Peas and Chickens

A text conversation with my sister: 

10:36 a.m. You need to blog more. 

For my sake alone

10:37 a.m. Yeah I know. I'm feeling uninspired. 

10:38 a.m. Get inspired--duh

10:39 a.m. Duh. I'm in an, "I'm never going to be good at anything phase." 

10:51 a.m. Bummer. Are you upset that the chickens don't let you touch them and prefer Butch (my husband's family nickname)?

10:56 a.m. Yes, I'm terribly jealous. 

10:57 a.m. You really shouldn't let that impede your creativity. 

Let me just tell you, when you get chickens, it always comes back to the chickens--even my lack of blogging. There is basically an endless stream of chicken humor going on in our house, and Walter and I just never get tired of it. We say things like: 

-What are you making for dinner?

-Well, I just put a chicken in the oven.

-Which one? 

Hardy-har-har. 

A few nights ago I was talking with my sister and told her all about how Walter finally succeeded in taming "his girls" so that he can hand-feed them and they let him pet them at night when they are roosting. 

-Do you want to come out to the coop and pet the chickens with me?

-Yeah right, they aren't going to let me touch them. 

-I'm telling you, they all line up in a row and I pet each one.

-Well, okay, I guess I need to see this. 

-I whistle to them as I walk up to the coop and then before I leave.

-Isn't that sweet. (In other words, your're so weird)

I must admit, I finally witnessed this nighttime relationship my husband has with our chickens (don't get any weird ideas), and though he claimed they weren't as docile as they usually are, I did get to pet one of them. 

-See, wasn't that fun? They aren't usually so skittish, I think they just didn't like that you were there. 

-That's nice. Next time I'll leave you and your girls alone. 

There is one chicken in particular, Zebra, who is especially friendly with Isabella. Leave up to Isabella to name a chicken, Zebra. That's like naming your Dog, Cat, but whatever. 

I was so excited to shell peas and couldn't stop exclaiming how adorable my peas were. You know how people stage their newborn baby to look like a pea in a pod--cute, right? Let me just tell you, real peas, in a real pod...way cuter. They slept all night in our fridge--didn't wake up a single time.  

If you have a kid with a g-tube and are interested in the shirt I have on, you can go to feedingtubeawareness.com to find similar shirts.

-Isabella, are you sure that's what you want to wear? Do you see how there is a completely different pattern on the shirt from the shorts? (sorry, I don't have a picture)
-Yeah. But I think it looks pretty.
It was basically a floral explosion, but she thought it looked it pretty, and I couldn't argue with that because I want her to be creative, and expressive, and proud of how who she is.

That's why I kept my mouth shut when she walked out of her room in this:

Just don't forget to bring spare clothes for when the ballerina thing has run its course.