Things I Never Thought I'd Say as a Parent

We do not throw horseshoes at people!

I'm not talking to you until you put on some clothing.

Why did you put oatmeal in your brothers pocket?

Please take the kitten out of your shirt.

Well, that's what happens when you sleep with markers in your pocket.

Why are you pouring milk in my purse?

No, you may not stay up late and do extra chores.

How did spinach get on the ceiling?

BTW- this is picture is from the coolest house ever. 

Our auntie in Utah let her son install this rock climbing wall in their front entry. 

Our kids LOVE visiting her home!

Did you ever say strange things in your parenting journey?

Pine wood derby drama

It's official. We have a Cub Scout in the family. Welcome to the world of merit badges, pack meetings, and scout camp. Oh yes, and the competitive Pinewood Derby.

This was our very first activity with our local scout pack (or do you call it a den?). 

Matthew worked for days on his car design and was so proud of the results. 

He lovingly carried his car to the check-in station before the race. The race official directed us to glue the car weights on more securely before entering the race. After carefully applying glue and waiting for it to dry, something terrible (but totally foreseeable) happened. 

I glued my thumb to his car. With superglue.

I'm not talking about a teeny patch of skin being stuck to a corner of the car. 

My entire thumb was irretrievably cemented to his car. When I shook my hand vigorously to loosen the glue, the car just dangled from my thumb and flapped about helplessly. 

The race was due to begin in five minutes! There was no way he could send his car down the track with me in tow. (Admittedly, it would be pretty comical.)

I pulled and tugged repeatedly at the little car, but this glue was serious about doing its job. It wasn't letting go of my skin at all. After this abuse my skin was beginning to surrender and rip. What was I going to do? 

People began to notice my awkward new fashion accessory and offer helpful suggestions. 

I tried scraping my fingernail between my skin and the car. No good.

I tried running it under hot water. No good.

We tried rubbing it with caustic acetones. No good.

One father pulled out a box-cutter and offered to let me try using that...I had visions of blood running down my hand as I politely declined his offer. 

I felt like a terrible mother even though I was laughing at the situation. 

It was funny.

When I was almost ready to try the box cutter, somehow the car just popped off my thumb. 

I don't know quite how it happened (maybe all the pulling, tugging, scraping, and soaking had a cumulative effect). The paint ripped off and stayed on my thumb (the paint happened to be bright red, so it looked like I used the box cutter after all). 

I rushed back into the race arena and entered his car just in time. 

He had a great time watching the races and cheering for his friends. 

He won half of his races, placing him solidly in the middle of the ranks.

The car now sits on Matthew's book shelf, next to his favorite possessions (which include a rock tumbler, a snake skin, photos, and books). 

It is still missing a patch of red paint on one side...I cringe every time I see it. Then I angle the car so it's 'bald spot' faces the wall.

Matthew catches his winning car at the end of the track.

Chicken Explorers

Chicken pot pie ready to bake

Having free-range chickens has it's drawbacks. Oh sure, the perks are nice. They eat bugs all over the property. Specifically, they've scratched up all the scorpion breeding-grounds next to the house, so we haven't seen a scorpion in 6 months. That's priceless.

The drawbacks are...well....interesting.

I mean other than the random chicken 'fertilizer' left generously on our sidewalks and patios. Since the chickens are free-range, they have access to everything. Yup, everything.

One day Daniel forgot to close the van door. I didn't notice until several hours later. When I went outside to fix the problem, I discovered our van filled with a dozen chickens. They were roosting on head rests or squatting on the floor, with feathers all fluffed up and warm. They actually looked pretty cozy (and I don't blame them for choosing the plush comforts of my leather seats over the sparse accomadations of the chicken coop). In the front seat sat our rooster, Pavaratti. (Honestly, I laughed out loud when I saw him in the front seat, trying to peer over the steering wheel to see out the window.)

It was a trick trying to get them all our of the van, and they sure protested loudly at their eviction. Somehow the stars aligned in my favor and there wasn't a single spot of fecal matter left in my van, just a couple stray feathers. Thank goodness!

Another time we came home from running errands and found the door wide open. Our dog, clever thing that she is, has figured out how to open our door all by herself. Now she can conveniently let herself in whenever she's tired of playing outside. That means more than once she's left the door ajar, and the chickens decided to also make themselves at home. We came home to quite a scene.

