The Home Schooled Basketball Player.

Sweet Pea started basketball practice last night.  We live in a real rural area, but there is a small town about 15 minutes away and she is going to be playing on their team.

Poor Sweet Pea.  I suspect her P.E. teacher has failed her.  She has not one clue what is going on, bless her heart.  But,  she was all smiles as she was attempting to dribble and run down the court.

After the practice, I was a bit nervous to talk to her.

Me:  So, did you like it?

SP (all smiles):  Yes!  I'm not that good.  But, oh well!

Me:  Oh, you are fine!  We will practice at home.  Did you meet anyone?

SP (all smiles):  No.  No one really talked to me.

Me:  Oh.

SP (all smiles):  Wait!  One girl told me I was doing everything wrong.  That's it.

Let us all have a moment to applaud the courageous spirit of my daughter, who is THAT HOME SCHOOLED GIRL that nobody knows, playing a sport she has never played before.

Holla, Sweet Pea.  I don't think I could have done it.

Henceforth, her father and I have bought her an early Christmas present:  a basketball.  She is out there practicing some skills (or skillz, whichever you prefer) as we speak.  And this most certainly did not cause weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth from the three other children wondering why they, too, did not receive a basketball.  Nope.  We live in perfect harmony.

We are officially on Christmas break.

OH.

DARN.

We have decided to start our first annual "Christmas Home School Party."  Because we aren't nerdy at all.  We are making appetizers and Christmas cookies and will be doing all sorts of festive things.  David will be thrilled.  Perhaps we won't invite him?

I kid!  I jest!

His attendance is required.  For he moved us out here and he must feign delight in our whimsical ideas.  It's the rules.

I have some fantastic news.  We are going to be K-I-D-L-E-S-S this Saturday night!  We are going to a Christmas party and then we are going to stay in a H-O-T-E-L.

Please.  Try to contain your jealousy.

We won a hotel stay awhile back and we shall be redeeming it.  My parents are taking all four kids for the night and are to be commended for it.  As payment, I created their Christmas card with them over the phone last night.  It was torturous, as one might imagine,  and my services are worth more than fine rubies.

Mom:  Hmmm . . . I'm not digging the brown where it says "Merry Christmas."  Can you change it?
Me:  No.  It is Costco's template.

Mom:  Can you just change the color?  To black?  Or red?

Me:  No.  It is Costco's template.

Mom:  Ok.  Then put a picture over it.

Me:  I can't.  It's the template.

Mom:  I see.  Well can you swap it with the pattern from the other card I liked?  Or move it?

I suspect she is not familiar with the meaning of a template, no?

Anywho . . .

The Christmas season is upon us.  I would love to hear about some of your family traditions and happenstances that you have going on.  If you feel so inclined to share.

I am feeling a bit lonely today and I fear I have already bugged my Facebook friends enough.  What with my meaningless status update and whatnot.

I just need interaction!  That's all!  Not too much to ask!

So, yes.  Tell me something fantastic!  Share with me!  Visit with me!

Or not.  I'll live.

The Letter A

The girls just asked me if they could go outside and show the boys God's beautiful creation.

?

My work here is done.

In other news, I am nursing my caffeine addiction and trying to create my mother's Christmas card for her.  Isn't it sad that my parents see me as a photo genius?

The girls have coerced their father into giving them another pet rabbit.  The rabbit thing got a little hare-y (oh, darn that was clever) last fall and David took over all rabbit responsibilities.  The girls have finally earned the right back to care for one again.

They came inside and got David's awesome book "The Wonderful World of Rabbits" or something like that and taught themselves how to sex a rabbit.

And yes.  I just used the phrase "sex a rabbit."  I am one of those people now.  The girls feel they have chosen a girl, although who knows? I am certainly not going to go double check the gender sitch out there.

They made a daily checklist for how they shall care for their rabbit, of whom they have named Independent.  And can we not all agree that there are far more fantastic names for a rabbit than "Independent? Like Gladys or Bertha or Norma Jean Riley?  Besides, I am pretty sure them rabbits are not independent at all.

Independent's Daily Checklist:

Feed

Water

Sing to her

Apple

Hay

Sing to her?  This must be what happens when one homeschools.  And who said she could have an apple each day?  Not I.

