped and ate we loaded up the children and headed to my parents' house for more food.  And fellowship.

Hey, Ma!  It's Thanksgiving, not Christmas!

After dinner, we had our usual Thanksgivingish game of "Chronology."

Chronology is always played in my parent's house because it allows my father to gloat over all of us imbeciles with his superior knowledge of history and events and time and happenstances.

Remember my dad?

Have you heard of Chronology?  I didn't think so.  But it exists. 

It is a game where you create your own timeline based on actual, historical events.

We sure know how to have a good time, don't we?

Sometimes we even break out some water.  With ice.

Meagan and Sweet Pea, thrilled that one of their dates was about the first Thanksgiving.  Such a coincidence.

Me and David.

I bet if I was a dead, trophy buck with a huge rack he would be smiling.

We lost.  Of course.

But we could beat any team with our sweet snow plowing/snow blowing skills of a driveway out in the middle of nowhere.

We are the Husband and Wife Snow Removal/Long Underwear Wearing Dream Team.

We got skills.  Or skillz.  Whichever you prefer.

Now, the pressure is on for my dad.  My dad forms his whole identity around his knowledge of facts and dates and knowing each word of every single history book ever written.

He does, in fact, get cocky.

We let him have his moment.

But I must tell you . . .

He lost.

Lost to Talia.

Holla, Talia!

Little Dude spent the whole night singing, "Mommy and Daddy, Sitting in a Tree . . . "

Over.  And over.  And over.  And over.

Goodness gracious this post is long.

Ok.  After all of that jazz, I stayed the night at my parent's house so me and Ma could get a head start on the Black Friday deals.

Come on.

I can't be the only 29 year old who stayed the night at her parent's house?

Right?

And then more stuff happened but my burnt bacon finger is pleading with me to end all this nonsense.

Bacon.  Nasty.

So, tell me, dear readers.

Did you go out shopping on Friday?  How many Thanksgiving meals did you eat?  Did you eat huckleberry pie?  Did your dad lose at his favorite game?  Is your son as cute as mine?

Did you sleep at yo mama's house?

Happy Weekend!

Goober Parent Update, Fiber Edition.

It has been awhile since I had a chance to post one of my silly "Goober Parent Updates."

But . . . . last night.

Last night was just too good with so many funny happenstances that I must share with you today.

Interruption:  I love my parents.  They know about this blog and I am posting this with permission.

We celebrated my sister, Meagan's, birthday last night.

100 (meaningless) points to anyone who can reckon which gal who writes a pointless blog made that there cake.

The following Goober Parent Conversations all took place around dinner time.  They occurred over the course of about 2 hours, so this is the condensed, Lumberjill version.

The cast of characters are as follows:

My Mom and Dad, aka Connie and Grant

My sister, Meagan.

My brother, Danny.

My sister-in-law, Tonya.  (Danny's wife)

My husband, David (aka Lumberjack, aka LJ)

And yours truly.

Enjoy.

***

Meagan:  I think I am going to have to start buying my own food if I live here for a while.

Me:  Why?

Meagan:  The fiber!  Do you know how much fiber these people eat?

Me:  Ha!  From Weight Watchers?

Meagan:  Yes!  Everything they eat has like 200% of their daily value of fiber.  Whenever I come here it takes me like 2 weeks to get it all out of my system.

Mom:  Laugh all you want.  We are losing weight.

Dad:  Yeah.  Quiet.

Mom:  (laughing, snorting, laughing) This week at the Weight Watchers meeting, they announced that Grant had earned his 25 pound pin and the leader asked him to stand up and share with the group just how he does it.  He said, "Well, I don't follow your stupid points plan.  I do my own thing."

Me:  What?  But that is the whole point of Weight Watchers!  The points.

Dad:  I don't need to follow no plan.

Mom: (snort, snort, chuckle, chuckle) The leader didn't know what to say!

Dad:  Since all of my children are here, I would like to announce that, once again, my computer is all messed up because you people screw around with it.

