Helpful.

Meet the dudes.

The dudes are taking a bath.

Handsome Dude, who was feeling particularly helpful this morning, decided to wash Little Dude.

Little Dude does not like this.

Little Dude is mad.

That's odd.

Now, big sister shall help.

Still, Little Dude does not appreciate her efforts.

Poor Little Dude.

My children are so helpful.

Handsome Dude helped himself to some milk:

He dropped it.

Plastics make it possible.

He also helped himself to a healthy snack.

Hey, Dude!

What are you doing down there?

Handsome Dude . . . Did you take a cupcake?

"Ummm . . . yes . . . I share with brother."

"See?"

So very helpful those boys are.

My girls are helpful.

Would you like to see what they made the Lumberjack for Christmas?

Coupons for free back scratches.

Lumberjacks love back scratches.

I got some coupons, too!

"Free Cleen Up."

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm about to redeem one of my coupons at this very moment.

We'll see how well this goes over.

Happy Saturday!

You Can't Handle the Truth!

Well, maybe you can handle it.

But I can't.

My precious girls!

How did you become so naughty?

Well, it is time I revealed the truth from yesterday's post:

People!

My girls would never steal.

PUH-lease.

#1 was false.

Rachel was the only person who guessed correctly!

Yes, they threw apples at someone else's camp trailer while I was being suffocated by a parachute.

Thankfully, the people were not at the campground during this time and the apples cause no damage.

Our little angels had to sit at the campfire for the rest of the night: about 4 hours.

And yes, they plucked the lattice of off the neighbor's fence for the own little wood pile.

My sweet girls came running into the house:

"Mama!  Come look at our play house!  We have some wood for winter!  Come look!"

Well, mama looked.

And mama did not like what she saw.

The Lumberjack rebuilt the fence-it took him about 45 minutes.

So the girls each owed him 45 minutes of  extra chores.

*sigh*

Where do I hand in my resignation?

Clearly, I am not fit to be a mother.

***********

Update:  I now have Taylor Swift on my IPod.

Question:  Is Taylor Swift only cool for the junior high crowd?

Just tell me the truth.

Either way, I still love that song.

Finish the line:

"Walking the streets with you and your worn-out jeans
I can't help thinking this is how it ought to be
Laughing on a park bench, _______________

_________________________________"?

 

I Know What You Did Last Summer

I am linking up to Mylestones today for Flashback Friday.

The theme is friendship.

This post is about my two daugthers, ages 5 and 6 at the time, and the mischief they can get into together.

Already, they are best friends and love each other deeply, and I am thankful for that.

 

I have these two girls.

Precious to my heart.

They are close in age and are becoming close friends and sisters.

But they are not always as angelic as they might seem.

In the past few months, there have been two moments where they have made me hide my face in shame.

I almost cannot bear to share these horrific events with you . . . I mean what will you think of me?

What will you think of my darling angels?

Maybe I had better just keep my mouth shut . . .

Okay, okay, okay.

Here's what I will do.

I will tell you 3 scenarios.

Two will be true.

One will be false.

Let's see if you can figure out what my "angels" did this summer.

Oh, girls . . .

 

I know what you did last summer.

Okay.

Here goes nothing.

Scenario #1:

We were at the grocery store.  When I say we, I mean myself and the Fab Four, not me and the Lumberjack.

The Lumberjack . . . with me . . . grocery shopping?

PUH-lease.

I was slightly distracted.

Actually, I was just trying to get through the store without forgetting anything on my list or murdering any of my children.

Well, while I was trying to load the groceries onto the moving black belt, I was also trying to stop Handsome Dude :

from chucking cans of vegetables on top of the bread.

I was also trying to teach Little Dude:

that it is not okay to push all the debit card machine buttons 4.2 million times.

Seriously.

Could there be a worse spot for debit card machines for mothers with young?

So, while all of that was going on, my two precious princesses saw some chapstick they wanted and just took it.

They put it in their pockets.

And they left the store with them.

Without paying.

Scenario #2:

We were camping.

Whenever you go camping, it takes forever to get your little site set up.
Especially if you camp with the Lumberjack.

And even more so if you camp with the Lumberjack's family.