We had a Christmas Party with our home school co op peeps.  It was lovely AND there was a jumping castle.  I got pictures of all the kids minus Daisy Mae.  Daisy Mae is a social butterfly and cannot be found when amongst her peers.

Sweet Pea

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Little Dude

Handsome Dude

Face Plant.  Nailed it.

You will be relieved to know that I collected his glasses AND even had a spare glasses case in my purse.  Thankyouverymuch.

I caught up on my Christmas wrapping the other day and the kids have had a grand time looking at all the wrapped presents under the tree.

I, for one, will be uber impressed if the dudes refrain from opening any presents while I am showering.

Little Dude was examining all the names on the packages.

Me:  What do you want for Christmas?

Little Dude (shouting, per usual):  THE LETTER "A"

Me:  Huh?

Little Dude:  EVERYONE HAS AN "A" IN THEIR NAME!

And he proceeded to show me how each of his siblings have the letter "A" in their factual names and he, sadly, does not.

Little Dude:  "A"!  I WANT AN "A"!

Me:  Probably not going to happen.

Little Dude: "A!"

Alright.  Time to get back to our academics.  Later Dudes.

Like you care.

My friend, Shelly, was attempting to get some decent shots of my kids for me this week.

Cue Little Dude and his secret, inner desire to be a supermodel . . .

Apparently Little Dude likes to pose.

No one was asking him to . . . he was just feeling it, you know?

Is he showing off his bum?  We cannot be certain.

Shelly asked him to sit on the chair.  It was a vain attempt to get him to stop showing his bum.

"Have you ever wondered if there was more to life, other than being really, really, ridiculously good looking?"

(Name that movie.)

Well.  He is cute.  I'll give him that.

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Yes!  My son does have water all down the front of his shirt.  I'm glad you noticed.  And, yes!  He is wearing two left cowboy boots.  It's his trademark.

Every time we are in public, I look upon my son in dismay as I realize that, yes, he has once again chosen the two left cowboy boots.  Per usual.

One of these days I'm gonna march over to that shoe basket and remove one of those pairs of boots.  Someday.

Let's do a COW.

For it pleases us.

This week's goes to my very own Auntie Datenut.

I normally do not believe in corporal punishment, mostly because it doesn't work usually and makes parents feel worse. But I WOULD seriously HURT the person breaking the eyeglasses. Additionally, like you care, but there are frames that bend not break and I have always wondered why you don’t get them like 1800 years ago?????!!!

Ohmygoodnessgracious.  That comment killed me.  KILLED me.  More specifically, the part where she writes, "like you care."

So, now, dear readers, I will give you:

The Glasses Story (like you care)

(did you see what I did just there?)

Once upon a time, I had a baby boy.  He was uber handsome and precious.  But, alas.  The boy's eyes were not working proper-like.

So the baby boy had to get glasses at the age of 6 months.

Please take note of the walls in my former house.

See how they are NOT PEACH.  That's key.

Baby Handsome Dude would not keep glasses on.  It was impossible.  Have you ever tried to reason with a baby?

But as the boy grew, we were able to get him to wear them more.  But he wasn't the most gentle with the glasses.

We have gone to the same optical place since Sweet Pea was two.  They are always very kind to me and fix the glasses for free and always try to give me a discount or help me out in some way.

For this they know to be truth:  I cannot keep glasses on the boy.  And they pity me.

Last May, I took Handsome Dude to a new eye doctor who completely changed his prescription and made it much stronger.  Poor Handsome Dude's eyes were not doing well at all.  He was having double vision and his eye was constantly wandering.  But since he got his new prescription, Handsome Dude is very careful with his glasses now.  He hates not wearing them.  I think its because he can actually see now.

I had considered the more flexible frames, but the awesome peeps at the optical place were able to save me money by just ordering new lenses for his existing frames.  These frames have broken 1.2 million times, but they kept saying they are under warranty and order new ones.  For free!

But the warranty is up.  Which is why my husband had to torch the frames to mold them into submission.

Handsome Dude has two other pairs of glasses.  The astute reader might remember me talking about how my husband bought some INDESTRUCTIBLE glasses from a different optical place.  Traitor.