Tonya:  I have never once touched your computer.

Dad:  And I thank you for that.

Danny:  Dad.  Why do you think we are always messing with your computer?  I haven't been here in like 2 weeks.

Dad:  Well . . . somebody touched it and now my hotmail is all messed up.

Me:  Dad.  Just that just mean you were logged out and now you don't know how to log back in?

Meagan:  All I did was check my own hotmail, Dad.

Dad:  Well, I don't know my password!  It is annoying.  I want to be able to see my emails.  Speaking of which, Taylor, your blog is gone.  Why did you stop?

Me:  No.  My blog is still there.

Mom:  This just means it is not longer in the history of the search bar.

Dad:  Well, you people need to stop messing around with my computer.

Me:  Dad.  How do you like the Kindle  that Mom got you for Christmas?

Dad:  Well, I don't know.  One of you stole it.

Mom:  Nobody stole it!  It is on your night stand!

Danny:  I like how you just figure we stole it.

Dad:  Well, it is not in the computer desk where it should be.

Me:  Dad.  Do you even know how to use it?

Dad:  No.

Meagan:  Dude!  I spent like 2 hours last Christmas showing you how to use it.

Danny has gotten up and is trying to put something back into the fridge.

Danny:  Geez, Mom.

Danny:  Trying to put something back in your fridge is like trying to play a game of Jenga.

Mom:  (laugh, snort, laugh, snort)  I know!  It's bad in there!

Meagan:  It's all them fiber products.  Lay off the fiber!

Mom:  Oh!  Speaking of fiber!  I need to go to the bathroom now!  (laugh, snort, laugh, snort)  It's catching up with me!

Danny:  Nice, Mom.  Classy.

***

And that concludes this edition of Goober Parent Update, Fiber Edition.

I would like you to notice that my Lumberjack had zero speaking lines.

That's just how he rolls.

He was probably daydreaming about deer and elk and such.

This is my life.

***

Before signing off on this delightful Friday morning, I would like to share a few more pictures of my sister's birthday part, if I may be so inclined.

Kids!  Kids are everywhere!

Look!  There they are again!

Are you wondering where Handsome Dude's glasses are?

So are we.

Happy Birthday to you.  Happy Birthday to you.

Happy Birthday dear Meagan.

Happy Birthday to you!

Happy Friday!

Go Team Fiber!

If you can swallow, you can learn.

Last night, several sundry and diverse  relatives conglomerated at my patriarch and matriarch's house for an evening of fun, food, and fellowship.

You cannot deny the fact that the above sentence was lots of fun.  It amazed even myself.

My parents (aka, the previously mentioned Patriarch and Matriarch) always prepare fantastic cuisine.

Always.

I am sure my Lumberjack is sorely disappointed that I do not share in their genius cooking skills.

Tough break, Lumberjack.

Tough break.

First of all, we must discuss Little Dude.

Little Dude really likes to eat.

Everyone was finished, but he kept going.

"Mo!  Mo!"

(translation:  more!  more!)

Tonya, my sister-in-law, and I were intrigued at the size of potatoes my mother found to serve our guests.

Let us take a moment to admire mother's find:

I mean, who needs to eat a potato that large . . . really?

It's a good thing I am only pretending to be on Weight Watchers.

That could have been detrimental to my weight loss plan.

Naturally, after dinner it was time for presents.

Naturally.

Shoot!

I do believe I forgot to mention that we were having a small birthday celebration for Auntie Datenut.

I tend to be forgetful.

It happens.

Anyways . . . the above picture is Sweet Pea giving her a pot holder that she had created with love.

Not with help from me of course!

No.

I do not know how to even sew on a button.

Her grandma helped her.

Everyone smile!

Auntie!  You forgot to smile!

Try again.

*sigh*

Focus, children!

Focus!

Oh, well. 

Little Dude has this new little habit of sneaking off and reading books to himself, and he found some books and found a quiet spot to read away while the gift-giving commotion was commencing.

