The Grumpy Post. Plus bread.

Things aren't going so well over here.  Not gonna lie.  Feeling a bit stressed, a bit discouraged, if you will.  Wondering why I home school?  And what would be wrong with driving them to the rural public school and enrolling them all immediately?

Thoughts?  Someone might need to talk me down here.  I might be loading them up tomorrow, vaccination records in hand.

I am baking my own bread at this very moment.  Yes.  Be impressed.  There is flour on my shirt and it looks my kitchen exploded, but the bread needs to rise and now would be a good time to blog.  Because organization is my strong suit.

The bread is rising for the second time.  Bread.  It's so kneady.

Oh, darn.  No one can deny that was uber punny.

I am making this gal's recipe for bread and making one loaf of cinnamon swirl bread, of which I plan to make French toast out of tonight.  I am certain I will hear complaints from the members of this household, as per their usual dinnertime custom, but here I am, kneading and rising dough nonetheless, all in hopes that someday, someone, will rise and call me blessed.

I am a Grumpy Grumperton today, am I not?

Let's move on.  On Saturday, Sweet Pea had her first basketball game.  It was enjoyable, to be sure.  That girl is awesome on defense.  She sticks to her man like white on rice.  She does, however, forget to switch to offense.  So, while she is on offense, she searches out her opponent and again, sticks to them like dots on dice.  This is good for the other team, not-so-good for Sweet Pea and her chances of winning any future college sports scholarships.  And can homeschoolers win college sports scholarships? Probably not.  But here's to hoping.

After the game, we came home and I got a hankering to try the homemade bread that was previously mentioned in the above Grumpy Grumperton section of the post you are currently reading.   Saturday was the first time I made this bread.  I made four loaves and they are almost gone, which is why I am making four more loaves today.  And this seems excessive, our bread consumption, does it not?  And one must wonder if I have time to make such things?

I don't.

I also made homemade English muffins-about 2o of them.  They are already gone.  It's obvious I am drowning my sorrows in carbohydrates.

Please take note:  when I first started blogging in aught-nine, I had a healthy fear of active dry yeast.

Attention Readers:  Look at me and my bad yeast-rising self!  Holla!

I'm growing up before your very eyes!  Aren't you so proud?

The snow came today.  We have been blessed with lovely spring time weather thus far.  Foolishly, we laughed to ourselves and blissfully thought we were escaping our usual wintertime doom.

Alas.

 

It still came.

Those are my boys.  Aren't they cute?  The answer is yes.  I am fragile today, you know, so don't argue with me.  This was when we were trudging down the driveway to meet the bus for Handsome Dude.  Because I had half a brain and outsourced the education of the boy.

Do you think it would be weird if I just threw all the other ones on the preschool bus and then ran back inside?  To bake more bread?

So, we did school.  Lovely as usual.  And then we had to go pick up Handsome Dude from the bus stop.  It is an odd sitch, but the bus driver picks him up at our mailbox, but I have to drive about a mile away for the afternoon drop off.

Bus drivers.  So fickle.

So, in order to get the boy, I had to trudge through inches upon inches of snow and try to scrape all the windows.  Meanwhile, wind is blowing and I am certain we are having blizzard like conditions.  And I had to take a second and loathe all the locals who were complaining about the lack of snow.

What is wrong with people?  What's fun about getting snow smacked in your face and your jeans wet up to your knees  and putting the rig in 4-wheel drive just so you can drive one mile to a bus stop?  I wash my hands of it.

Well.  I must now face the kitchen.  My husband is coming home from work.  He is certain to be hungry and I am feeding him French Toast (did I mention I am making my own bread?)and he does not really care for bread.  I know.  Wife of the year.  And then he will spend hours upon hours plowing the blessed snow.  I wash my hands of it.

I shall leave you a new segment I just made up this very second entitled:

Little Dude and his Inappropriate, albeit Cute Mouth

Little Dude:  The "u" says "uh" like "*unit*."

Except he said the real word for unit.  You know I can't type that stuff out.

Shameful.

Alright.  That's all.

I was uplifting and encouraging today, was I not?  You're so very welcome.  To end things on a more positive note, I will share with you the verse I have been thinking of often.

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding.  In all your ways acknowledge him, and He shall direct your paths."

