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

Mr. Postman

Has anyone ever gotten in trouble from their letter carrier?
We have.
We are on our last warning.
Guess who freaks the letter carriers out:

Mabel has become quite cantankerous in her old age.

Oh, she is a naughty thing.

She figures out every way possible to get out of our backyard.

I reckon it is on account of our complete and utter disregard for her existence since we had the children.

Poor dog.

Mabel dislikes the letter carrier.

We do not know why.

She does not seem too picky.

The kids put clothes on her, ride her, pinch her, step on her, and poke her eyeballs.

And she just takes it.

But show her a stranger holding a stack of white envelopes, and she goes nuts.

Seriously.

She chases them down and barks at them.

If the letter carrier sees her out one more time, we will no longer get mail.

Ever.

Is that legal?

Don't we have rights?

Well, I am trying my hardest to keep tabs on the dog.

But, my main focus is keeping handsome dude . . .

alive.

So, there are times when Mabel is not my top focus.

But I really hope we can continue to get mail . . . otherwise fun moments like this would not happen:

In this current age of technology, the handwritten letter is rare.

But my girls have a Great Aunt Dana.

And Great Aunt Dana spoils them from time to time with packages in the mail.

She even throws in a few coloring pages and just little random bits and pieces of fun things she has collected for them.

And they love it . . . they really, really love it.

Sweet Pea sat down amidst all of her postal loot and teared up.

"I just really miss Aunt Dana.  I don't think I have seen her for like, 10 years."

Sweet Pea has a tendancy to exaggerate.

"Dear Dana, I mish you . . . "

*tear* sob* tear*sob*

Sweet Pea also tends to get emotional.

And I tend to get emotional when I think of how big my Sweet Pea is getting.

I mean, she can do so many things now:

*read

*count to 121

*fold laundry

*ride a bike

*write words . . . like mish

Ahhhh . . . my baby . . . .

She is also a stubborn little thing.

I had 4.2 million things to do because my friend Bimlissa was coming over.

And I had to hurry and try and meticulously clean my house, so as to appear that no children, husbands, or dogs lived there.

Cause Bimlissa would not be my friend if my house was not tidy.

She's snooty like that.

But Sweet Pea insisted that I address her package to Aunt Dana and put it into the mail immediately.

Yes.

I am sure my letter carrier would greatly appreciate this package stuffed in the mailbox.

Our First Christmas

The Lumberjack and I started dating when I was 17;

He was 18.

We started dating in July.

I was still getting to know his family . . . and he was still getting to know mine.

I was still at that stage where the thought of going over to his house made me super nervous and sweaty.

I kind of felt like this gal:

Mary Katherine Gallagher.

Pop Quiz:  What did the gal used to do when she was nervous?

Anyone?

Anyone?

Well, even though I didn't know how to apply makeup and would randomly cut my eyebrow in half, I at least had the common sense to not do that.

And to wear deodorant.

Anyways . . .

My family had a tradition of going to the movies on Christmas Day.

My mom:

"Wouldn't it be lovely to invite your new Lumberjack and his family to the movies with us today?"

Now, dear readers, my mother did not really call him my Lumberjack.

But for the purposes of this blog, just go with it.

So, I was visiting the Lumberjack and his family on Christmas Day.

In front of his whole family, I invite them to go to a movie with my family.

They all seem receptive to this idea.

They ask which movie.

My parents didn't really care.

They told us to pick either Patch Adams or Jack Frost.

The Lumberjack: "Patch Adams."

My future in-laws: "Well, let's just see what that film is rated."

So, out comes the newspaper.

Now, in all our hours spent chatting on the phone and conversing on dates, the Lumberjack failed to mention that his parents were completely and utterly against seeing any movie that was not rated G or PG.

Patch Adams is not G or PG.

My in-laws: "Sorry, guys.  Looks like this one is rated PG-13."

This was a horrifying moment for me. 

I tried to tell them about Jack Frost, which was conveniently rated PG, but the room was spinning and my cheeks were getting too hot.

I just wanted to go home.

Unbeknownst to me, the Lumberjack had a chat with his mom.

Apparently this chat was done in anger.

And apparently he was able to persuade his mother to change her mind.

I wish the Lumberjack would not chat with others before clearing it with me.

As I was getting ready to leave, she tells us that she and the Lumberjack's dad would join us, but none of their children.

I plead with the Lumberjack to cancel it all.

He refuses.

I beg him to switch it to Jack Frost.

He does not listen.

So, there we were.

In a movie theater.

In one row, my family and the Lumberjack.

And seated right behind me and the Lumberjack:

His parents.

At a PG 13 movie.