We were told these frames would bend, not break.

They break.

Plus, Handsome Dude's lenses are too thick for these frames and the lenses are always popping out.  Which is not his fault at all.

But the frames breaking?  That would be the work of this guy:

So, there you go.  And his prescription might change again this spring, so we are trying to hold off on buying new ones until after that doctor's appointment.

Hence the blowtorch.

But, rest assured, we will be ordering more durable frames.  In fact, the optical place (MY optical place) already has some ordered for him to try on.

Alright.  I must go do my chores and whatnot.

But first, I must share the convo I heard between the dudes this morning before they were getting in the bath.

They were both naked.  FYI.

Little Dude:  Hey!  Hey, you!

Handsome Dude:  What!

Little Dude:  Come and get me!   Come and get me cowboy!

Handsome Dude:  O-Tay, cowboy!

And the two naked cowboys chased each other around the house.

As per their usual custom.

Thursday Night Randomness

Guess who didn't get vision insurance after all?

Boo.

This morning, the third pair of Handsome Dude's glasses broke mere minutes before the school bus was coming. I was, however, able to whip out the scotch tape and make a quick repair.

*I'll give you a moment to recover from my awesomeness.*

His really good frames keep losing a leg.  I hate when that happens.  So when David came home, he took measures into his own hands.

He never ceases to amaze me.

You may ask:  "Taylor!  What on earth is he doing?!"

I don't know, readers.  I just don't know.  But I do know I like the dimple in his chin.

Alas.  Handsome Dude saw David fixing the glasses and now refuses to touch the "fire glasses!"  Because they will "burn him!"

***

During school today, Sweet Pea had to write a narration on a story she had just read.

"Oh, by the way, Mom, I like to write my "L's" like "T's" now, so don't forget that when you are reading it, k?"

I looked at her like she was an insane, crazy person.  And rightfully so.  Then she erased everything and started over.

***

And now, because I am tired and my kids have been "cleaning" up their mess for FORTY-FIVE minutes, I shall present to you a list.

A random list.  Of all my frustrations.

1)  My tree is too big.  Have you seen it?

I do not have enough ornaments.  Or lights.  Or living room.

2)  I also don't have a lot of cash.  Remember?  We have a four year old boy in glasses and no vision insurance.  Therefore, I have resorted to making my own ornaments.  This does not come easily for me, seeing as how I am, well, not crafty.

Allow me to share with you some of my creations.  Hold on to your pants!

Photo Ornaments

My biggest hurdle with these?  All of our rulers are not straight (?) and I am having a heck of a time cutting a straight border around them.

Apparently my kids chew on their rulers.  Because, of course they do.  Have you met my kids?

Applesauce Ornaments

They were uber frustrating to make.  But they smell delightful.

Popcorn Garland.    What in the world was I not thinking?  There is no way I could make enough garland for our Christmas Forest.  And David thinks it is dumb for me to call our tree a forest, but I think hunting is dumb,  so whatever.

I mean, hunting is soooo manly.  Rock on, babe!

I made a few small strands and just threw them around.  Because I am going to be the next Martha Stewart.  Clearly.

Want to know what's sad?  I am impressed with all the above photos.  And you are all probably editing them in your minds.

3)  I have fond childhood memories of stringing popcorn garland and listening to the Brenda Lee Christmas album.  My adult popcorn stringing experience was not so grand.

4)  I need to buy the Brenda Lee Christmas album.  Maybe that's the issue?

5)  I ran out of Christmas cards.  Should I buy more or try to get away with it?  Thoughts?

6)  Daisy Mae wanted to "help" making photo ornaments.

At first, I was annoyed.  And then I was annoyed that I was annoyed.

Now I will treasure it forever.  And many years from now, I shall recall how I clearly could not teach that girl how to spell.

***

And now, I must sign off and find some chocolate.

Goodnight.

 

 

Milking Deer

A Facebook friend of mine posted a status similar to this the other day:

"Don't ever try to steal a doe from a buck while she is in heat!  Just got attacked by a buck!  I was just trying to borrow her for milk!"

And my ever-so-intelligent response?

"You milk deer?"