Proverbs 3:5,6

Happy Tuesday!

A Day.

I woke up this morning at 5:30am.  This is early for me, but I have been praying that God will help me learn how to fit more into my day, so I took it as a big, fat sign.  I got up, drank a cup of coffee and watched my husband rush out the door.

Fun Fact:  My husband is always running late.

Funner Fact:  But he just thinks he is late.  Late to him is 15 minutes before work starts.

Most Funnest Fact of All:  I am truly late for everything.  For reals.  Or realz.  Whichever you prefer.

The kids don't wake up until 7am, so I was excited to get some stuff done.

At 6am, I decided that I would *gasp* exercise.  I KNOW!  Look at me and my health-conscious self!  I could hardly believe it myself.

At 6:02 the dudes came upstairs.  They were starving for silly-roll, which is actually cereal.  You have to be on your toes around here.  This was uber convenient and somehow, the making of silly-roll, delayed my awesome workout until 6:47am.  But what can you do?

So, I workout, feel discouraged that I don't have abs of steel from 30 minutes of mild to moderate exercise, take a shower, and get ready to tackle the day.  I am feeling quite spunky and together and decide to wash the bedding from all the beds in the house.

Five sets of bedding all before naptime?

Bring it.

As I am beginning the bedding, I am also beginning the education of the children.  I'm a multitasker and and a darn good one.  As this post will aptly illustrate.

While I am starting the education, I am getting emails about our vacation rental.  I'm sorry!  Are you new here?  Did you not know I have another house?  Another wretched house that we have deal with because we apparently have all the time in the world?  The thing about the vacation rental biz, is you kind of have to be, oh what's the word . . . professional.  And punctual.  And generally organized.

Fun Fact:  In response to an email about said rental, I signed my name "Taylot."  Because impressing people is what I do best.

I have four different inquiries going on and I am trying my best to keep up with them because we need MONEY, all while realizing that my focus is really needing to be on my girls and their lessons.

So, I am feeling guilty and then the dryer stops, so I must switch out the load, because the bedding won't wash itself, and then I get another email and go back to the lessons all while realizing I have yet to bathe the dudes.

The dudes.  They are difficult.  This we know to be truth.  But take Handsome Dude and his leg of agony, and that takes difficult to a whole nother level.  And why do we say " a whole nother" level?  Since when can you split up the word "another" and stick another one in it?

Or maybe its just me?  Probably.

So, I get the girls started on something-don't ask me what-and begin to inform Handsome Dude that today is the day:

He must shower.

Handsome Dude has not showered since his accident.  Judge me if you'd like, I care not.  You can come and try to deal with him.  The boy has an unhealthy fear of showers.

I realize there is no way I'm going to get this boy into the shower.  So, I decide to call the doctor's office and inquire when the boy can bathe.  But first I have to get online to find the number, because who has phone books anymore?  While I am online, I must respond to stupid rental email.  I call the doctor's office and discuss the wound with a friendly gal who I truly believe has no idea what it is like to deal with a four-year-old-drama-queen-boy.

His leg is not ready for a bath.  I decide that I am the parent (brilliant!) and I am just going to make him shower.

It's a good thing we don't live near people because I am pretty sure Child Protective Services would have been called on me from the screaming that came during that horrific shower episode.

Got the boy cleaned and his wound all fixed up.

Then I began the endless cycle of homeschool/laundry/rental emails for the entire day.  It is now 5pm and I feel like I have not gotten anything done.

I remember when I first stayed at home with Sweet Pea, the days would drag on and on.  I would look at the clock.

"Two o'clock.  This day is taking forever . . . "

Today, I looked at the clock while reading with Daisy Mae.

"What time is it?  Does that say 2:07 or 2:27?  Oh please say 2:07!  We still need to do science before the boys wake up."

There is just not enough time in the day.  And yes.  We do science.  What did you think?  I answered emails and did laundry all day instead of school?

I need help.  Clearly.

Anyways.  I must sign off.  There is a slab of raw elk flesh that I must form into burger patties for our supper tonight.

Please.  Try to contain your understandable jealousy.

Later, dudes.

PS-Rest assured.  I will be eating a black bean burger.

PPS-Does anyone want to buy my house?  Either one.  I don't care.

PPPS-Yes.  You might recall that I have a freezer full of freezer meals.

