Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Counting chickens...

Or not.

I have been putting off writing this post for nearly a week now in the hopes that putting a little time and distance between me and "the event" would make it less true or painful.


I couldn't help becoming attached.  I couldn't help being giddy with anticipation.  I couldn't help loving them.

Just.  Couldn't.  Help.  It.

The chickens... are no more.  And this is how it went down:

It was Tuesday morning.  The Man grabbed a few extra winks before heading to work, leaving no time for the chickensSo it was all me.  It was my first time to care for the chickens and I was halfway looking forward to it.  I had The Man on the phone to make sure I went about it correctly.  

I carefully measured the feed into the bucket and playfully chatted with The Man as I crossed the lawn to the coop.  I opened the door and found it eerily quiet.  Odd.  I asked The Man if he had moved the chickens to another building.  Confused, he rejected that notion.  I questioned, "Are you sure?"  And then I took note:  feathers.  EverywhereLoads of feathers.  And not a bit else.   I darted outside the coop.  More feathers.  And a hole.  Dug right under the other side of the door.  My heart sank.  More so for The Man than for me.  And for my girls.  10 weeks of hard work and anticipation of our first farm-fresh eggs.   

We were so close.  


There must have been a struggle.

The hole.

To make things worse, our dog was incessantly barking like mad in the wee hours of morning.  We shrugged it off as nothing... still relishing every bit of sleep with a new baby in the house.  Darn critter.  Or critters.  

My princess angels are devastated.  We never should have named them.  Each of the girls went out to the coop to gather a few feathers as a keepsake in a Ziploc baggie.  Peanut wrote and illustrated a book for Hamburger, her favorite.  Ladybug drew a memorial portrait of Fluffy.  Lovey has shed plenty a tear for Joseph.  

I suppose we will have another go of it once The Man has time to beef up our poultry living quarters.  I consider it a life lesson learned. 

But in the meantime... I'm oh-so-sad.  


Love & coffee.

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Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Chasing after the wind.

So hey.  I'm back.  I just can't stand it anymore--the whole "not writing" thing.  I do not care if my life is psycho crazy right now.  Write, I must.  I guess it's not so much crazy as I just never have two seconds without a little person (or occasionally a man-sized person) who wants (needs?) something from me.  

A glass of milk.  
A silly song.  
A roll of toilet paper.  (Oh, yeah.  *Scribbling toilet paper onto this afternoon's grocery list.*)   
Help with math homework.  
Finger unstuck from the van door.  (Yes, this really just happened.  To the tallest finger.  To the Lovey child who wants to show her boo-boo tall finger to everyone we know.  *sigh*) 

If I manage to get a shower with mascara and lip gloss applied, and cup of coffee before I hear the band of angels tromping down the stairs in the morning, we will call it a good day.  

As a child, I wasn't necessarily the most athletic.  It was that awkward stage right about fifth grade.  I had these amazingly large glasses that rendered me rather owl-like.  My favorite outfit included a white blazer with tropical fruit on it which I wore for my class picture that year.  Circa 1991.  

As you might imagine, gym class was not exactly my thing.  Really not my thing.  One cloudy day, our class headed out to the ball field for a game of baseball.  Ugh. I sauntered to the outfield, not expecting to do anything but stand there until the next inning.  I couldn't run.  And I couldn't catch.  I am 97.3% I was daydreaming about "New Kids on the Block," when I realized the ball was coming my way.  I am not sure what I was thinking other than the fact that, "I might be able to actually catch that thing!"  I started running after the ball.  And running.  And running.  And... running?  Shouldn't gravity be kicking in by now?  I hear my name.  I assume they are cheering me on.  I run harder.  "Come back!  Where are you going?"  It dawns on me as the "ball" gracefully darts across the street and nests in a nearby tree.  A bird!!???  To this day, I still don't know how I could possibly have made such a ridiculous mistake.

And that is a little like my life right now.  Chasing after something I will never catch.  My days start out with a list like this:

To Do:  

Pay the Bills
Mop the floor
Scrub the bathtub
Return calls
Pack away girls' too-small clothes 
Upload pics from camera to computer
Update baby book
Make dentist appointments

And this what I actually get done:

Start a load of laundry.
Feed baby.
Diaper change.
Feed kids breakfast.
Feed baby.
Diaper change.
Oops!  Forgot to switch laundry to dryer.
Feed kids snack.
Feed baby. 
Diaper change.
Feed kids lunch.
Oh yeah.  Still forgot to switch the laundry.
Feed baby.
Diaper change.
Feed kids snack.
Feed baby.
Diaper change.
Feed everyone dinner.
Start dishwasher.
Feed baby.
Diaper change.
Collapse into bed of complete exhaustion and as I am drifting off to sleep...
DARN IT!  The laundry is still in the washer!

Oh well... at least everyone's tall finger is still intact.

Love & Coffee.

"I look up to the mountains;
    does my strength come from mountains?
No, my strength comes from God,
    who made heaven, and earth, and mountains."

Ps. 121.1-2 (MSG)

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