Has anyone here ever seen Patch Adams?

Does anyone remember the scene with the gynecologist convention?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ls0xhKKXG2g

I wanted to die.

I wanted to crawl under the seat and die.

Thankfully, my in-laws still love me, even though I took them to a questionable movie.

On Christmas.

I am really glad they still loved me.

I had so wanted to make a good impression on them.

I really wanted them to like me.

And by golly, The Lumberjack and Patch Adams were conspiring to sabotage me.

To this day, I have never seen Jack Frost.

I have good in-laws.

We have had lots of fun times together.

***

On a completely unrelated note, I received an email forward from my in-laws.

No, I did not forward it on to anyone else.

I made a committment long ago to stop email forwards dead in their tracks.

And I am doing my part one email forward at a time.

This forward was pretty funny, though.

It was titled:  "Why Boys Need Mothers."

The email contained this picture:

How am I supposed to respond to this?

My in-laws.

Awkward.

***

And in keeping with the theme of jumping around to completely unrelated topics:

My aunt Dana commented that I should have a post where I answer reader's comments and questions.

I am more than happy to do this.

If anyone has questions, that is.

Actually, I would kind of appreciate it.

Today is Day11 of National Blog Posting Month.

And by golly, I would be lying if I didn't say there have been moments where I did not know what to post.

So, bring 'em on.

I know my Aunt Dana's questions.

Does anyone else have a question?

Otherwise, I could just email my aunt.

If you have a question you would like me to answer, just write it in the comments section of this post.

If I get any, I will use it in a post for Friday or Saturday.

Thanks, dudes and dudettes.

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.

 

Jack and Mabel: Part One

When the Lumberjack and I were first married, we got our dog, Jack.

Jack was one weird dog.

Facts:

* He used to eat my old, used hairnets.

*He ate our laundry room floor

* He would get scared and pee all over himself.

The lumberjack used to be extremely frugal.

Annoyingly frugal.

So, once the Lumberjack added up how much this dog was costing us (i.e. new flooring, 50lb bags of dog food, etc), he hatched up a plan.

The plan was to buy a female golden retriever so we could breed them and sell the puppies.

Because according to the Lumberjack, Jack needed to start earning his keep.

So, we brought home our little furball, Mabel.

But, alas.

The Lumberjack's plan was thwarted.

Mabel's womb was sealed and she would never become pregnant.

So, there we were.

Two dogs.

Twice the dog food.

Twice the dog poo.

Twice the home repairs.

We had many adventures with these dogs in our early years of marriage.

They were our babies.

I loved them with all of my heart.

The Lumberjack liked Mabel.

The Lumberjack did NOT like Jack.

Jack was dumb.

One fall afternoon, the Lumberjack and I decided to take the dogs on a drive up into the mountains.

Why?

Because we did not yet have 4 kids.

 And we were bored.

And we could not afford cable.

Well, we probably could.

But, by golly, that Mr. Lumberjack was FRUGAL back then.

We put the dogs in the back of the Lumberjack's Ford F250 truck.

This is the same truck that I drove 5.3 miles in with the emergency brake on.

The Lumberjack was not pleased with me that day.

But, I digress.

We were all ready for our fun day of mountain driving with our two dogs.

As we were driving down the road, I looked out the side mirror and saw Jack jump out of the back of the pickup.

While we were driving.

Then Mabel jumped out.

"Stop!" I shrieked. "My babies!"

The lumberjack pulled over.

He yelled at the dogs.

Then got them back into the truck.

Off we went.

And, wouldn't you know it, they did it again!

Dumb dogs.

So we put them back.

And guess what.

They did it again!

The Lumberjack was angry.

He sped up to make them run harder.

Then we pulled over and retrieved our Golden Retrievers.

We had one leash.

Cause we are smart like that.

So we tied Jack down to the back of the truck.

Ha!

Take that, Jack!

And off we went again.

Now, this dog was dumb.

I mean really, really dumb.

He seriously used to eat my hairnets.

He would run around the house with them stuck in between his teeth and we would have to pry them out.

Oh, I am sorry!

Did you not know that I used to wear hairnets?

Interesting.

Anywho . . .

This dog was dumb.

So, guess what that dumb dog did . . .

Jumped out of the truck.

Whilst still attached to the truck.

Dumb dog.

He is hanging by his collar off the side of the truck, getting swung all around.

Dumb dog.

"Stop!  Stop!  He's hanging himself!"

The Lumberjack was beyond annoyed at this point.

"Good."  He said.

*Gasp!*

At that moment, my whole world came to a hault.

Could it be true that my husband did not share in my deep and never-ending love for these two dumb, yet beautiful creatures that God had given us?