Picture the mess left the morning after a crazy sorority party. Now imagine the sorority is the sisterhood of chickens. That's what I thought when I saw the scene. They had partied hard in every room. Luckily, somehow the stars aligned yet again (is that even possible twice in one lifetime?) and we didn't have any feces anywhere other than easy-to-clean tile.

Last week we came home from church to our door open again (darn that dog!). We cleared out all the chickens, but then we heard a rooster crow.

From under my bed.

Nathan lifted up the bed and the boys and I all tried to catch the rooster. Unfortunately he is the most skittish bird in our flock, so of course he dodged our efforts and hid in the farthest corner, out of reach. We finally managed to catch him and toss him safely outside.

Now the flock has learned that our door doesn't latch very well, so they try to push it open on their own. Today we had chicken invaders three times! Each time I chased them out, they gathered on the front step, peeking into the windows while they stood all in a row.

It looks pretty funny, but in my mind I hear them saying to each other, "Just wait a few more minutes until she  finishes her meal and leaves the room, then we'll have our chance! First one to the highchair gets the baby's cheerios!"

(Editor's update: Life is ironic. Yesterday I had typed this post up and saved it for further editing. That very day, Daniel left the van door open -again!- and the chickens spent the day in there. Their muddy feet stepped on everything and the stars were not in my favor. I spent over an hour scrubbing fecal matter off my van seats! ERG!


The best part of this experience was the fact that I discovered the mess as I was heading out to pick up children from school. There was no time to clean it before picking up kindergartners, so all I could do was gingerly lay newspapers atop the fecal matter and instruct the horrified children to sit very carefully on the paper. We pulled into a gas station and I cleaned everything out before heading home. I keep telling my kids they now have very unique stories to tell their own kids about growing up in the country. Thank goodness I can laugh about it all....isn't life just crazy sometimes?)

Rooster antics

Sarah with our favorite hen

If males torment girls as a way of showing affection, then Sarah has an admirer who can't get his mind off her.
Our Minorca rooster, Luciano Pavarotti, loves Sarah. He loves to peck her more than anyone else.

He is normally the scaredy-cat who is the first to run from any sign of danger (or even just a loud noise from something not even remotely dangerous). He abandons the hens and runs lickety-split across the yard towards the safety of the chicken coop. Even the docile hens peck him viciously when he has the audacity to try to steal kitchen scraps from under them. He squeals like a girl when that happens.

He's really such a coward. I think he realizes this, and is ashamed.  Perhaps this is why he torments Sarah. It's like he has to prove something to the hens.

He actually makes a point of seeking her out and pecking her without the slightest provocation. For example:

Yesterday Sarah and I were sweeping the driveway. There were no chickens in sight (a strange situation for me). We were happily listening to the birds sing in the trees.

Out of nowhere, Pavarotti came streaking across the yard like a black bullet. He sprinted right to Sarah and without any hesitation, pecked her ankle. Then he cocked his head at her and made all his feathers stand on end, doubling his puny size. It was as if he said in a mocking voice, "Ha! What are you going to do about it? Huh? Huh?" while he danced around her feet looking for a fight.

She squealed and tried to escape his pecking beak, but he followed her in haughty dancing steps, striking at her ankles. He didn't even see me. I yelled one sharp sound that made him leap and squawk in fright, then he was gone. All we saw was his tail disappear under the safety of the bushes where he hid in fear until we went inside. Dumb rooster.

Good For a Laugh. I hope you have a blessed day!

Video Games

Matthew was busy explaining a video game to Nathan. 

M- "You walk around shotting people and (rambles on about other details....)"

N- "Matthew, we don't want you to play games where you shoot people."

M- "I mean, you don't shoot them with bullets. You just point at people, then this blue stuff flies over to them and...they...faint?"

Nice try bucko.

Good for a laugh

Here is some fantastic poetry a friend shared with me:


The Hokey Pokey, as told by William Shakespeare:

"O proud left foot, that ventures quick within
Then soon upon a backward journey lithe.
Anon, once more the gesture, then begin:
Command sinistral pedestal to writhe.
Commence thou then the fervid Hokey-Poke,
A mad gyration, hips in wanton swirl.
To spin! A wilde release from Heavens yoke.
Blessed dervish! Surely canst go, girl.
The Hoke, the poke -- banish now thy doubt
Verily, I say, 'tis what it's all about."