Buck Buck Buck

The label on the feed sack said "Deer Corn," but apparently the deer don't know this product exists.  So basically we're shelling out the dough to feed our free range chickens.  I don't think a mounted chicken head would have the same effect that a 12 point Boone and Crockett would...even if it were a rooster...with a freak comb.  

Got Calcium?

Just the other day my son brought me a "shell-less" egg.  I had never ever seen anything like it before...I hadn't even heard of such a thing, and yet...there it was.  He told me that it was the third one he had collected over the course of a few weeks.  It turns out it is from some of our younger chickens who are laying for the first time.  I was too chicken to "crack" it open...so we just kept it in the fridge and gently poked it every now and then.  I couldn't help but to wonder "what if?"  What if he had not collected it...could a chick survive in there?  What exactly was in there?  It had the textue and consistency of a saline implant and yet whenever you left it alone it maintained its "egg" shape. 

This got me thinking about our own shells.  Those tough exteriors we hide behind.  When really we are just all mushy on the inside.  We still maintain who we are when no one is making jabs at us.  We are able to just "be."  But all too often we don't let others see that softer side of us.  So afraid of being labeled a "chicken" we allow our shells to get harder and harder...until one day...we crack.  And that's when it all comes out.  The good, the bad, and the ugly.  We literally drain ourselves of all that was meant to be.  So, instead of worrying about what others might think of us...our time would be better spent if we made sure our shells were a little more translucent and soft...enabling not only others to see through to us, but allowing us to see through to them.  Note:  I have a shell of my own and while I certainly don't want it to harden any more than necessary...I am going to be drinking a ton of milk just to be on the safe side!

Squawk Box

Me: (in sweet voice) “Don’t forget to pick up all of your things around the house and take them to your room.”

Them: “---“

Me: (in whiney voice) “You need to get all of your stuff out of here.”

Them: “---“

Me: (in sharp tone) “I’ve already asked you several times to clean up…I want this mess picked up!”

Them: “we will.”(as they exit premises)

Me: (noting the entire contents of my bedroom drawers stacked in towering and teetering piles up the staircase) "AAAAAaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!" (then I exit the premises)

For me summer is all about the opportunity to slow things down...to work on all of the projects I fantasize about completing "when I have time."  Project #1 is usually always the purging of junk in an effort to streamline and simplify life when I'm back at work.  The hard part about all of this is the fact that I don't necessarily want to spend my time off cleaning.  But then again I don't want to spend my time on cleaning either.  Truth be told: I don't want to clean-period!  Nevertheless I spent a couple of days taking all of the things I have squirreled away in my bedroom and have decided to squirrel them away in the loft (I never truly get rid of anything...I just move it from one room to another).  The method here is to stuff as much schtuff as you can in the one room most people are never likely to visit.  So, after this afternoon I should at least have a cleaner bedroom.  The loft will be cleaned next summer when I bring everything back down and cram it into my bedroom.

...and sat down beside her...

Just in case you've never been "fortunate" enough to see a black widow spider up close and personal I thought I'd show you a picture of the one that fell from grace onto my glass top patio table out on the porch yesterday.  The spider is on its back so you can see the tell-tale red hourglass marking on its abdomen.....creepy!  But having lived in the country all of my life I don't know what bothers me more...the spider or the dusty smears on the glass? 

Ta-Dah!

"Thank You....Thank You Very Much!  I'm so glad you have been enjoying my crowing practice every single crack of dawn morning of your summer vacation!" 