Goodness.

This news is truly tragic.

Where was I?

So, Mabel is sitting pretty like a good girl.

Jack is dying.

I am sobbing.

And the Lumberjack is speeding.

Finally, my husband has mercy upon this dumb dog and pulls over.

We are at this point 30 miles from our home.

Clearly, we cannot leave this dumb dog in the back of the truck for 30 miles.

For if we do, one of the following situations will occur:

1)  The dogs will jump out, we will not notice, and they will be lost forever.

2)  The dogs will jump out and get hurt.  Then when we receive the medical bills, the frugal lumberjack will be so angry that he had to pay them that he would take the dogs back into the mountains to shoot them.  Then I will cry and wail and we would continue living out our lives in a cold and loveless marriage.

3)  The dogs will jump out on a busy road and cause a minor collision.

4)  The dogs will jump out on a busy road and cause a major collision.

Trust me.

None of these options are good.

So, one of us has to sit in the back of the truck and hold the dogs down by their collars.

For 30 miles.

Because I had previously driven this truck for 5.3 miles with the emergency brake on, I was not allowed to drive the truck any longer.

So, I was the one destined to ride in the back of the truck and prevent disaster from happening.

But, I deemed this situation unsafe.

Where was my seatbelt?

Where was my seat?

Where was my heater?

So, I made the Lumberjack take all the back country roads back to our home.

And I would rap on the back window if his driving became reckless or his speed exceeded 18 mph.

I am happy to report that no dogs died that day.

And my marriage did not end that day.

Did you like that story?

Cause I got plenty more where that came from.

Dumb dogs.

So  . . . .

Am I the only one who has had to wear a hairnet on a daily basis?

Weekend Update

It is no secret that I live a thrilling and exciting life.

Here are this weekend's top stories:

1)  I have discovered that my husband has an unhealthy obsession for westerns, along with hunting.

2)  In Friday's post, I quoted a line from a movie song, "Tell me why, oh why, can't I?" 

And no one knew what movie that was from.

People.

Seriously?

Let's try that again.

Here is another line:

"And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true."

Don't let me down.

 

3)  I would like everyone to know that this man:

aka, my dad, is now sending and receiving texts.

Technology.

It's changing the world.

My dad can't figure out his dvd player.

But he can text.

4)  Also, this man:

aka, my father-in-law, has joined Facebook.

And pigs can now fly.

If my dad can figure out texting and my father-in-law can figure out Facebook, then no one, and I mean no one, has any excuse to say they cannot figure this stuff out.

No one.

5) This guy:

is my brother-in-law, Jason.

I have nothing to report about him.

I just really wanted a reason to share that picture.

You're welcome, Jason.

6)  Mr. Lumberjack was trying to head off into the woods to be a manly-man hunter. 

But first he needed his gloves.

Wuss.

He could not find them anywhere.

He was quite stressed.

So, I had to help look.

I thoroughly searched my room.

No gloves.

I did, however, discover that I have completely overlooked cleaning under my bed . . . for  . . . a . . . while.

By the looks of things, I am sure that I have not paid any attention to this area since 2005.

I found some socks, toy trucks, shoes, hair bands, earrings, numerous dust bunnies. and the pump to an old lotion bottle.

But no gloves.

I wanted to suggest he just wear one of his other 15 pairs of gloves.

But, alas, they are not camoflauge.

And that would never do.

I am happy to report that Sir Lumberjack found his gloves in his hunting backpack.

Goober.

I would also like to report that I have no immediate plans to clean under my bed.

In the grand scheme of things, what does it really matter?

7)  I saw Melissa and she got her haircut really short. 

And she looks splendid.

8)  I also saw Mindy and Rachel at a little party.  I learned something about myself at said party:

Most women in this world have common sense when it comes to cooking.  They can create delightful treats without recipes.  They can peel fresh peaches.  They can make pie crusts from scratch.  They can make recipes that include the ingredient "active dry yeast." 

I am terrified of "active dry yeast," almost as much as I am terrified of unprotected left turns.

But that is a story for another day.

I am, sadly, a cooking idiot.

I learned that I am beyond help.

So, I listened to Mindy and bought some new bakeware that will magically fix all of my cooking disasters . . . right, Mindy?

Mindy?

I had better be a good cook from here on out, Mindy.

Or else.

9)  To the best of my knowledge, I have not lost any weight.

This discourages me.

Perhaps I should stop drooling over Big Macs and Egg Nog Lattes.

I mean, it has been 6 days.

Shouldn't I be skinny by now?

10)  This is day 8 of National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo).

I have committed to this, and therefore I must post every day in November.