PPPPS- The secret to freezer meals is remembering to actually pull out the meals the day before.

PPPPPS- Guess what I never remember to do?

Random Convos and Chickens

Little Dude is very interested in all letters and numbers as of late.  Recently, he has noticed the digital clock on the oven.

He stares at this clock and shouts:  Mom!  Mom!  MOM!  MOOOMMMMM!  What time it is?

And I look at the clock and reply: 4:17.

Little Dude continues to stare at the clock for, oh, I would guess about one minute.

Little Dude:  Mom!  Mom!  MOM!  MOOOMMM!!!  Now what time it is?

Me, with an-ever-so slight smile upon my face, for I find my boy cute:  4:18.

Little Dude:  Oh.

And I go back to doing the dishes, sweeping the floor, and other such exciting tasks that encompass my life, thinking my boy must be the smartest boy in the whole wide world.

Little Dude:  Mom!  Mom!  MOM!  MOOOMMM!!!!  Now what time it is?

Me:  Ok, buddy.  I am not doing this all day.

Little Dude:  What time it is?

Me:  Time to play.

Little Dude:  NO.  What time it is?

Me:  4:19

And yes.  This continues on and on and on . . .

You would not believe the wrath I must endure when the oven timer is counting down by the second.

Rocks his world.

Handsome Dude has been discussing his birthday often as of late.  I have not come to terms with the fact that my baby will be turning five, so I like to pretend like his birthday doesn't exist.

Handsome Dude:  Mom, when it's my birthday, I want all my friends to come, ok?

Me:  Ok.

Handsome Dude:  But I don't want you to come.

Me:  What?

Handsome Dude:  My friends don't want to see you.

?

Me:  But who will make your cake?

Handsome Dude:  You will.  You just can't come.

What a punk.

***

Today was going to town day, an exciting day if there ever was one.  You will be happy to know that I wore my magic boots.  I actually wore a skirt with leggings and my magic boots.  This is very un-Taylor-like, and most assuredly, very un-Ruralville-like.

My girls about died when they saw me.  I think they thought I was Barbie.  The Home-School-Mom version.  If that is possible.  And it's not.  But I am 30 now, and apparently more willing to take such fashion risks.  Everytime I wear an outfit that Daisy Mae likes, she pleads with me:

"Mom!  Can I have that when you are tired of it?"

I try to assure her that when she is big enough to wear such things, she will have no desire to wear my clothes.  This thought is unfathomable to her.  Bless her heart.

You will also be happy to know that on this day, this going-to-town day,  I went to the optical center.

Shocking, I know.

And you will be ecstatic to discover that Handsome Dude has a new set of frames.  Of which they gave me for free.

I owe these people my life.  Perhaps I should make them cookies?  Send a thoughtful card?

What, pray tell, do you give people of whom you owe your life?

Your first born son?

He's ashamed of me anyways.

***

In other news, we might get chickens.  Because that's just what we need in our lives.

Chickens!

Oh, but wouldn't it be cute to send the dudes outside with little baskets to gather the eggs?

Presh.

And "presh" is what cool people, such as myself, say to abbreviate "precious."  FYI.

I am sure no trouble with befall us with the chickens.  I am hoping for an uber (or ueber if you are know-it-all like Sister Meagan) cute chicken house.

Knowing my luck, my husband will make it all hillbilly-ish.  He always does that to me.  This is my lot in life, my burden to bear.

Anyways.  Chickens?  What could go wrong?

Please Advise.

It hurts his leg.

Today was our first day back to our home school co-op since the holiday break.  Despite massive preparations the night before to make the morning flow smoothly, I was still a disorganized, chaotic mess.

Are we surprised?  No.  No, we are not.

Working against me was my lack of:

a)  plastic sandwich bags

b) unused plastic food storage containers

c) plastic wrap

d) foil

Just try to pack lunches for 5 people without the above items.  Go ahead.  I dare you.

I remembered that once upon a time, I purchased sandwich bags to keep in the car, so I could easily bag up snacks if ever the need arose.

It appears that at one point in my life, I had a brain.

I sent Daisy Mae out to the car to get said bags.  She came in screaming her head off.

Yes.  She found two bags, but fell on the concrete patio, dropped one bag, and would, apparently, not be able to move or stop crying for the rest of her life.