Ahh...livin' the country life!  Some people actually leave the convenience of the city to spend the weekend in the "peace and quiet."  Oh sure, it's quiet here...relatively speaking.  I sleep with earplugs every night and I can still hear the roosters' crows, the cicadas' songs, and the peeping of the peepers.  But these "noises" are very soothing and remind me that nature is "alive" all around me...even when things appear to be still.  It is nice to sit outside and hear the whir and zip of a hummingbird...the skitter and scratch of a tree lizard...the whistle and snort of a doe who saw you before you saw her.  There is truly something magical about living out in the country...about not seeing another human for days on end.  My country home affords me the luxury of solitude and reflection.  At home I am able to watch and learn from the animals who teach me something new every day.  Sure, the crowing contests outside can be a bit annoying (especially when they take place around 4 a.m.) but they can also be comforting as well.  In fact...they remind me of my own brood...the ones who scratch and peck...strut and crow...sleep and eat.  The ones who are starting to venture out a little farther from their coop with each passing day....but who, at least for now, return to their home nest every night.

Giving Voice to Change

This here pic is of one of our young roosters.  He is just now starting to crow...er...attempt to crow.  This means that inside and outside of my house voices are changing.  While my son's voice seems to have deepened effortlessly without any embarrassing croaks, the same cannot be said about this here rooster.  His daily crows remind me of those old-timey barnyard sound machine/toys I used to shake and tip over repeatedly to hear those muffled moos and baaahs from....remember those?  They were nothing more than a small, enclosed tube with something mysterious inside that, when shaken or tipped over, emitted a sound.  Anywho...the sounds coming from this teenrooster are down right hilarious.  Everytime I hear his crow (which sounds more like he's being strangled to death rather than trying to rise and shine) I can't help but to think about how we all have our awkward stages.  Sometimes those stages last longer than we care to acknowledge but, in the end, we grow out of them...if not through them onto the next awkward stage.  He makes me want to do what I choose to do and do so boldly--without fear of anyone else's reaction or comment.  So what if I am "a little off" in my attempts...who cares if I don't look or sound or act like I am "suppose to"...I am at a point in my life where I have a few things to say and don't want to keep my words stuck in a muffled tube.  It's time to shake things up and crow!

Cold Issues

The wind is picking up outside
The temperatures are dropping
My eyes keep right on watering
My runny nose ain't stopping

It seems as though I've caught a cold
And my eyes are rimmed in red
They are itching I am sneezing
Raw skin I'm starting to dread

So after work I picked up
Three boxes more of tissues
For when the cedar pollen bursts
Allergies are everyone's issues

Just Add Fire

I have concrete flooring inside a house made out of stone. This combo makes for some chilly down time in the winter. This mixture also prompts us to make roaring fires...which I thoroughly love. There is something enticing about having fire in your house. I have always loved the flicker of light set off by candles and I burn numerous candles as often as I can...mainly so that I can see the dancing amber shadows illuminated throughout my house. It gives me the sense that there is something "alive" and that I have company. When a fire is burning you get the cracks and pops that go along with it...more hints that something "alive" is in the house with you. All of us gravitate toward its heat, sitting on the hearth as we eat a snack or watch a show. There are marshmallows to burn and papers to ignite; there are logs to add and ashes to shovel. All of these things tend to happen without thought. While a fire must be maintained it is not like washing the dishes...you seem to get more out of it. I am grateful that there are always large stacks of cut wood that mysteriously appear at my back door. I never have to wield a chain saw. In a pinch I have been seen gathering kindling in flannel pjs stuffed into cowboy boots, but other than that I have a husband and a son who gladly do the gathering.

A Permanent Solution

We all remember our first perm...the anticipation and excitement of looking exactly like "that girl" we see at school mixed in with a little nerves---fear of walking out of the salon looking like a clown instead. But, we stick it out and allow our heads to be tortured in the name of beauty.

A couple of days ago my daughter got her first perm. She is in the middle of her 6th grade year and, like her, I got my first perm in the 6th grade too. Of course, my hair had just grown out from a Dorothy Hamill cut--but not by much because I walked out of the salon on the clown end of the spectrum. Needless to say I kept perming my hair until the middle of high school. At least my daughter's hair is all one length and falls just below her shoulders.