Let us have a bittersweet moment of love mixed with sadness as we gaze upon Little Dude ,and all his cuteness, and remember that he is growing up too fast.

*Thank you*

After gifts, it was time for dessert.

And now, ladies and gentlepeople, I would like to present to you the pies that I, yes, I, Taylor Mal-a-blah-blah, created from scratch (minus the crust, of course.  I have 4 children, people!) for this momentous and joyous occasion:

TA-DA!!!!

Interruption:  Update from yesterday's post:  My oven is, most assuredly, broken.  The stove top burners still work, though. 

Massive Interruption:  Clarification from yesterday's post:  Cousin Shane was not being hateful towards me when reading my post.  He was, in fact, being hilarious.  I just was uncomfortable having my post read aloud.  Cousin Shane is a very nice guy and was not being mean in the least! 

That concludes this massive, and almost unneccessary, interruption.

The Lumberjack, Brother Danny, and I were in charge of  the candle placement and lighting on the pies.

But, alas!

We could not find matches, nor any other sort of fire-igniting device.

But, my Lumberjack, in all his handsomeness . . .

found a solution.

You can't see the flame, on account of my poor photography skills, but he just lit a burner and used that.

What a weirdie.

Aaaaaannnnnnndddddd . . . I love him.

Happy Birthday!

***

While we were eating our delicious (if I do say so myself) pie, we began to reminisce about the days of yore.

And now, dear readers, I would like to present to you:

Goober Parent Update:  Days of Yore Edition

Auntie Datenut has a son, Neil.  He is close in age to my brother and I.

Back when Neil was about 11 or 12, Auntie Datenut and he lived with our family for a time.

Neil became sickly and had to miss some school.

I think he had missed a few days at this point.

My dad came home from work and the following conversation ensued:

Dad:  Did you go to school today, Neil?

Neil:  No.

Dad:  Why not?

Neil:  I still feel sick.

Dad:  That's ridiculous.  Go out to the garage and find me 2 National Geographic magazines.

Neil did as he was told.

Dad:  Ok.  Now read 2 articles and write me a 200 word summary on each.

Neil:  Why?

And my dad,

in all his uncle-ish wisdom and general intelligence,  made this statement that shall never be forgotten:

"If you can swallow, you can learn."

Brilliant!

Happy Wednesday!

P.S.-I will soon be doing a questions and answers post if you would like to leave a question for me, LJ, or the both of us.

The Doctor's Office.

I had an appointment with the dermatologist this week.

Not the crazy, mean, irrational dermatologist.

But my kind, new, and helpful dermatologist.

Kind, new, and helpful dermatologist has encouraged me to start accutane.

You might ask,

"Taylor, what, pray tell, is accutane?"

Well, I will tell you this . . .

Accutane is a super intense acne medication.

Holy raviolis, this is one annoying pill to take.

Why?

I'll tell you why.

Because I have been trying to start this process since early December but first had to go to the lab to get blood work drawn but first I had to find someone to watch the kids (because I didn't think it would be ideal to bring 4 children to a lab where they were taking my blood) but then the doctor had forgotten to tell me to fast so I went in for nothing then I had to go in again then I had to get the results then the nurse had waited to long to call me so they were all null and void then I had to take a pregnancy test then I had to see the gynecologist (sorry male readers) then I had to state my two forms of birth control then they waited too long so my pregnancy test was null and void then I had to take another pregnancy test then I forgot my special book, but in my defense they never told me I had to bring my special book with me everywhere I go, then I had to wait a month and then I had to create an online account with the government and then I had to answer 2.7 million questions about accutane then I had to go and take another pregnancy test and then I finally got the A-OK to start so then I went to the pharmacist but then no one had told me I had to bring my special card, which is conveniently located in my special book, then I had to come back, but I had to make sure I came back within the specific time window that the secret government account told me I had to come back in then I had to take a pregnancy test then I went to the pharmacist then he couldn't give me my prescription because the nurse had entered my birthdate in wrong so then he had to get that all fixed then I had to come back then I finally got my prescription filled and I have been on accutane for one full month and my skin is a dry, dry desert and my skin is peeling and my lips are cracking and I am super uncomfortable and if I smile too quickly my lips start to bleed.