So.  I had one, plastic sandwich baggie.  Go ahead.  Try to pack lunches for 5 people with one sandwich sized plastic baggie.  I dare you.

Then I remembered the camp trailer!  Yes!  The camp trailer!  So, I sent Sweet Pea out to the trailer and told her to find and bring back anything that could hold food.  She found the mother lode and brought back a plethora of sandwich bags.

Redemption!

After much running around, I finally had everyone dressed and fed, except for Handsome Dude.  Handsome Dude has a fear of everything, ever since his little accident.  One of those fears is now washing his hair.

The shower is out of the question.  Because the shower is the devil.  Clearly.

Putting a plastic trash bag (yes, I had those!) over his leg was out of the question so he could try a bath.

I resorted to sticking his head over the tub and washed his hair, forsaking the rest of his body.

Everything hurts his leg now.

Putting his underwear on.

Putting his pants on.

Brushing his hair.

Brushing his teeth.

Picking up his toys.

Eating his dinner.

Going to bed.

Not hitting his brother.

These are all the things that just cause his leg great agony.  Poor thing.

We were to leave no later than 9am.  At 9:15, I was half-dressed, running around, shouting for people to get GOING.  Then I had to load that darn fire.

Oh, how I loathe it.  It's just so tedious, you know?  And I always pick logs the wrong size and I have to go tromping back out to the wood pile.  And then I get a splinter and soot on my face and sap in my hair.  Super convenient.

But, alas.  If I do not feed the fire, our house will be a frigid tundra upon our arrival.

And that would hurt Handsome Dude's leg.

I run up the stairs and finish getting dressed.

I look at my girls and say:

"When you grow up, promise you will be more organized than me."

Daisy Mae:  What does that mean?

Sweet Pea:  She's talking about her clothes.  They don't match.  She wants us to match when we are older.

?

I totes matched.  For the record.

We get in the car and drive about a mile away when I started to do a run down on what we needed to bring.  Sweet Pea was supposed to pack a change of clothes for basketball practice.

Me:  Did you pack basketball clothes?

SP:  Yup!

Me:  You remembered basketball shoes, right?

SP:  Um . . .

Me:  Quick!  What shoes are you wearing?

SP:  My dressy boots.  Will those work?

*sigh*

So.  We had to turn around.  And, yes.  We were late.  Because we like to impress people like that.

Handsome Dude didn't want to go to his class.  Because it hurt his leg.

He didn't want to eat his bagel.  It hurt his leg.

The brownie was fine.

He didn't want to ever go back to co op again.  Because, "Mom.  You know my leg?  The one the log hurt?  It not feel good.  I can't go to school."

He could not be quiet at the library.  It hurt his leg.

Running around the library in complete book-ecstasy was completely fine, however.

He could not join us for dinner.  His leg would rather play puzzles.  Plus the soup was "lucky."

Lucky means "yucky."

But his leg would be able to join us when it was time for dessert.

That boy.

And I love him.

***

This post is really, really, pointless.  I am wondering what I even planned on blogging about?  I cannot be certain.  But I have made it this far.  There is no turning back.

***

You may recall that back in the day, Sweet Pea had planned a library birthday day with my dad.

My dad was aghast that I did not include this in the blog.

So, let the records show:

Sweet Pea and Dad went to two different libraries and stopped for a corn dog and ice cream sundae.

I have no pictures or humorous stories to share in regards to this information.  But it happened, nonetheless.

Consider yourselves informed.

Later, dudes.

 

 

The Tea Party

You may recall that the girls and I went to Tennessee to visit Bimlissa and company last fall.

During said trip, we took the girls to the American Girl store in Atlanta.  We had a tea party there and life, for my girls, would never be the same again.

So, for Sweet Pea's birthday, she wanted to have an "American Girl Tea Party."

Now.  I am not "creative."  Nor am I "girly."  And I'm definitely not "lovely" or "graceful."  So throwing such a party was a bit of a challenge for me.  But I prevailed!

Prepared to be wowed by my awesomeness.

First, I coerced my mother into hosting.  This was brilliant on my part for a few reasons.

1)  Her house is nicer.

2)  She is nicer.

3)  She lives closer to, oh, you know, PEOPLE.  Therefore we might actually get some humans to come.