As she sat in the chair, as giddy as ever, it all came flooding back to me: my mother nearby and circling my chair--a woman well-experienced in the perm world. The pungent odor of the perm solution wafting all around me and covering everyone else in the salon--much like the scent of a skunk...it does not leave you once you've become victim to it. The long strip of cotton the stylist would wedge between my hairline and the extra tight rods...as if sealing my head with an O ring...a rubber seal that never really worked. She would then vanish to who knew where (though I know now it was off to a sectioned off lair where all kinds of goodies were kept). I can still remember sitting in that chair looking hideous in my tight perm rods housed inside a clear plastic bubble of a cap...as if I were a walking green house; the cold, yet burning liquid sneaking out from underneath the now soaked through strip of cotton. Do I dab at it? Do I let it drip? Do I wave my hands and try to get somebody's attention? Just when I thought I couldn't take the punishment any longer the stylist would emerge like Glinda the Good Witch and replace the cotton strip...and then, like Glinda, she would float away. And, finally, the time would come for a good rinse...relief at last...or so I thought. I don't think my neck has ever hurt as badly as it did when I was kid, lying atop my perm rods, in the crook of that hard as hell sink. But then...it was all worth it...this girl had curls.

Fast forward to my own daughter, now sitting in the chair. Her hair is as straight as a board (like mine) and the time has finally come. After an hour and a half the rods were removed and ... nothing. NO CURLS!
Right then and there my daughter's stylist said, "I'm re-doing this perm right now" (it was 7:00 at night). I told her thanks, but we could reschedule for another day/time. She insisted, saying, "If I was a girl who thought she was going to wake up in the morning with curls...then I would want curls!" What a woman!! The owner, who was walking out the door, purse in hand, turned right back around, set her purse down on the floor and offered to help. The stylist and the owner began working on my daughter in tandem...one on the left; the other on the right. I left the three of them alone and drove on home (I live about 5 miles down the road). my daughter's stylist lives a mile from us so she offered to bring my daughter home with her when she was finished. When I got the call it was well after 8:00 and I was out checking a hog trap with my husband, son, and a friend of mine and her son. We all jumped into our old army jeep and took off. It was cold outside and the moonlight was enough to light our way. We picked up my daughter and saw her smile before we saw her curls. In this day and age it is so nice to know there are still people who go the extra mile...because they remember what it was like to be a young girl.

There is something to be said about big hearted people working in a small town salon. A mother's thank you goes out to our stylist Karmia and owner Pam!

Gal. 6:9

As parents we try to teach our kids all of those golden rules our parents taught us; rules such as treat others the way you want to be treated...you reap what you sow...hard work and perseverance pay off in the end...always do the right thing...honesty is the best policy...etc. As adults we learn that although the above rules are ones to live by it seems as if no one really does. It is so hard to tell your kids one thing while knowing they witness just the opposite. Ultimately we end up preparing our kids for the worst while praying for the best.

After witnessing first hand all of the effort, energy, time, and heart that my son put into raising his 4H chickens I wanted him to be recognized. After all, I knew he worked his tail end off...I knew he loved every single minute of caring for them even when his fingers were red and stinging from having them soaking wet in freezing temperatures...I knew he took pride in what he did. But I am not enough and that is hard to realize sometimes.

A week or so ago, while looking for some boots for my husband, the four of us walked into a very upscale western store. We knew the prices were going to be waaaaay out of our price range, but we also know that sometimes a good deal is in the most unlikely of places. I was pleased to notice that on the wall, just to the right of the entrance was a small, brass plaque, on which was inscribed the following:

"And let us not get tired of doing what is right, for after a while we will reap a harvest of blessing if we don't get discouraged and give up." Gal. 6:9.

After looking, but not touching, we exited the store and I pointed out the plaque to my kids-reading the verse out loud and explaining to them what it meant. My son is the one who made the comment, "That's good...I really like that." My son is the reason we were all shopping around for western attire for "the big weekend." My son is the reason I shed tears for two days. For he never tired of doing the right thing and he never gave up...and this weekend, even though his chickens were the lightest chickens in the entire show, and he only received sixth, seventh, and eighth place ribbons...my son won the Bandera County Junior Stockshow SHOWMANSHIP AWARD for 2009!!!

