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.

We Have Chickens!

We never want life to become too slow or boring, so just to make things extra interesting, we decided to get chickens. The chicken idea came up over a year ago, when I ultimately said "no way" to chickens, and this year we revisited the idea, and I gave Walter the go ahead to work on a coop. We re-purposed a shed and turned it into a nice little home for our ten chickens. The only thing we had to purchase for this project was the fencing--how great is that? 

Sarah has been wanting to get chickens, so when we decided to move forward on the chicken project, I suggested we split the cost, and the eggs, and get five chickens each, and house all of them in our coop. Now we are enjoying joint chicken custody. 

"Now take a picture while I act like a chicken!"

Much to my surprise, Isabella chose to take a road trip with my parents to Columbus yesterday, instead of joining us to pick up the chicks from the chicken farm. She insisted that she "just needed to see her grandmas." I can't argue with that, so off she went, happy as a clam to have her own adventure.

Meanwhile, Sarah and I loaded the kids into her van, where Isaac was very upset that we'd moved his car seat and put it in a different car. Thankfully, once we were on the freeway, and he realized I wasn't abandoning him, he stopped crying. Getting the chickens was relatively painless, and as pulled out with the chickens in the back, we were certain this was either going to be a great idea, or a terrible idea, and we hoped they didn't die on the way home. I still can't believe we have chickens.

So far, Maya is the only one to actually touch a chicken. She bravely picked one up out of the bin whereas Sarah and I "gently" dumped them out. They moved as one and huddled in a corner, piled on top of each other.

A few hours later they became more adventurous, and this morning they are full of life and entertainment.

The chickens are eight weeks old, and these are the different breeds we have:

Plymouth Barred Rock (2) 

Rhode Island Red

Cinnamon Queen(2) 

Speckled Sussex 

Silver Wyandotte

Golden Laced Wyandotte

Columbian Wyandotte

Plymouth White Rock


More chicken information next time!