My mom and dad had the table all set up for us before we got there.

Mother used Sister Meagan's American girl dolls from her childhood as centerpieces.  I would like the people to know that I, their eldest daughter, received zero American girl dolls during my childhood, while Meagan, their youngest daughter received TWO.

Not that I am bitter.

(But I would have picked Samantha.  She was the bomb.  There's no denying it.)

My dad made a huge pot of hot cocoa and talked to himself.  He talks to himself often, he cannot help it.  Apparently, he was trying to figure out what was going to take place in his home today, seeing as how his granddaughters were about to burst from excitement.

What is a tea party?

What are they going to do?

I don't understand how this works?

Well, Dad.  I fear you don't understand how many things work.

Mother sent father out to do some errands.  It was for the best.

The girls and I had prepared a menu beforehand with many delicious treats.

What was on the menu, you ask?

Felicity's Hot Cocoa with Marshmallow Dippers

(Marshmallow Dippers recipe and image source)

Samantha's Pink Lemonade

Kaya's Fruit Kabobs with yogurt dip and mini poppyseed muffins

Kit's Turkey and Cheese Sandwiches (cut out into a bunny shape)

Rebecca's Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwiches (cut out into a star shape)

Julie's Mini Bagels with Cream Cheese

Josefina's Candy Brownies (brownies with M and M's on top)

Molly's Tea Party Cupcakes

I am sure you are all amazed . . . and rightfully so.  But allow me to let you in on a little secret:

All you do is pick a finger food and stick one of the American Girl character's names in front of it.

I'll do it right now.

Veggies and Dip . . .

Kirsten's Veggies with Dip.

BAM!

And that's how it's done, folks.

The girls all arrived with a doll and felt they were all that and a bag of chips.  During the tea party, I suggested the dolls get acquainted on the couch and not risk getting some of FELICITY's hot cocoa on them.

The girls.

After they ate, we played American Girl Bingo.  It was all free and gameboards could be printed from this site.

I printed them out on cardstock, so we can use them over and over again.

I KNOW! Can you believe I am this "with it"?

The birthday girl, enjoying a rousing game of Bingo.

Happy Birthday to Sweet Pea!  I hope she enjoyed her MOLLY TeaParty cupcake.

We purchased all the tea cups for 25 cents and saucers for 10 cents at a thrift store and sent them home as party favors for the girls.

I told you I would wow you, the Susie Fantastic that I clearly am.

Nailed it.

***

We opened our Christmas presents from Jason and Amy today.  It is a long story, and mostly our fault, but there is no time to explain as to why we are opening Christmas presents on January the 8th.

Just go with it.

Look at what Amy made me!

A collage frame with the photos already in it!  Score!

Now if I could only get her to create all my photo albums from the years 2007-2012 . . .

Perhaps if I told her she was more precious than fine rubies?  Thoughts?

They also gave the kids Legos.  Little Dude has been "cleaning up" his mess for about 90 minutes now.

*Gasp*

I used the flash.  Isn't that a mortal sin in photography nowadays?

I care not.

Obviously.

Later dudes.

Magic Boots

We went to town today to get Handsome Dude's leg looked at.  Since it was going to town day and all, I donned my new, albeit late (fashionably speaking) Christmas boots, so I was feeling quite city-like and all.

And, yes.  This is exactly how I choose to believe I looked.

(source)

Except, I could never fix my hair like that nor look that carefree with a sweater.  And I weigh a teensy-bit more.  But just a hair.

Oh!  And I was carrying Handsome Dude all around with him having one leg sticking straight out because, did you hear . . .

The boy had a bit of an accident.

So, I probably didn't look quite that glamorous.  Before the appointment we had to make a quick little stop.  You better sit down for this, folks.

We went to get some glasses fixed.

Yes.  I know.  Gasp if you must.  And I have said it before, and I shall say it forevermore:  I love MY Glasses Repair People.  I do.  I truly do.  For they worked for FORTY minutes on getting Handsome Dude's glasses in working condition and then ordered some new frames and don't plan on charging me.

?!

It's probably because of my new boots.

They are magic.

While we were there getting Handsome Dude's glasses super glued/welded/taped/what-have-ya back together, Sweet Pea got her new glasses, because we like to frivolously throw all of our money towards medical professionals, didn't you know?