To have your child's efforts recognized by someone else...to know that he did, in fact, reap a harvest of blessing-for doing the right thing...well, it just brought forth tears of joy. It was such a powerful parenting moment -- one that will stay with me forever.

Congratulations, Son...I am so proud of you!

Taking Stock

There is still so much to do
Yet nothing more can be done
The chickens have been fed
I'm so proud of my son
The chickens were crated
In the back of our truck
I hugged him goodbye and
Wished him good luck
The weigh in is early
The show is at one
No matter the place
My boy has won
He always worked hard
In the heat and the cold
He raised them from chicks
Only to be sold
I can write all about it
I can snap pictures with glee
But my husband is the one
Who taught responsibility
Together they labored
To prepare for this show
A boy and his dad
A memory did grow

Not All It's Cracked Up to Be

In less than 24 hours I have had my fill of chickens and

everything that comes out of them. With my son away hunting, the task of taking care of his stockshow chickens along with his "regular" chickens fell to moi. I don't know how I always get so lucky but I do. My son loves these chickens and works so dang hard each and every day making sure that they are provided for. He cleans their coop, their feed trays, and their water stations. He makes certain that the heat lamps are on in the event of a freeze and the fans are blowing when it gets too hot. Before he left he made sure that I knew what to do and what not to do...and when to do it.

Last night, after my daughter and I got home from a full day of shopping, the sky was starting to darken and the temperatures were dropping. I had a friend due to arrive in less than three minutes and my sister-in-law was just taking a pizza out of the oven. But, before I could dole out hugs and start to dine, I had to do the chicken dance. I went over to the "regular" coop, collected some "clean" eggs, (which means they do not have as much chicken poop on them as the ones due to hatch), scooped and poured some fresh feed, and refilled the water jug. Next it was off to the 'show' coop. This one was a little trickier. First I had to feed and water the culled chickens. Then I had to do the same with the show chickens. There is a lot of poop, water, mud, and climbing involved. Once that chore was completed I went into the kitchen and started putting some groceries away. I had bought a still-warm rotisserie chicken and quickly discovered that its juices were leaking all over my counter...greasy juices...the kind that don't really wipe up the first four times you try. These slimy liquids made their way to the kitchen floor as well...gave it a nice shine though so I went ahead and smeared it as far as it would go with the dish towel. When I tried to squeeze the chicken into the fridge I heard a sound I immediately recognized as a cracked egg. There, in the back, was the cracked remnants of a raw egg...bright yellow yolk slipping its way down the backside of the fridge, pooling on top of the glass shelves, and collecting in between the glass along the edges. After a few quiet moments to myself it was determined that since the egg was not rotten and since the temp in the fridge would remain cold the clean up could wait until my son got home.You see, he had picked up the habit of setting the eggs in the refridgerator instead of in an actual egg carton.

We went ahead with our girls' night plans and after an evening of homemade pizza, a movie that brought us to tears and wrapped us in laughter, and bowls of Blue Bell Coffee Ice Cream, caramel syrup, brownies, and whipped cream, we called it a night...a good night.

The next morning, when I went outside to repeat all of the above mentioned chicken checkin' duties, I was met with the drone of either flies or bees. The hum met me way before I was anywhere near the coop. I had visions of a massacre that had occurred while I slept the night away...Please God...NO...not on MY watch!!! Fortunately it was not flies hovering over chicken carcasses but, unfortunately, it was well over a hundred bees swarming inside the coop. There were bees in every feed tray, inside the water buckets, and completely covering the floor. All of the chickens were huddled in every corner foregoing food for safety. I was amazed that I did not get stung as I did my chores. That evening, my daughter and I were suppose to go into San Antonio to have dinner with my best friend and while were there I was going to return the infamous "polka dot" comforter. But I did not want to leave the chickens to get stung to death a mere week before the stockshow. I knew that I probably needed to build a fire and smoke out the bees but I wasn't exactly sure of the best way to do this. I could not get a hold of my husband or my son as their cell phones were not getting any kind of reception whatsoever down where they were hunting. Just before we left I was able to get a hold of my brother-in-law who immediately handed the phone to my son. He calmly reassured me that everything would be okay and that he would take care of it all in the morning when he returned. Phew!