Because this would not be surprise me.  I mean, it surprised me.  But not really.  Because there are some strange happenings 'round these here parts.  And people are getting pretty obsessed with this whole "going green organic" lifestyle.

So.  It seemed feasible that there might be someone out there who sees a benefit to milking a deer for to provide for her family.  Besides.  The price is right.

I told David this, and it brought him much entertainment.

David:  Taylor!  No!  NO.

Me:  What!  She said she milked a doe!  A doe is a deer!

David:  I know that.  But I am also smart enough to figure out that she is not talking about a deer.

So, readers.  Let's see which of you are more informed that I.

What animal was my Facebook friend trying to milk?  Hmmm?  Hmmmm?  I know now.  Because she told me.  But do you?

***

Today was "Take Handsome Dude to the Eye Doctor" Day.  A joyous day, if there ever was one.  Today was also Handsome Dude's "I hate everything and I am not going to do anything you ask of me, woman!" day.  An equally joyous day.

Doctor:  Can you tell me what picture you see?

Handsome Dude:  *crickets chirping*

Doctor:  Ok, big guy!  Maybe this one?

Handsome Dude's neck muscles have all stopped working and his eyes are staring off into space.  Because we are obviously asking too much of him.  Poor thing.

Doctor:  Ok.  Can you tell me what this is?

Me:  Dude . . . you need to answer the doctor.

Handsome Dude:  Nay-blah-ma-blah

Doctor:  Good.  But I couldn't quite understand that?

Handsome Dude:  NAY-BLAH-MA-BLAH

Doctor:  Interesting . . .

Me:  Dude . . .

Handsome Dude:  I SAID CAKE!  MOM!

Doctor:  Fantastic!  And it is cake!  Aren't you a smart boy!

Handsome Dude beamed at her.  Punk.

Afterwards, I took the kids to get something to eat.  And it actually went . . . ok.  I know, right?  And I was all by myself.  I, myself, was not even confident enough in my parenting abilities to pull that one off!  And, yet, it was done.

Little Dude:  Look, Mama!  I'm being a big helper!  I'm feeding Little Dude!

We all laughed at that one.  What a goose he is.  And we could not leave until he had fed himself every single morsel.  And he was in no hurry, let me assure you.

You know what else he is in no hurry to do?  Pee.

Ask me how I know.

Can we not all agree that the public bathroom stop with the stubborn three year old is just about the most torturous experience that a soul could go through?

Me:  Pee!

Little Dude:  I am!

Me:  But your not.  Don't you see?  You're just standing there.

LD (short for Little Dude . . . keep up, people!):  What's that!?

Me:  A trash can.

LD:  What's in it?

Me:  DON'T TOUCH.  JUST GO TO THE BATHROOM.

LD:  I AM

Me:  But you're not.

LD:  Mom.  Hey, MOOOOM!  I need to poop.  POOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP.

So, we have to reposition him to pooping position.  Mind you we have already been trapped in this lovely stall for at least 5 minutes and he has made no progress.

And I still have three other children who are *patiently* waiting outside the door for us to wrap things up.

And I use the term "patiently" quite loosely.  Quite.

So.  He's sitting.  And pooping.  But not pooping at all.  Another lady, bless her soul, comes into the restroom to, (gasp) actually eliminate bodily waste.  As she is doing her business (and doing so quite promptly, hint hint Little Dude), Little Dude bends down to examine her shoes.  Because I obviously am great at teaching my kids manners.

Little Dude, aka Sir Shouting Pants:  Hey!  Hey, MOM!   WHY THAT LADY WEAR POPPOP'S SHOES?

Lest any of you are confused, PopPop is my dad.  And the poor woman was wearing white sneakers.  And yes. They looked like my dad's.

Me:  Shhhh!  Poop!

Sir Shouting Pants:  DOES THE LADY LIKE TO WEAR BOY SHOES?  DOES HE LIKE TO WEAR POPPOP SHOES?

Me:  Oh, please hush.

Little Dude:  I need to POOP.

Me:  Please do.

Little Dude:  It not working.  I'm all done.

Yes.  That's right.  He produced nothing.

Such a waste.

Pun quite intended.