I am lazy and shall not take a picture for you at this moment.  It's the kind of good, quality blogging you have come to expect from me.  But I can offer you this picture of both of my girls showing off their new mini American girl dolls they got for a late Christmas present today from Brother Danny and company

Will that suffice?

They are blue.  And they cost a pretty penny, yes they do.

The astute reader might notice that Daisy Mae looks like she just licked the spoon of the brownie batter David was preparing.  And that reader would be correct.

Anyways, after the glasses ordeal, we went to the orthopedic surgeon for a follow-up on Handsome Dude's little surgery.  Because we like to frivolously throw all of our money towards medical professionals, didn't you know?

The ER doctor referred us to an orthopedic surgeon because of all the trauma that was around Handsome Dude's knee.  In case you were wondering why on earth we were going to see an orthopedic surgeon.  And I know you were.

When we first got there, he was doted on by all female staff and given several pieces of candy.  The nurse came and called us back and I remembered that before the candy, HD had gum.  And I, being the responsible parent that I am, thought it might be wise to confirm with the boy on the whereabouts of the gum.

Me:  Hey, where did you put your gum?

HD (mumbling, because he is mad at the world for noticing his leg):  In the trash.

Nurse:  Oh!  Did he throw his gun in the trash?

Me (Laughing):  Oh, no, I said gum.

*awkward silence*

Me:  You must think we are pretty responsible parents . . . getting our kid's leg trapped under a log . . . letting him pack around a gun . . .

Nurse:  Oh, no!  I was thinking of a toy, of course!

Ah!  She didn't think of us as that redneck at all, even though it clearly states on our information sheet that we live in Ruralville.  And nothing normal comes out of Ruralville.

Trust me.

It must have been my boots.  Yes.  She must have known I wasn't a full Ruralville-ite on account of the boots.

I am a vixen in these boots, yes I am.

His leg is getting better, but the wound is still pretty gnarly and will need some care.  I would show you a picture, but it might make you toss your cookies, and who needs vomit in their computer keyboards anyways?  He is now out of the immobilizer, which is good, because I am pretty tired of the boy yelling at me because he can't ride his bike.  But, I think he will be needing to take it easy for awhile longer.

After the appointment, I planned to run a few errands.  This was "going to town" day and all.  Before we left home, I had asked Sweet Pea to grab Handsome Dude his other sock and shoe, since he wasn't wearing one with the immobilizer, but would need one after the appointment.

Did I lose you?  Are you with me?

Anyways, Sweet Pea, the good helper that she is, did get Handsome Dude the necessary items, but she left them by the front door.  Which isn't as helpful as it would seem when we are many miles away.

Luckily, David, my dashing and dapper Electrician/Lumberjack was in the vicinity and met me and the grocery store to take HD home.

And would you like to know what he said when he saw me?

"Nice boots, Teller."

You see!  These boots!  They are life-changing!

True.  He was most likely making fun of me.  But I care not.  I will take the compliment.

And, yes.  My husband calls me "Teller" instead of "Taylor."  He thinks he is hilarious like that.  This is because his father and brother, Jason, call me "Teller."

And I have no idea why.

Alright.  I'm out of here.

PS-Someone asked if Sweet Pea was still going to get her birthday party.  Yes, it has been rescheduled to this weekend.

Happy Thursday!

A Scary Weekend

Saturday was Sweet Pea's ninth birthday.  This was really strange, seeing as how it seems she was just born last week.

?

Sweet Pea sleeps in later than everyone nowadays.  I would have never believed you if you told me this when she was a newborn.  The child did not sleep at night for the first few weeks.  It was against her rules.

When Sweet Pea woke up, the other children bombarded her and she opened her presents before she could even fully comprehend it was morning.

Here she is with her new mini Kaya doll from her friend, Jordyn.

As usual,  I am sure you are praising my photography skills.  And I thank you for that.

After all the present excitement, David took the kids outside to get ready for the Winter Olympics birthday party we would be hosting later on that day.  I stayed inside to cook, clean, and do laundry, for it seems that is my lot in life, my burden to bear.