Off we went to S.A., but not before stopping first at the gas station as my dash read "Empty!!"--go figure. Once we got to the store, my daughter and I lugged in both bed-in-a bags (I had bought one for her too--but it wasn't going to work either). While we were waiting in line I started digging in my little purse for the receipt that I had diligently saved. Prior to our trip into town I had decided to change purses (Big No-No). Even though I love little purses I am by nature a big bag lady (pun intended). I remember staring at, transferring, folding, and storing the receipt before leaving the house. Now that we are in line the damn paper is nowhere in sight. I leave my daughter in line and run out into the parking lot and begin to rummage through my trunk-hoping it may be in the larger bag I had brought along to keep all of the stuff that wouldn't fit into my smaller bag (I have issues). No receipt. As I jog back up to the store my mind starts reeling with images of us trying desperately to prove to the police that the two huge bed-in-a-bags are really ours-paid for and all. I grab my daughter and tell her to quickly follow me---do not ask questions just walk fast. We briskly passed between the two metal detector panels at the storefront without so much as looking up and into the eye of the security camera. With no electronic alarms sounding and no strong security guard's hand upon our shoulders we ran straight to our car, tossed the bags into the trunk and drove off to Salsalito's.

We sat through a quiet meal as everyone was exhausted but glad to see each other and, quite honestly, relieved to be able to accomplish the goal of getting together at least once over the holidays!

Late that night, once back at home, I was relieved that the bees had retired for the night and all of the chickens were still alive---and still eating! And although I still can't find that freaking reciept, this tired Mama is glad to be home...still alive...and still eating!

Horsing Around

Thanks to an invite from a friend my kids and I were able to enjoy being outdoors atop Raider-a beautiful thoroughbred. Just being able to sit in the saddle listening to the give of the leather beneath you makes one believe she is capable. Knowing that you have got to love and respect an animal enough to surrender to it while at the same time trying to convince it that you are in charge can be quite humbling. The power beneath you combined with the power within you makes for both an exhilerating and contented day. Being able to watch your children-so small and fragile-straddle such a large animal and trot off into the sunset stirred nothing but pleasant feelings inside of me. I did not have any feelings of fear as I watched them learn to assert themselves. I did not feel dread when the pace quickened. Both my son and daughter have a deep love and respect for animals and I am grateful for the opportunity that they had today thanks to the invite of a friend.

I Am A Dirty Girl

Since I had to leave work early today (because my daughter got sick at school) and since tonight Jmy son has his weekly Confirmation classes from 6:00-8:00, the task of tending to the 4-H show chickens fell to me. Nevermind the fact that the last solid meal that I ate was on Saturday evening (that's 4 days ago for those counting) and I've gulped down over 130 oz of Gatorade...it doesn't matter that I feel weak and puny...it's no excuse that I had to pull over on the side of the road on the way home to help my daughter barf into a plastic grocery bag...a farm never sleeps. So, after I got my daughter tucked into her bed, and after I got the car unloaded and the toxic bag tossed well over a cliff-I set out to help my son out.

I had received explicit instructions via cell phone and I vowed to follow them to the best of my abilities. Before I walked down to the barn to gather the eggs and refresh the water in the regular chicken coop I first changed into my black velour robe that my mother had given me as a gift one year. It is one of my favorite things to put on after I take everything off. I stepped into my comfy pink Crocs and went to work. Since it was misting and foggy outside it immediately became apparent that I would not be wearing my comfy shoes back inside the house...not after mushing down upon fresh coop poop.

