He's Sensitive

So you've all heard stories about myself, my husband, my kids, and even our chickens.  Well, this one is about Max.

But first, because this is me telling the story, a little bit of background:

Toffee is my dog, isn't she pretty?  She's a 5 year old German Shepherd mixed with whatever.  Could be Hound, because she bays and howls all the time.  Could be Pit because of the white spot on her chest. We have no idea.  

All we know for sure is that her mom was a German Shepherd and her dad was very sneaky.

Well, my hubs wanted a dog of his own.  Toffee is most definitely my dog - eventhough I tried not to have her bond primarily with me.  She's just spoiled.  But it kept her from being the kind of dog that J wanted.  He wanted a dog who was going to follow him around the house, jump in his lap, sleep on the floor on his side of the bed.  We tossed the idea around a few times, because I'm the one that is home all the time, and I really didn't want another dog.  But, marriage is all about compromise, folks. And when I saw how important it was to J, how could I do anything else? 

So I started looking around for dogs.  I looked into getting one through the VA system, since J is a Veteran. I looked at the Humane Society, I looked at private breeders (something I really didn't want to do - adopt if you can, please!)  Finally, one day I was browsing around on Facebook and I saw a post from a woman in Tucson who had a Brittany Spaniel that she was trying to rehome. She said that this dog had been left at her house by some friends, and since she already had 4 dogs of her own, she really couldn't keep him.  She was hoping that he would go to a good home.

Well, we're a good home.  

I thought I would check this out a bit more and saw the price.

FREE

Ding ding ding. We have a winner! 

This was the dog for us, I just knew it!

Plus, I mean, look at his little face!

So we met them, introduced him to Toffee and the kids, and decided that Max would be our newest family member.  J was in love instantly, so I was satisfied.  

Max quickly settled in to the house and began to make himself at home.  At the time that we got him, he was about a year and a half old.  And (this is important) not neutered.  Yes, I hear all of you animal population control people gasping and screaming at the computer screen telling me to neuter my dog.  It's on the list.  But you know what? It's expensive.  And you know what else is on the list?  About a million other things.  But he is 2 now, and deciding that maybe he should own everything that is standing still in the house, so it is the NEXT thing on the list.  Our vet grabbed hold of his goods at his last appointment and said, in a maniacal voice "Next time you're here, these are MINE!!"  Weird. But funny.

But I digress.  Max did just fine for the first few months, and then he began trying to dominate *ahem* Toffee.  Who IS spayed, and does not want to be dominated, thank you very much.  He has the sweetest personality, and genuinely JUST wants you to pet him.  he just wants pets.  All the pets.  All the pets that you can pet - he wants them.  He paws at your arms and legs when you stop.  He squirms his way up into your lap to get you to pet him.  

And... here's the interesting part of the story - he also would like to sleep on the bed.

Now, Max also sheds.  No big deal, really.  But I hate it.  White hair everywhere.  Little clouds of white dog hair along my baseboards.  Little white dog hairs floating off the shelf when I grab a book.  Since I am battling the dog hair CONSTANTLY in my life, I do not allow him on the bed.  The distinction here should be made that I do not allow him on the bed.  But, someone else does sometimes.  It has become an everyday phrase in my life to say "Max, get down".  

Another interesting thing that we learned about Max is that he has a sensitive stomach.  J likes to tease me when I'm fussing at the dog and say "It's not his fault, he's sensitive."  But to be clear, the dog isn't sensitive emotionally, he is sensitive gastrointestinally.  Specifically - if he eats anything other than the food that we have to buy especially for him, he has horrible gas.  I mean, he can clear the room out with this gas.  It is rank.  He also gets diarrhea, and at the point that we discovered his sensitivity we had to take him to the vet to have an exam because he was just feeling so yucky.  

Poor guy.  

So we got him on this special food and now he is much better.  Seriously, this food was a life-saver.  And we can order it online HERE and it is delivered right to my door (much to my postal carrier's chagrin) in 2 days.  And not exhorbitantly expensive.  If you have sensitive tummies, or dogs with gas, you NEED some of this in your life. And it's good for Toffee too, so they can both eat the same food.  It has made such a difference in Max.  Back to his usual spunky self - pestering Toffee, stealing things from the house to bury in the backyard and trying constantly to find a way in to the chicken coop.  The life of a dog.  

On Christmas Eve, his sensitive stomach and desire to get on the bed played a major role in my evening.  Both dogs had been let outside before bed so that they could potty.  Then we shut them in our room with us and went to sleep.  Max kept trying to get on the bed - I'm not even exaggerrating when I say that it was at least 12 times that I had to get him off the bed.  And then... I kid you not... I fussed at him and said "Max!  Get down! Bad dog!" and he looked me right in the eyes... and pooped all. over. my. room. 