Since we were the first to arrive, I was voted to help the Lumberjack set up his huge parachute.

Do you all remember the parachute?

 

Ridiculous.

Anyways, there I was, holding the large pole while the Lumberjack tried to tie the parachute lines down.

He made an oopsie and the parachute fell and the pole almost fell on top of me.

I lived.

But the point is that the parachute was now completely covering my eyes and, as a result,  I cannot see the fab four.

This is not ideal.

But I can hear them.

And I hear my two little girls shouting, "Yah!  Take that, Monster!  Yah!"

Along with the shouting, I also hear loud thunks and bangs.

" (___insert husband's name___)!  What are they doing?"

Well, they were playing a game.

They were pretending that they were the princesses (odd) and there was a monster who was trying to attack them.

They had found an apple tree and were taking apples and throwing them at their "monster."

Would you all like to know what the monster was?

Somebody else's camp trailer.

Scenario #3:

Our darling girls are playing in the backyard.

Their father, the Lumberjack, built them a delightful little playhouse.

Please notice the fence behind the playhouse.

It will be important in about two seconds.

Here are my girls playing in the playhouse with their cute little red-headed friend.

Cute little red-headed friend is not guilty of the crime that is about to be committed.

Our neighbors have a fence . . . you know the kind with the foot of lattice on the top?

Well, my girls, in the spirit of all things Lumberjack, decided that they needed a woodpile for their playhouse.

So, they plucked out each little piece of lattice from our neighbor's fence . . . and they made themselves a woodpile.

I mean, can you blame them?

They get it from their father.

 

Alright.

So out of those 3 scenarios, 2 are true.

1 is false.

Which one do you think is false?

On a completely unrelated note, I would like everyone to know that in the past 48 hours, I have become a HUGE fan of the Taylor Swift song, "You Belong to Me."

Just thought you might need to know that.

Click here to see the answers

Unbelievable.

The following are true happenings.

You may find them hard to believe.

But, they are true . . . oh, so true.

1)  I know the person who created this pattern:

Is that not the cutest thing ever?

I cannot even sew the patches on my girls' Awanas vests.

Check out her site:  www.beansproutcreations.com

I don't just know of her.

I know her know her.

We all know how joyous coffee is.

But think of how much more joyous it would be when you have that darling little owl sleeve on your cup!

And she even has a matching glove pattern.

Incredible!

2)  The last three times the Lumberjack and I have rented a movie, we have picked one that we thought we had not seen, but 20 minutes into it, one of us decides we have seen the movie.

Then we bicker over whether or not we have actually seen aforementioned movie.

Then we watch it for a few more minutes to ensure we have really seen it.

Then we fall asleep on the couch.

What has become of our life together, Mr. Lumberjack?

3)   In my lifetime, I have cut my eyebrow in half . . . not once, but twice.

The first time during my freshman year in high school.  It was a tragic event where I confused a tiny pair of scissors for tweezers.

Grooming is difficult for me.

The second time was last month.

And I would prefer to not share anymore.

4)  Speaking of beauty products, I was afraid of make-up in junior high.  All my friends started wearing it and I began to feel left out.

But I was retarded with makeup.

So my mother bought me clear mascara.

Raise your hand if you did not even know clear mascara existed.

Good.  All of you. 

Now, raise your hand if you don't even know what the purpose of clear mascara would be.

Good, class.

Raise your hand if you are not surprised that I poked myself right on the eyeball with said mascara each and every morning.

Good.

I have issues.

5)  I was a cheerleader in junior high.

6)  I started taking piano lessons at the age of 12 . . . a little later than most children. 

I loved it. 

I continued with the lessons through my junior year in high school. 

For my last recital, I played a 13-page performance of Celine Dion's, "My Heart will Go On" from the Titanic.

I don't wanna brag, but I brought down the house.

Of course, my competition was 6-8 year olds who were butchering "Twinkle-Twinkle Little Star."

After my award-winning performance, I was swarmed by those 6-8 year olds, wondering how I could play so well.

Well, girls . . . I am twice your age.

And apparently I am a loser, because there is no one else here even near my age bracket.

But, don't worry.

I let myself have my moment of glory.

I shook their little hands, gathered my 13 pages of sheet music, held my head high, and walked out of there a star.