Next stop: the show chicken coop. Here is where it got dirty. I kept having to maneuver my way over a four foot piece of tin that makes up one of the walls keeping the chicks contained. Since I was wearing a robe this was starting to become a challenge. After I stepped on the end of my black robe with a gooey shoe I gave in and simply started wiping my mucky hands all over me. That's when I noticed that one of the chicks had died and was being trampled on repeatedly as the others made their way to one of the feeders. So here I am, feeling barfy as it is, gathering up a dead chick inside a plastic grocery bag and walking it out to the dried up caliche pit/pond where a burn pile is forming....in my velour robe and my pink Crocs. I kept looking around for the hidden camera but still have yet to find it.

After emptying all of the feeders and rinsing out each water feeder I refilled them all according to my directions. I stomped off toward the house, kicked off the Crocs, stripped down to my necklace, took a hot shower, and disenfected the kids' bathroom.

Weather or Not

I left work clutching our employee phone tree. A winter weather advisory has been placed over our area and there is the ever so slight possibility that the roads may be too icy for travel...at least for a couple of hours in the morning. It is times like these when I honestly don't know who is filled with more anticipation: the students or the teachers. Sure, in the end, we'll have to make up the day...but for the moment at least the mere thought of an hour or two gained sounds delightful.

It was already 35 degrees by the time I got home and it was only getting colder. I started the first fire of the season and am so grateful to have a fireplace in our home. Since I'm still not feeling all that great I sat sideways in a chair and watched an hour long show...can't tell you the last time I did that--so what if I had not seen the previous episodes--at least I saw the season finale (for real...it was the finale--go figure!).

Since there is a good chance that our pipes will freeze I made sure to wash dishes earlier and will make certain my face is washed before I go to bed. Usually I prepare my coffee ahead of time but I'm still not able to eat anything substantial and don't feel like coffee yet (probably why I have such a pounding headache!).

I will have to wait until morning to see what my day has in store for me...until then I'm snuggling up with my electric blanket and my Advil!

Baby It's Cold?? Outside

My family has spent more time outdoors in shorts and bare feet this past fall than any other year past. As November merged its way into December we took jeep rides down to the creek and caught tiny frogs and raced boats my son had made out of aluminum foil. We marveled at leaf cutter ants as they hauled their mighty load to and fro. We watched movies outside and spied falling stars and witnessed the brightness of other planets. One night we even saw the space station orbit above our heads.
In just a few short days “winter” will officially be here and we just might be forced to put on a pair of socks. While I cleared all of my candles out of the fireplace weeks ago our grate stands empty. Now I don’t want to mislead you into thinking that I am desperate for a roaring blaze. I am a much bigger fan of sweat than I am of chills. But even I can appreciate the warmth that the winter brings. There is something about winter that makes me enjoy my family and the closeness we all share when forced to stay close by. I have a strong feeling that this winter will sneak in and then never leave. I think that I will quickly be longing for the opportunity to dip my toes into the cool and refreshing water of the creek. But, until that day I am determined to appreciate each day that I get to experience God’s plan for our weather.
Take this morning for example: I curled my hair unaware that it was going to be a humid and muggy and unseasonably warm day by December standards. My curls began to unfurl by the time I stepped out of my bathroom and were a mere memory by the time I pulled into the school’s parking lot. Oh well…that’s what ponytails are for.
While I prefer summer to winter I must say that I thoroughly enjoy the notion of covering myself from head to toe. So, despite the heat wave we experienced today, I still wore tights, boots, a scarf and a leather jacket. The beads of sweat helped to give me that glistening glow that is so “in” these days.
Whether it‘s winter and you’re craving the lake or it’s summer and you can’t wait for hot chocolate…just remember that even though the calendar says “December” you still may want to keep those legs shaved and those toes painted just in case you have to wear your flip flops and shorts on Christmas morning.