I would like to let you all in on a little secret:

I AM RUNNING OUT OF THINGS TO SAY.

And this concludes my weekend update.

You're welcome.

First Date

The Lumberjack and I met in high school.  He was one year ahead of me.  We went to school together for almost 2 years without even talking to each other.

About two weeks after he graduated, the Lumberjack called me and asked me out on a date.

Now at this point in time, I would have never called him the Lumberjack.

Instead, I would have referred to him as Mr. Sensitive-Guy-who-really-liked-me-and-shopping-at-the-Gap.

My, how times have changed.

He still likes me, I guess, but we can just throw the sensitive guy, the shopping guy, and most certainly, the Gap guy parts out the window.

We are certain to never see that man again.

But for this story, we will call him Mr. Gap.

Now, I must give you a little history:

On the day of Mr. Gap's graduation, I was visiting my friend who lives up in the mountains.  As I was leaving, my car's brakes stopped working.

This was unfortunate because

A)  Brakes are usually considered an asset

B)  She lives on a MOUNTAIN

C) I was going downhill

D)  Her driveway gets somewhat curvy.

I was 17 and sure I was about to die.

Nothing was working.

I put the car in park.

Nothing.

I slammed on the brakes 2.4 million times.

Nothing.

I screamed.

Nothing.

I honked.

Nothing.

I considered pulling the emergency brake.  But I had an unhealthy fear of emergency brakes.  You see, when I was a child, I asked my dad what an emergency brake was for. 

"Well, it is the most powerful and strongest brake ever.  We hardly EVER use it."

So, as I am charging down the mountain driveway at 35 mph, I consider pulling the emergency brake.

But my dad's words came back to haunt me.

I did not pull that emergency brake.

For if I did, I was certain to be ejected from the car, merely from the sheer force and strength of that powerful emergency brake.

Instead, I found it more suitable to flip my car.

So, there I was:  hanging from my seatbelt.

Glass was shattered all underneath me.

I began screaming and honking my horn.

My friend's neighbor came to my rescue.

He walked up to my door.

"Hello!" I said. "Can you help me?  I seem to have flipped my car."

And he laughed at me.

And then he got me out.

But the car was totalled.

But I still made it to Mr. Gap's graduation, so I could give me a card and hope he would think I looked cute.

I was that dedicated.

And thus concludes my little story of what happened on Mr. Gap's graduation day.

Fast forward two weeks:  Mr. Gap asks me out.

He asks me to go to lunch on a Saturday at noon.

A few minutes before he came, my dad told me he was taking me car shopping.

I responded very snootily, and informed him that I would be busy all afternoon, for I had a date.

In retrospect, this was dumb because

A)  MY DAD WANTED TO BUY ME A NEW CAR

B)  I am sure Mr. Gap could have taken me to dinner instead

C) MY DAD WANTED TO BUY ME A NEW CAR

So, Mr. Gap picks me up.

As we drive away, he says:

"I was hoping to go to this sandwich shop downtown.  My parents gave me a coupon!"

This was my first glimpse into the frugal lives of my crazykin in-laws.

We arrive at the restaurant.

I am extremely nervous.

You see, once my friend had found out that I had a lunch date, she made me go through rigorous date-eating etiquette lessons.

Apparently, I always grossed all my friends out because whenever I would eat, I would talk too much.

Also, thinks like pizza sauce and cream cheese would squirt through my teeth.

Yes, ladies and gents.

That's right.

I was quite the find for Mr. Gap.

As we were eating, I dared him to eat a pepperoncine.

I should have known this would not go well, since he had already removed every vegetable and suspicious-looking sauce from his sandwich.

Picky pants.

He tried the hot pepper.

Then he began to spit out the pepper all over our table.

And guzzle water.

And spit.

And cough.

And spit.

And I never again worried about my eating etiquette.

For he, my dear friends, was a super gross eater.

So, we finished up and got in the car.

I thought it was going well.

We were chatting happily.

And then he pulled up to my house.

"Well, bye!"

I was disappointed.

He did not like me.

Maybe mustard squirted through my teeth.

I got into the house at 12:56.

My sister: "Why are you here?  Didn't you have a date?"

Me:  "Yes.  All done now!"

My sister: "Ha!  Obviously that did not go well!"

Me:  "Okay, Dad!  I am ready to go car shopping now!"

My dad (in a very snooty voice): "Sorry.  I made plans."

Well, I don't want to leave you all hanging, but Mr. Gap called me up and asked me out again.

I asked him later why he took me home so early.

His response?

"I only asked you out for lunch!  I don't know what else I am supposed to do with you!?"

We might need to change his name to Mr. Romantic.