Seriously, folks.

My lips hurt!

Accutane.

It's not for the faint of heart.

So, on Monday, I have to go for my check up.

And with me, as always, are the dudes.

Hooray!

So, they take me back to the exam room.

Question.

Why do they make you sit in the exam room for so long?

What is wrong with the waiting room?

You know.

The waiting room where there are toys and books for children to play with.

But, no.

Let's make this mother sit in the exam room filled with untouchables and the round, swirling  doctor's chair of death, while she waits for the doctor.

Yes.

That's a great plan.

So, I sit and I wait.

And I discipline boys.

And I wait.

And while I wait, I think upon things.

Things such as:

A)  Why are my boys so naughty?

B)  When was the last time this floor was cleaned?

C)  I think I will go to Target later.

D)  Why do I still have acne?  I am 28.

E)  Where are Handsome Dude's glasses?

F) Why is that stupid round chair in here?

G)  Why are my boys so naughty?

H)  Where are Handsome Dude's spare pair of glasses?

I)  Why are my boys hitting each other?

J)  There is no way I am taking them to Target later.

Finally, the nurse comes in.

She asks me the following questions:

1)  Does your skin feel dry?

2)  Are your eyes dry?

3)  Do you have nosebleeds?

4)  Do you have blood in your stools?

(Um . . . gross.)

5)  Do you feel depressed?

6)  Do you have thoughts of harming yourself?

7)  Do you feel fatigued?

8)  Are your lips dry?

9)  Are you having severe stomach pains?

10)  Any chest pain?

Um.

Excuse me?

What kind of horror pill am I taking?

So, then she has to draw blood for the 1.2 million tests they need to test me on.

Nurse:  You remembered to fast, right?

Me:  No one told me to fast.

Nurse:  Oh.  Well you were supposed to.

Me:  Ok . . .

Nurse:  We'll just take your blood anyways.

As she is filling tubes of blood, Handsome Dude is extremely concerned about her actions.

And Little Dude just leaves.

Yes.

That's right.

He just walks out.

Next, I have to take a pregnancy test.

So, she sends me to the bathroom with the dudes.

Now, this was a treat.

If you haven't ever tried to pee in a cup with your two young sons in a public place, I implore you to try it immediately.

As I am attempting to complete the task, Little Dude opens the door.

Yes.

That's right.

He OPENS the door.

So I have to quickly waddle over him to close the door.

Then I bring him back to me and hold on to him with one hand.

Now, I have to pee into a cup one-handed.

While two boys are both peering and looking to see what is going on in this mysterious toilet bowl.

And I learned something about myself on this dreadful day:

I don't have good aim.

As I am trying to put the lid on, Little Dude is alternatively rubbing my back and the toilet seat.

I quickly get up and put the cup on the counter out of their reach. 

I turn back and see Little Dude has completely put his face into the toilet.

Thank goodness I had already flushed.

But , nonetheless!

GROSS!

We make it out alive . . . barely.

The nurse tells us to sit in the exam room and wait a bit for results.

Fantastic!

We are good at waiting.

Handsome Dude now decides he must go poopy.

So, back to the bathroom we head.

He.

Takes.

For.

Ev.

Er.

Seriously.

A good 10 minutes.

Finally, we make it back to the exam room where it looks like the nurse is now waiting on us.

Ha!  Payback!

Now, the doctor comes in.

He asks me every single question the nurse asked me again.

He asks me when my last period was.

He reminds me that I cannot get pregnant.

Because, clearly it looks like I need more children.

I can understand his concern.

He looks at my face and lips, says I don't look too dry at all, and ups my dosage.