Country Christmases---More Fun Than A Barrel of Santas

When I walked outside at 6:15 (way too early by Saturday standards) in my fuzzy pjs, hat, scarf, socks, Crocs, fingerless gloves, and winter coat, I was surprisingly “warm” (with the exception of my fingers). The air was crisp and clear—no icy breeze thank heavens. I managed to repeat last night’s poop-scrape and protein-feed chicken routine in remarkably record time. But when it came time for me to change out the two water feeders I was forced to acknowledge that the water in the hose had frozen. I immediately rationalized that although the remaining water was murky and low…it was better than no water at all. Here’s hoping the 40 chicks don’t drain the two feeders before I return home. Just what every mother fears…the death/s of her children’s beloved pet/s while on her watch (been there done that one already).

I only have half an hour left before I must wash off yesterday's makeup and reapply in an effort to appear halfway human before dashing off to my nephew's birthday party. I'll meet up with my parents and my kids (who spent the night with them) and then we'll all drive out to my sister's house. After this party I have to take my son to another party from 4:30-8:00 tonight. This will have us getting back home a little before 9:00...just in time to strut around in the chicken coops.

Dear Santa,

Please bring me some muck boots; my high heels keep sinking in the dirt. I'd also like a good scraper since my kitchen knives all have caked poop on them.

Love,

Me

Chicken Chores and Vet Bills

After work I had to take my son shopping so he could get a pair of blue jeans--he has a casual winter dance to attend tonight at the middle school. We found a great pair on sale so both of us are happy. After the quick shopping spree I dropped off both kids at Mom and Dad's because Mom offered to take my son to the dance, which starts at 7:00 and then pick him up when it is over at 9:30. This saves me an extra couple of trips into town so I greatly appreciate it. She also invited my daughter to go ahead and spend the night as well so tonight is turning into a win-win for everyone.

With the temperatures dipping down into the 40s (soon to be between 28 & 31 degrees) I left the car running as I rummaged through our barn in search of the chicken feed (the chicken chores were left to me since my son was not home). At first I scooped up a huge cup full of "feed" only to recognize it as grass seed. I had to call my son to determine which of the 3 buckets and 2 bags in the barn were actually for the chickens (not the deer corn in the red bucket, but the pellets in the white bucket). I walked around to the "big chicken" coop and squeezed my way inside. All of the chickens were roosting outside of their boxes so I had to gently push them with my flashlight to check behind them to see if there were any eggs. Roscoe refused to move and Daisy only edged over a bit. Mind you, these chickens are eye level to me and I was quite concerned about the strong possibility they would peck my eyes out. I'd also like to note that I had not been inside my house yet and was dressed in my work finery. I could only see one egg and gingerly carried it along with the feed cup and my flashlight back to the barn and then to my car. Since my car was still running my headlights enabled me to see where I was going while walking back to the car as it was pitch black outside.

As I drove around the corner and pulled under our carport I put my flashlight into my mouth and lifted the 50 pound bag of chicken feed out of the trunk and carried it over to the "show chicken" coop. This time the likelihood of getting my eyes pecked was not as great as the chance that I would trip over a rock or a stump-while hugging the heavy bag of feed--in the dark--with the flashlight in my mouth (go ahead...laugh at the visual). Once inside the coop I had the opportunity to scrape chicken poop off the bottom of two cardboard feeder boxes before mixing and pouring just the right amount of protein and feed back into them. Did I mention it was below 45 degrees outside?

Then, when I finally enter my house around 7:00 p.m. I go and find Snickers and let her out of her kennel. My husband had picked her up from the vet after school for me and brought her home before he had to go back to work tonight. I had dropped her off at the vet's at 7:30 this morning for her final round of vaccines and to have her spayed. At first I was worried that she would be all groggy and pathetic...but...NO! She is all over the place--as I type this she is upstairs (even though her doctor's note specifically stated "if your pet has to go upstairs please limit the number of times they do this" (or something to that effect). Of course the note also said things like: "no running or jumping;" and "keep away from other pets." So far Snickers has been up and down the stairs, eaten the dog's food (probably because Roo ate the cat's food), wrestled with Roo, ate a dead leaf from my once alive pythos ivy, and is now chewing on one of the Christmas lights...a blue one.