***

I am happy to report that we did, in fact, decorate the tree tonight, so Daisy Mae did not have to fake another death.

We made applesauce ornaments.

 It was not as easy as all the peoples on Pinterest proclaimed.  But whatever.

You know what else isn't easy?  Photography.

But there's an applesauce ornament.  Be dazzled.

We made Santa's Hat Brownies.

Which weren't as cute as the peoples on Pinterest were.  But whatever.

David even got his festive on and helped to decorate the tree.  We needed his uber manly strength and bravery to put the angel atop the tree.

He looks graceful, doesn't he?  Almost as if he could be a dancer.  Yes!  A dancer!

He loves me.

Rachel, a reader, edited my Christmas Card photo for me!  And it looks fantastic and I am mad that I had already ordered the cards before she sent me the edit.  An epic fail, on my part.

But I'm gonna get all handsome on framing it as gifts for people.  And is there anything more conceited than giving people a framed picture of oneself?  Yes?  No?  Yes?

Alright.  Goodnight.

The Christmas Card Photo and Other Sundry Topics

Our ginormous tree is still not decorated.  We ran out of lights and had to purchase many new strands.  As a result, our budget is now blown for the month and we will be feasting on nothing but beans and rice, rice and beans. (Name that Financial Guru.)

When we informed Daisy Mae that we would not be decorating the tree tonight, she fell on the ground and wailed:

"All my life!  All my life, Mom!  I have waited to decorate this tree ALL MY LIFE!  I can't TAKE IT anymore!"

Such drama.  I wash my hands of it.  I think we might decorate the tree tomorrow night.  Or we might see if Daisy Mae will explode.  Tough one.

The girls had a piano recital on Sunday.

Here they are, feeling confident, per usual.

My girls have uber different personalities.  Sweet Pea (pink vest) gets a little more stressed out and concerned about such things.  She sits and taps her legs, chews her lip, holds her sheet music tightly, and checks the program over and over to make sure she won't miss her turn.

She gets up there and says the title of her song.  The title is spoken with such speed that it cannot be understood by human ears.

Here is Sweet Pea announcing the song selection to the crowd:

Did you hear it?  Did you?

I missed it.

She does well for her performance, but it kills me because I feel nervous for her . . . because I know she is nervous.

True Story:  When I was a young lass, I would get quite nervous for piano recitals.  My hands would be violently shaking and I would be unable to play anything.  My mother resorted to giving me sedaditves before each performance.

So Sweet Pea takes after me.  Poor dear.

Daisy Mae, however,  likes to keep things loosie goosie.  She doodles on the program and prattles on and on to her grandparents.  Her loving family members have to remind her that it is time to play her song.  She's never quite sure where her music is, but she's sure it will turn up eventually.

She played her songs out of order.  When her older sister informed her of her mistake, Daisy Mae just grinned with her darling dimples and giggled:

"Oops!"

The only thing worrying Daisy Mae on Sunday was whether or not her mother would be able to give her a curly pony tail.

Nailed it.

Handsome Dude had his preschool music program tonight.

He is the four year old who looks like a seven year old and is wearing glasses.

Hold the phone!  My boy!  Wearing his glasses!  In one piece?!  That's crazy talk.

I was getting Handsome Dude all ready for his debut tonight.

"Mom!  Stop doing that to my hair!  My girl (his teacher) doesn't want me to look so handsome!"

He's a humble guy, you know?  When we got to the school, he decided to show us the ropes.

"Ok, ever-buddy!  No running in the halls!  No screaming in the halls!  No LELL-ing (yelling) in the halls!  And ever-buddy listen to teacher!"

And this has nothing to do with anything, but I want to remember it forever and so I am writing it down in this very blog that you are reading.

Handsome Dude calls scissors "Rock Paper Scissors."  Because that is obviously the simpler choice.

"Mom!  Can I use Rock Paper Scissors?"

"Mom!  Teacher says I have to hold my Rock Paper Scissors wee carefully."

So precious.

***

We were all dressed and decent at the same time on Sunday, so I informed my beloved that we should take a photo for the annual Christmas card.

I'm pretty sure Handsome Dude is not grabbing his crotch.  I think he is just posing.