And I predict, dear readers, that my the end of April, I will no longer have lips.

***

Random Topic Quick-Change!

Yes! 

I am finally getting my laundry finished.

I have been waiting for almost 7 years.

Would you all like to know something nice my Lumberjack did?

Instead of having me take all our clothes over to my mom's house to wash, he moved our washer and dryer back into the laundry room last night so I could work on laundry today.

And I didn't even have to ask!

Plus, he moved them all by himself.

Such muscles!

And then he invited me to the gun show.

Speaking of guns . . .

Random Topic Quick-Change!

How many guns does The Lumberjack have in his safe?

Yesterday, many of you guessed numbers under 7.

One person guessed 12.

And to that I say,

Puh-lease.

Clearly, you do not know my Lumberjack.

Well, I didn't even really know how many guns he had.

I just know he has a lot.

So, I told him I needed an accurate number.

And guess what?

He didn't even know how many.

Lumberjack!

You have too many guns.

I repeat, you have too many guns.

The grand total?

17.

I find that excessive.

Happy Thursday!

The Birthday Party, part 1.

*Disclaimer*

This post is not for the squeamish and it is most certainly not intended for any reader who might be contemplating adding a baby to their family.

Thank you.

On Saturday, we celebrated my sister-in-law and niece's birthdays.

Tonya is my sister-in-law and my niece is called Snupps.

To get to their house, we have to drive for about an hour.

About 10 minutes before we arrived, we heard some pretty horrendous sounds coming from the backseat.

They were coming from Sweet Pea.

And, yes.

She was vomiting.

Me:  Sweet Pea just threw up!

LJ (short for Lumberjack . . . keep up, people!):  Should I pull over?

Me:  No . . . there's not much we can do with baby wipes.  Let's wait till we get to Danny and Tonya's house.  Besides . . . how much more could she possibly throw up?

Famous last words of a fool.

Name that artist.

Sweet Pea:  (wailing)  I threw up.

Me:  I know, honey, just wait a min-

Oh, snap! 

She threw up again!

I am now desperately trying to roll down my window.

But the window-child-safety- locks are engaged.

Me:  David!

Interruption:  David is the term I most frequently use when speaking to my Lumberjack.

Me:  Please unlock my window!

LJ:  How is that going to help anything?!

Me:  Fresh air!  I need fresh air!

Handsome Dude:  (gagging)  It's weee yuck!  It's weee yuck!

Daisy Mae:  She's throwing up again!

LJ:  Hold on, Sweet Pea!  Almost there!

Sweet Pea:  waahhhh!  waahhh!

Sweet Pea throws up.

Again.

Handsome Dude: (gagging)  It's weee gross, Mom!

So, we arrive to the party, fashionably late per usual, and with a child who is covered in vomit.

Tonya:  Do you want to stick Sweet Pea in the bath?

Me:  Sure!

Sweet Pea:  waaah, waaah

Interruption: "waah, waah" is the only way I can figure out how to relay crying to you, my gentle readers.

I am open to suggestions.

Thank you.

Handsome Dude:  (crying and gagging)  Sweet Pea's wee gross!

LJ to me:  Do you want to clean Sweet Pea up or the car?

Me:  Um . . . I would definitely rather clean up Sweet Pea.

The Lumberjack looks defeated as Tonya hands him some cleaning supplies.

Let's have a nice, warm round of applause to the Lumberjack who had to deal that nasty mess.

Thank you.

I take Sweet Pea, who is crying and wailing and wailing and crying, up to the bathroom.

I am trying to strip off her clothes without covering my poor sister-in-law's bathroom in this mysterious chunky matter.

Sweet Pea gets into the bath and immediately perks up when she hears that Tonya is finding her some clean clothes from Snupps.

Older cousins are simply the coolest.

Just when I think that all is right in the world again, my happy thoughts are interrupted by one frantic Handsome Dude.

Handsome Dude:  I need potty!  I need potty!