And how was your evening?

BFFs!

I brought my 11 year old daughter along for an all girls' weekend with my two best friends from elementary school. We spent the night in Dana's lake cabin and it felt every bit like the quintessential pre-teen slumber party that it truly was! Being the only one with a daughter I wanted to include my daughter in the plans because she loves all things "girl." She adores my girlfriends and they return the love. I am so fortunate to be able to share her with them.

We massaged our feet, painted our toenails, played the flute, and flipped through magazines. We ate coconut meringue pie for breakfast and had Mike &Ike's candies for dinner. We laughed until we peed in our matching froggy pajamas!

We exchanged fun gifts the likes of peppermint hand sanitizers, vanilla creme lotions from Bath & Body Works, fun candles, and old copies of Judy Blume books as tokens of our lasting friendships! Per my daughter's request she and I picked up some cozy fleece pjs and stuffed animals for all the girls.

At one point in the night someone gave my daughter a Sharpie Marker with the instructions to "Mark the 1st person to fall asleep"...guess who dozed off first? Yup....'twas I.

Dana built us a roaring fire in the wood burning stove that sustained us all through the night. She and my daughter stood their ground and defended the cabin against the angry mob of hornets that once lived inside the pipe of the stove. We all played M.A.S.H. (mansion, apartment, shack, house), and we popped each other's backs. We fed the stray cats that hung out near the front door (though they looked as if they hung out at every cabin door--no ribs showing on these felines). As it turned out we were more than warm and slept, as I had earlier predicted, with the doors open. We had prepared for freezing temperatures and had the electric blankets to prove it. We discussed our favorite authors and we wend on a nature walk.

All in all it was a great getaway...it was great in the fact that I could have my daughter along with me while "out with the girls." It was great in the notion that good old fashioned corny silly fun is still great fun! It was a strong reminder that girls are girls no matter their age...we all just want to belong to a group of people who love us and accept us. We all need someone who we can confide in, tell our secrets to, share a ped egg with. I pray that my daughter will surround herself with some truly great girlfriends who will embrace her and encourage her the way my BFFs have done for me...and thank heaven...who do so for her too! Thanks, girls!!!!

Chicks Rule

With exactly one week to go before Thanksgiving my son brought home 40 baby chicks today. Why? Because he is a member of our County,s 4H and, after winning the Jr. Showmanship award along with placing 3rd in his division, he has decided to show chickens again in the January Stockshow. This morning, at 6:30 a.m.father and son went to make their selection. All participants must pick up their chicks on the same day and, in all likelihood you don't really know what you're getting until they start to grow. In other words it's as fair as it can get.

My son has been diligently working sanitizing the coop, prepping the area, and purchasing the necessary supplies for the past several weekends. He is such a hard worker. Tonight, the chick's first night "home," my son had a heat lamp already set up for them. Those furry yellow peeps didn't even know they were in harm's way when my son raced outside and chased away the raccoon he noticed slinking towards the coop. He just happened to catch a glimpse of the night bandit while working on his homework.

The wind is whipping things up outdoors reminding us to be thankful that we are inside safe and warm. The high tomorrow is only suppose to be in the mid 50s so I'm thinking I may need a heat lamp set up over my bed! I dug in my bag of "winter accessories" to make sure I'd be prepared in the morning: gloves-check!; muffler-check!; ear warmer/headband/thingy-check!check!check! I'm already wearing my fleece pjs and have thrown the razor and toenail polish out the window! This chick's had it with upkeep! Hell I can't even keep up let alone upkeep these days!