Why do they walk in circles?  Why did THIS dog have to have stomach issues?  Why did someone feel the need to sneak Max some people food from the table?

I do not know.

But I do know that I spent the next hour scrubbing my carpet, giving him some medicine, and trying to air out my room. I do know that someone got to sleep on the bed that night because he didn't feel well.

It's worth it.  We love our dogs.  They're adorable, and add such joy to our lives. 

Those lazy bums!

My Business

You know those sayings like "mind your own business" or "keep your nose out of my business"?

That is not the case today!  Be as nosey as you want!  I want to share a bit about my business with you!  This business is what allows me to stay home with my littles during the day, to bless my husband with a happy wife and clean home when he gets home, and has been a great help to us financially!

I am proud to have partnered with two of the world’s most brilliant dermatologists and entrepreneurs, Dr. Katie Rodan and Dr. Kathy Fields! The world knows them as the creators of Proactiv. They are now doing for aging skin what they did for acne, with an incredible new company. These uniquely effective skincare products are designed with a legacy of delivering on what they promise. I honestly believe that using these skincare products, is as close as you can get to visiting a dermatologist … minus the appointment.

The doctors first launched their new company in the high end retail setting in 2002. They were in stores like Nordstrom, Macy’s and Bloomingdales. By 2007 it was a top selling clinical skincare brand in stores like Nordstrom. But the doctors wanted to reach more people and change more skin and lives. So they decided to move out from under the glass counter, into direct sales – they were building their brand through word of mouth referral as it was, and they knew direct sales would be a powerful channel for them, and it is. Today we do multiple times more monthly sales volume through the direct marketing channel, then we did being #1 in Nordstrom, and I am personally profiting from this.*

A litte about the products:

Our company could not have made the top spot in Nordstrom if our products did not perform. Let’s talk about our clinically proven, transformative products. Part of the reason why Rodan + Fields is experience such incredible momentum is because of our award-winning products that provide transformative results. The doctors know that one step and one ingredient does not do the trick – that is why they have created a multi-step, multi-med therapy to give you the best results, without having to see a dermatologist!

Skin Care Resources:

Solution Tool – find out what products are right for your skin, without a trip to the dermatologist

Products – want to shop the full line of products I am offering

Common Questions – do you have a question about a specific regimen, it might already be answered

Meet the Doctors – go here to learn more about Dr. Rodan and Dr. Fields

Results – want to see REAL people who have experienced REAL results

Come and join my team!

Do you want even more out of this company than just great skincare products? Why not join my team and enjoy even more incredible perks!

I am so excited to help each and everyone of you, redefine your skin. Join me, the products and this business and to jump into the most exciting journey of you life! Our products are great for men and women, all ethnicities and skin types. They are 60-day supplies (although many of my clients get close to 90 days). We just expanded globally into Canada on February 2, 2015, and into Australia this Fall 2016 so that is a new wide open market with even more opportunity to make an impact and grow!

Have you ever had an appliance or tool that you used to make your life easier or that saved you money or time (Keurig, iPhone, etc.) What if you could have been one of the first to distribute that product, and it was only available through YOU? This company is allowing us that opportunity. Rodan + Fields® is redefining anti-aging skincare and is committed to own a good portion of the soon-to-be $5 billion anti-aging skincare market, and to create their next billion dollar global brand.  This is why we are looking for fun, personable people to partner with us as we expand our business. YOU can partner with this company by joining us as they create their next global empire! This is a turnkey business—no parties, no stocking of inventory, you set your own hours and pace. You simply leverage the doctor’s legacy brand, and the resources of our multi‐million dollar corporation and you get to profit.*

So, who is ready to REDEFINE their future? Let’s get you onto the journey of your best skin, and who knows, maybe even redefine your financial future!

*Rodan + Fields, its affiliates and I do not guarantee that Rodan + Fields Independent Consultants participating in the business opportunities described on the Site will generate any income. As with any business, each Consultant’s business results may vary, and will be based on, among other factors, such Consultant’s individual capacity, business experience, expertise, and motivation. Readers are cautioned not to place undue reliance on the information on this Site and are urged to perform their own due diligence prior to making any decision to participate.
Rodan + Fields, LLC is not responsible for statements or claims made on this website. If you wish to go to the corporate website, visit www.rodanandfields.com. Rodan + Fields and its Independent Consultants do not guarantee that Consultants participating in the Rodan + Fields program will generate any income. As with any business, each Consultants business results will vary. Earnings depend on a number of factors, including the area in which you live, individual effort, business experience, diligence and leadership. Potential Consultants are urged to perform their own due diligence prior to making any decisions in joining. For information regarding earnings under the R+F Compensation Plan, see the Income Disclosure Statement.