He is grabbing himself and running in place.

Me:  Dude!  Calm down!  You can go potty.  Want me to help you with your pants?

Handsome Dude:  I need potty!  I need potty!

So, I start to help him with his pants.

And then . . .

it happens.

Me:  Dude!  Wait! Don't pee yet!

But it was too late.

Handsome Dude starts peeing and I am in the direct line of fire.

Now, Tonya is a petite girl and I am certain that she has no clothes for me to squeeze into.

I ain't petite, folks.

So, I did what any decent, caring mother would have done to her 3-year-old son.

I pushed him away from me.

Far, far away from me.

And now his spray is just going rogue.

Pee is everywhere.

Pee is on Handsome Dude.

Pee is on Sweet Pea's chunky-vomit clothes.

Pee is all over my poor sister-in-law's floor.

Pee is not, however, on me.

Win!

I look at my sister-in-law's bathroom.

Two of my children are sitting, naked in her bathtub.

Pee is splattered on her toilet and walls.

Urine soaked clothes and vomit soaked clothes are both piled in the corner.

Vomit chunks are floating in the pool of urine on her floor.

And we had only been there 5 minutes.

Yes, folks.

That was our entrance.

It.

Was.

Epic.

***

To be continued . . .

 

Poor girls.

Daisy Mae's birthday party was this week.

I heart Daisy Mae.

Would you like to know why?

Because she makes my life easy.

Me:  What do you want to do for your birthday party?

DM:  Um . . . . I don't care.

Me:  Do you want to have any theme?

DM:  What's a theme?

Me:  Do you want it to be like "Fancy Nancy," or "Princess" or something like that?

DM:  Hmmm . . . how bout just whatever!

Me:  Sounds great.

DM:  We can dress up.

Me:  Check

DM:  We can have show and tell.

Me:  Done

DM:  We can have a tea party.

Me:  Okie dokie.

So, that's exactly what we did.

Easy -Peasy.

There was one minor glitch in the princess-y plans for the day:

Brothers.

Handsome Dude could not grasp the concept that maybe, just maybe, this party was not about him.

"Oh, Dirls!  Look at my puppy!"

Handsome Dude determined that it was okay, and acceptable, for him to join in on the festivities.

My poor girls.

And they thought they would have a girly party.

Little Dude is patiently watching the show and tell portion of the festivities.

He also has a big glob of pizza sauce on his upper lip.

Time for presents!

Handsome Dude.

Sit down.

This is not about you.

While Daisy Mae is opening her presents, Handsome Dude decides that our dog, Mabel, is being a nuisance . . .

and he feels it is his brotherly duty to remove her from the festivities.

And verbally abuse her.

Poor Mabel.

Little Dude felt that present opening time would be the ideal time to ride his tractor through the field of girls.

So helpful.

And what's a fancy tea party without your brother laying across the table shouting,

"Superman!"?

Look at those sweet girls.

They just keep being fancy and ignore Superman.

Let's have a round of applause for my Daisy Mae who did not complain once about their brothers invading her birthday party.

Thank you.

And finally . . . guess who bought himself a brand new camera?

LJ:  Hon!  Look!  I am taking a picture of you for your blog!  See?  It's a picture of you blogging!  Do you get it?  Do you get it?

Me:  Stop.

LJ:  What's that?  Did you say stop?

Me:  Yes.  Stop.

LJ:  Wait . . . you don't like someone taking a picture of everything you do?  Hmmm . . . interesting, Taylor.  Interesting.

Me:  Oh, be quiet.

LJ:  Your people will thank me.  You can take pictures of me doing stupid stuff and I will take pictures of you doing stupid stuff.

Me:  Whatever.

LJ:  The people will love it!

 

Well, people?

Do you love it?

Do you?

 

Yes, that's right, folks.

We are now a 2 camera family.

The Lumberjack felt he needed his own.

100 (meaningless) points to anyone who can guess why he feels he needs one.

Happy Wednesday!