Favorites of 2012

You know those two roads that diverged in a yellow wood?

It's true.

The one less traveled by has made all the difference.



The Battle

Featured in the "Why it Works" section of the January 2013 issue of CLICK magazine.


Captive

Yes, I am that Mom that rescues a turtle off the highway and tosses it in my son's lap while he squeals like a little girl.


Waiting

My beautiful baby sister and her belly!


Left Behind: First Day of School

Featured on Clickin' Moms blog and facebook wall


Enough Helpers?



Curiosity



What Remains

Featured on Clickin' Moms blog
Best of Show at our local County Fair


Summer Bliss



Childhood Memory



Epic Quest



Solstice

Smack

So this new kitty of ours is going to be a big one. I swear she's already the size of a small raccoon. My oldest boy told me I'm not allowed to call her fat. Because that's mean. Ms. Paws is officially "round". But being round doesn't slow her down any, because, she's just... big all the way around.

And if you challenge her? She will bring it.

The smack-down starts innocently enough:


Soon enough you realize that her roundness only adds more power to her punch:


(or maybe it's the extra thumbs?)


Game over.

Three weeks

No, I did not give up blogging for Lent.

Three weeks, four doctor visits, five prescriptions, one birthday. A husband gone overseas and back home, and gone again but not that far away, and back home again to find us still utterly miserable. Really, I try my hardest to be sarcastically positive in this little online space, so instead of the unending seriously-nothing-can-go-even-remotely-right-around-here list, I will say this... Today was good. I did not wreck my car. I did not burn my house down. We are all still alive. These are basic things, you know, but they count. They do count. They must.

Because the first of us to get sick, treated and recover from this horrid stuff? Sick again. With the same thing.

I'm trying to find the light. I'm struggling to see it.



(comments closed)

Honestly, I missed them

Guilty. I hadn't been out to the barn since Friday.

The kitchen table was wiped clean. The floor was vacuumed. Forks and spoons and a spatula and garlic-press were heaped up on a dishtowel. I still had to dry them. Life is just too short to spend time drying dishes. I usually let them air dry but the pile that time... way too big. The laundry I asked the boys to bring down was still strewn across half the stairway.

I heard the door and he came stomping in.

I knew what I should do but still asked, "Do I need to go to the coop?"

"No", he answered, "but you could go anyway." He gave me an update on which animals were in which odd places. It's like a page out of a Dr. Seuss book out there sometimes. Rather entertaining.

"Did you check for eggs?"

He forgot to do that.

No doubt they wouldn't freeze before morning tucked underneath someone's fluffy bottom. That's the nice thing about hens in the winter. Eggs are for sitting on, and the instinct to do so, apparently, is very strong. I would collect them in the morning.

And anyway, it wasn't that cold out.

My littler boy zoomed past me.

If I could bottle up even a quarter of his energy this house wouldn't have a chance. Every drawer, every closet, every spiderweb and spec of dust would be my victim. He shrieked like a little girl when I caught him with my wet hands. Running through the kitchen is risky business when a busy Mom would rather be doing something else.

I folded him into as compact a little package as I possibly could, and held him in my arms like a tiny baby. He giggled.

"I'm going to take you to my nest and sit on you to keep you warm", I told him as I headed for my comfy chair.

"No you're not!", he squealed.

...

Morning comes too soon. Monday again.

The wind howled all night long. It should have been our first second (third?) real winter storm of the season. We lucked out again. Maybe an inch of snow? Maybe two? Maybe it all blew away?

The bus comes.

I figure I'll take some crappy pictures just to post here. Because blogging is always better with pictures. And, well, I need to make a trip to the barn.

Ah, Arnold. You make me laugh, every.single.time.


"squeak-a-croak-a-squeeeeeeeeakkkkkk"

Sure enough, Miss Fuzzbutt has done what she is compelled to do, like I knew she would. I thank her for keeping the eggs warm through freezing temperatures overnight, and then wreck her morning by stealing them.



There's some metallic rattling noise on the other side of the coop wall. Odd. The girls are snooping around where they don't belong, looking very comfortable doing so, and now Mercy looks guilty.



It's an unauthorized empty nest and the dog knew about it. Payment for being their bodyguard, I guess. Game on. Next time I'll get them first.

And this... I have the birds trained. It's funny.

Hello? Where are they all?



I sing... "CHICK CHICK CHICK CHICK!!!!"

... wait for it ...

Here they come!



And Arnold is still singing squeaking to no one in the coop.

Amazing Arnold

This is Arnold. He wants to join the circus and be a famous flying trapeze artist.



Does he seem a bit intimidating?

Sort of powerful?

Maybe like he thinks he's the man?

Don't be afraid. He's really just a harmless tiny little squirt.



Look! Clown feet!

He's ready for the circus!

One yellow claw on each foot!

An extra toe in the back instead of a sharp spur!

(The ladies will thank him later.)



I don't remember why Arnold was in the house that day. I'm sure it couldn't have been purely for entertainment purposes. Ahem. I mean, that never happens around here.

He came from an itty bitty egg. Remember these eggs that I asked permission to take only after I stole them?

I'm so classy.



All we managed to hatch out of those were four of the smallest small eggs. Two are (very) little red hens, one is a beautiful soft white hilarious Silkie hen, and one... well, one is Arnold.

The Silkie has blue earlobes. I loooooove her, but I can't tell you about her until she has a name. And don't beg. The stress of having to come up with a great name for sweet little thing that looks like she stuck her toe in a light socket... well, let's just say I have enough to deal with right now.

Arnold is a little bitty rooster. He can crow, and it's good for your health to hear Arnold crow. He's a little squeaky toy rooster. Imagine picking him up and squeezing him a few times. Yep. There you go.

When our big Red rooster crows, it echos off all the buildings and a quarter mile down the road.

Arnold's song may be a bit lacking, but besides being such a handsome guy, the bird does have another talent.

Are you ready?



People, if only I could post video.

Alas, my satellite internet majorly stinks.

Once upon a time Several weeks ago (yes, I've been holding out on you) I walked into the barn to put my birdies to bed for the night... although it seems to be entirely unnecessary because we have a gigantic Chesapeake Bay Retriever who has taken it upon herself to keep these chickens safe at any cost, and ride the school bus occasionally...

I opened the coop door and was surprised (to say the least) to find a chicken standing on top of the door. You know who it was. On top of the door. Not the door frame. Does this make sense? No. Not at all. They just, those birds can't... well, they just can't be there.

He looked at me like I'd really bothered him.

They can't be there.

It defied the Laws of Physics.

Not much truly surprises me around here. After all, this is a funny farm. But the Laws of Physics? They must not be defied. So I grabbed the video camera the next evening.

This time I looked before I opened the door. And see? He's levitating.



Notice the girl peeking at me from the roost. Obviously, something is up.

When I opened the door, it bumped the cord, which is normally up near the ceiling where electrical cords should be. The cord slid along the top of the door, and because I did it verrrrrrry slowly... Arnold didn't have to suddenly and silently jump from his electrical wire roost to the top of the door, which is what had me so confused then night before.

Because there is no way on earth a chicken (even a tiny one) could fly up and land on a cord that was (past tense) only inches from the ceiling, without pulling it out of the wall or causing all sorts of destruction. No way. Trust me.



And if he could do it, how could he ever find such a slippery swinging unstable sort of roost comfortable?





It's a good thing I took video too, because even though I can't share it with you, it turned out to be valuable because my husband would never have believed me otherwise. My only mistake was not continuing to shoot video as I attempted to close the coop door with Arnold still on the wire.

He ended up on top of the ladies on the roost. Briefly.