Little Dude is probably telling me my brown hair is "icky."  Because he is pleasant like that.

Little Dude.  "How YOU doin'?"

Handsome Dude.  He's wondering how much longer these pictures are going to take and he's pretty sure that if he looks really far ahead of him, he can see the end.

No.  I didn't try to correct him.  Just like I don't correct him every morning when he steps on the scale and asks me if he is still four.

You must choose your battles wisely, folks.

No!  He's not grabbing his crotch!

Sweet Pea has kept the same sassy leg pose the whole time.  FYI.

David!  He's totes putting out the vibe.

And THAT dear readers, is the picture that will make it onto our Christmas card.

For it will do.  Yes.  It will do.

Goodnight.

The Christmas Tree Hunt

For the past few days, we have been trying to decide what to do about a Christmas tree.  We usually get a tree from a grocery store for about $20, but have noticed that those trees die immediately upon arrival.

Yesterday, I called around to some local tree farms.  We could go to a farm, cut our own tree, and enjoy complimentary cocoa for anywhere from $50-$130.  The guy who quoted me $130 should be slapped.  But we could go for the $50 trees, I guess.  Plus, we could all sip cocoa, so that would be merry.

Then I saw this out my kitchen window whilst doing the dishes.

My husband.  Trimming trees on our property.  Because he can.

My husband is not uber festive.  So this season does not excite him.  He is, however, very lumberjack-y.  Therefore, and henceforth, we decided to all get bundled up and just pick out a tree on our property, knowing full well that it would be a little Charlie Brown-ish.

The kids started out with high hopes.

But don't let those smiles fool you.  Soon, there will be much weeping and gnashing of teeth.  It would seem our kids are lacking the endurance and patience needed for Christmas tree hunting.  Except for Little Dude.  He got carried most of the way and just kept loudly proclaiming:

"It's Christmas!  It's Christmas, Daddy!  Woo Hoo!"

We walked around our lands for about an hour.

The kids were exhausted.  The kids legs stopped working.  The kids were wee thirsty.  The kids could not go on any longer.  The kids were freezing.  The kids were bored.  The kids could use a little snack.  The kids no longer care about Christmas.  The kids don't really see the need for a tree.  The kids wonder why they had to move to the country?

The kids saw deer poop.  The kids liked this.

Daisy Mae dropped to the ground and announced to everyone that she had died.  As we all passed her, lying dead on the deer-poo covered ground, we wished her well and thanked for the few years we had together.

Handsome Dude was aghast that we would just leave his sister to die in the woods.

"Wait, Dad!  Mom!  I think I saw her move!  She maybe not dead!"

sob*wail*sob

Handsome Dude took a stick and gave the not-so-dead Daisy Mae a fierce poke, to ensure her deadness.

Daisy Mae, who miraculously resurrected herself from the dead, jumped up and whacked Handsome Dude.  And the two of them screamed and cried for all the injustice in the world, while the rest of us remained unimpressed.

Except Little Dude.

"Look, everyone!  Its Christmas!  Woo Hoo!"

We started to head back towards the house when Sweet Pea shouted that she had found THE tree.

David and I looked at it and knew full well that we could do no better.

So.  We decided to make it our own.

We headed back to the house where I started to make the hot chocolate and David and Daisy Mae went back to chop the tree down.

David pulled the tree into the house.

 And it was a smidge bigger than we recalled.  But if we suck in our stomachs, we can squeeze by it and still get to the kitchen, no problem.

And we were worried that it wouldn't be "full."

The mammoth tree fell over no less than 8 times as David was trying to position it.  I suggested we bungee cord it to the wall, and that suggestion rendered no response, so I am guessing he was just mad that he didn't think of it first.

He got it all situated and we sat down to dinner.

And while feasted on my delicious meal, the tree came crashing down.  No one even blinked or said anything.  We just went back to eating.

We were numb.  Numb, people.

After dinner, David made some tasty cookies.  The girls and I got to work on our popcorn garland.

I think I am going to need a lot of garland for that tree.

We ran out of lights, so the tree is not decorated.  But good news!  The tree has not crashed down for about 12 hours!

And that was our night.  It was joyful AND triumphant.