And I never performed again.

 7)  And my final bit of unbelievable, yet very true news is:

I lost 3 pounds this week!

Who would have thunk it?

This:

 

is clearly no match for my iron-will like disclipline.

Thank you.

Thank you very much.

 

Dinner . . . *sigh*

Little Dude after dinner

*sigh*

Why me?

*sigh*

Thank goodness I have Sweet Pea here to help me . . .

*sigh*
Why, pray tell, is Sweet Pea wearing socks and shoes with her bathrobe?

*sigh*

I am going to say I am disgusted with Mabel.

But really, I am truly grateful to her for the help.

*sigh*

Ok, that is just gross.

And wrong.

I promise dinner tasted good.

And it looked pretty good at the beginning of the meal.

But now . . .

*sigh*

My last baby.

He is growing up too fast.

My precious, little dude.

He said "milk" for the first time today.

Oh, goodness, he melts my heart.

 And he has rice in his hair.

What happened to my baby?

*double sigh*

The Lumberjack gets a . . . Blackberry?

Well, the world has officially gone mad.

I have been sensing something big like this was going to happen.

Let's look at the facts:

First:  Lisa watched my boys and said that Little Dude was naughty and Handsome Dude was delightful and helpful.

Second:  The Lumberjack has been spoiling me like crazy.  I am not sure if he has just fallen more deeply in love with me or if he is trying to butter me up for more hunting time. 
Hmmm . . . I will go with the latter statement.

Third:  The powers that be took away the Lumberjack's sturdy, durable, walkie-talkie, hard-core, manly-man work phone and swapped it out with a Blackberry.

Excuse me, you powers-that-be?

Was that a good idea?

Does he really seem like the Blackberry type?

Oh, this is bad.

Were Blackberries meant to be stored in the pockets of Carhartts while climbing up and down ladders, crawling through attics, and occasionally, falling trees?

But I have not told you all yet the BEST part.

The "powers that be" have begun TEXTING the Lumberjack his jobs.

Oh, this is a treat.

If only I had a video for the moment last night when the Lumberjack pulled his hip, new phone out of his pocket, stared at it like it was communicating to him in a foreign language, and shouted,

"Am I getting a TEXT?"

And, yes.

Yes, he was.

And it was a work assignment for the next morning.

He stared at it.

I asked him if he needed my help replying.

He continued to stare.

You see, the Lumberjack had a course-altering decision to make at that point in time.

Does he text back,  allowing the powers-that-be to think that he is okay with texting?

Because texting, my gentle readers, is against everything my Lumberjack believes in.

It truly makes his blood boil.

But if he does not text back, will the powers-that-be think he does not have his work assignment?

After much thought, the Lumberjack found a solution he could live with.

He told me to text the following:

"I am having my wife text you because I do not text.  Yes, I will do the work that you ask."

Then, he frantically grabbed the phone from me and shouted,

"Now, delete them!  Delete the messages!  I don't want them on my phone."

I was more than a little taken aback at his state of panic.

My text message inbox currently has, um, 72 messages in it.

Not ones that I have not read, of course.

Just old messages.

What do I care?

The phone will tell me when I need to delete them.

Some people truly, truly HATE texting.

I do not understand this hatred.

Sure, it is annoying to text deep and intimate conversations.

But, it is easy to text a quick,

"I am running 10 minutes late."

And avoid a 5 minute phone call.

Oh, well.

We can just add this to the list of things I do not understand about my husband.

Oh, to be young again . . .

During summer, I love watching the freedom my little girls have.

No worrying, "I wonder what my hair looks like right now?"

No asking, "Should I be eating this chip?"

Not saying, "I hope my butt doesn't look too big right now."

Oh, to be not one bit shy in a swimsuit. To not even be concerned that the top is falling down.

And to pose for a picture while wearing a swimsuit!

Should I break it to them that these days might not last forever? Should I tell them that wearing a swimsuit will one day become something to fear? That removing a wet swimsuit will be something to dread? Should I inform them that one day, a day far off in their future, the worst moment will be when they take those first steps out into the world wearing that swimsuit, worrying about just what is wiggling and jiggling as they walk along the water?

Nah. Why ruin it for them?