A bit later, I heard frantic screaming coming from the girls.  It was terrifying, and I was sure somebody was dead, I kid you not.  I was running all around trying to determine where the source of the noise was coming from.  I looked off of our deck and I saw Handsome Dude, lying on the ground, with a large log on his leg.  David had been pulling a tree that he had cut down with his bull dozer, the log twisted, and somehow trapped Handsome Dude underneath.  The girls were standing near him, screaming.  David had run off to get a tool to help get the log off.  And Little Dude seemed oblivious to any sort of trauma and was singing to himself.

I ran downstairs and outside, screaming all the way, hoping the chicken frying on the stove would not burn us all to the ground.

Because I am safe like that.

I pushed the log with all my might and nothing happened, which was discouraging.  David came running back with some large tool.  Please do not ask me what the tool was, for I have not one clue.  David got the log rolled off, picked Handsome Dude, up and ran him into the house.

Chicken was burning.  The girls were screaming.  Daisy Mae kept asking if HD was dead.  Little Dude was mad that he had to come inside.

David and I stripped Handsome Dude's pants off.  His leg was terribly scratched and bruised and there was an open wound in the back of his knee.  We knew we had to take him to the doctor immediately.

It takes us about 40 minutes to get to the doctor. Daisy Mae could not be consoled the entire time, poor thing.  We got to our doctor's office and the doctor took one look at the open wound and told us to go straight to the Emergency Room.  Thankfully, my dad met us at the doctor's office and took the other three home.

David felt terrible, since the accident was his fault and would not let go of Handsome Dude.  At this point, I have barely seen his leg, nor have I gotten to hold him.  While David was holding HD, the doctor flipped HD over and stretched out his leg to look at the cut.  The cut was much worse than David and I knew it to be and I almost fainted when I saw it.  It was about 4 to 5 inches across the back of his knee and (sorry for the gross detail) his flesh was hanging out.

Handsome Dude was obviously in a lot of pain and kept yelling at everyone who came near him.  It was so horrible when they had to give him X-Rays, the poor guy.  The doctors thought his femur might be broken at first, but thankfully he had no broken bones.

But, since the cut was so bad, it was decided that he needed to be taken to the OR and be put under general anesthesia so the doctor could check for tendon damage, clean out the wound, and stitch him up.

So, he had to get an IV, which he was not appreciative of.  The anesthesiologist came in to ask when the last time he had eaten was.  David had fed him breakfast and neither of us had fed him anything since.

But, my son is known to go into the pantry and sneak himself a marshmallow from time to time, so . . . .

Dr:  Buddy, can you tell me if you ate anything after breakfast.

HD:  I DON'T WANT TO TELL THE TRUTH!!!!  NO!!

Lovely.

Dr:  We are just going to assume he has eaten.

He is a brilliant man, that doctor.

Finally, about 3 1/2 hours after the incident, the poor boy was finally given something for the pain and drifted off to sleep while they prepped the OR.

Poor boy.

The nurses felt bad for him, too.  Each one that came in brought him a new toy.  And he would furiously tell us to remove it from his presence.  That cranky boy acquired a new teddy bear, stuffed elephant, and a Hot Wheels set.

The procedure took about an hour.  While we were waiting, my mom sent me a picture of Sweet Pea, who had opened her birthday present from them.

It was sad to miss out, but I was glad she was having a bit of birthday fun, in spite of the terrible day.

Handsome Dude came out of surgery fine, but he has to wear a full leg immobilizer for one week.

Poor boy.

We got him home, and I got him all set up with a snack and some soda pop.

Yes.  I gave the boy soda.  Don't judge me.

He took about one bite of his bread and fell back asleep.

Poor boy.

He decided he would like to watch a little TV with us.  He will not allow me to carry him anywhere, just David.  Apparently, I am not to be trusted.

He looks pretty lively for the TV show.

He gets it from his father.

The next day, he was still in pain and refused to try and walk all day long.  But finally, right before bed, he decided to give it a try.

And now, there is no stopping him!

For now, he is sleeping on a mattress on our floor.  The girls have a fun time making up a bed for him and doting on him.

 The astute reader might notice the weighted hula hoop to the left of Handsome Dude.

I use this a lot, as is evidenced by my, *ahem* rock-hard abs.

So, that was our weekend.  It was very scary and sad and a lesson learned in safety with kids!

I am so thankful that he is going to be ok and it wasn't any worse than it was!

My poor boy.