Un-plan it!

Ok folks.  We are in the thick of it.

Right in the middle of Christmas Vacation.  

Halfway done.

You can do it!

Are your kids starting to repeat that dreaded phrase "I'm bored!"? 

Thankfully this year mine haven't (success!) because I staved it off with a totally new outlook for us on Christmas vacation.

Moms (and Dads) - we don't have to have everything meticulously planned out.  We don't need a schedule with every available moment blocked with some kind of ridiculous activity meant to "make memories".  This year, we took a low-key, unplanned approach, and it has honestly been the best year we've had.

Monday, we didn't plan anything.  We let them stay in their jammies as long as they wanted (teeth did have to be brushed, though. Come on.) They played with their Christmas toys, and when they started to get hyper we told them they could take those toys outside and play.  We watched movies, ate leftovers, and just hung out.

Tuesday we went to the zoo and then to Chick Fil A with some sweet friends.  We didn't have a schedule or timetable that we had to keep, and yes, us mommas were getting a little hangry and impatient at just how long the boys were running around the playground at the zoo, BUT we just sat back and let them have fun.  Family came over after dinner that night and spent a few hours at our house

Wednesday, we spent the morning doing much of what we had done the other days - relax, spend time enjoying their new gifts and goodies.  Watched a movie.  Played with the neighborhood kids.  They've done that A LOT this week.  

Thursday was the same way - just hang out and enjoy yourselves.  Spend time being a kid.  We went over to some friends' house for a few hours.  Came home, played a game of marbles (ours is handmade, and you can order it from our sister site Lone Star Designs or grab something similar here), and watched a movie.

Our marbles board (made by J's grandfather for us - isn't it pretty?)

It's my opinion (which means take it or leave it, but I'm get one and so do you) that kids today are so over-scheduled and over planned that they don't get to be kids.  I was guilty of that, too.  AND it was much easier, in what little downtime we DID have, to let the electronics keep them happy for me.  But you know what I noticed?  We could go for hours being in the same room, and not saying more than 5 words to eachother.  Unless it was complaining about someone sucking up all the WiFi bandwidth by watching Netflix or something.  Over the past few weeks, I have been observing my family and noticing that this is not the kind of parent I want to be, and that the only ones that living like his benefits is... No one.

Kids don't learn how to socialize, problem solve, use their imaginations, create, play, interact.  They think that everything must be done for them, because let's be honest here - up until now it all had been.  I had been running their calendars.  I had been making sure they got up, got ready to go, had the things they needed, and got to all their activities on time.  And God forbid we didn't have an activity planned!

I remember disappearing for hours and knowing that I had to be on good behavior and come home when the street lights came on.  The first couple of times I sent my kids out to play with no directions, just said "go outside and play", they sat on the patio furniture and said "we don't know what to do".  But after a few weeks of encouraging them to figure it out, I now have had a week of fort building, bike races, Nerf wars, sidewalk chalk, and spontaneous performances in our front yard.  The neighborhood kids live over here now, and the sounds of Big Wheels and bikes being dropped in my driveway has punctuated this week.

Sure we've had a few minor incidents where someone got too rambunctious and got hurt.  And you know what?  They sorted it out.  I used to have concerns that I was going to be raising a bunch of video gaming cry babies.  Now I've got BOYS out there, whittling something wonderful out of some sticks that they found, and shoring up the sides of Fort Lee, and planning out a major battle strategy for their Epic Nerf War Part II.

I know that the desire to fill their little lives with wonderful memories is strong, momma.  And it's a great goal to have.  Just don't forget to UN-plan a few things and let them make their own memories.

Not My Will, But Yours

Last week I had mediation with my ex (boo!) regarding my petition for full custody of our kids.  For reasons that I don't need to go into here, J and I both feel that it is in their best interest to primarily reside with us.  And before anyone gets on their high horse about equal parenting time/shared custody/yada yada yada - let me save you the trouble.  We've been trying to make equal parenting time work for 3 years now.  It isn't working.  So it was not really a big surprise that mediation went the way that it did.  But what was a surprise was my reaction to it.  I was scared going in to that room.  I was under that man's thumb for 13 years - and had bought into his lies about how I was nothing, ugly, fat, a bad mother, a bad homemaker, a bad wife, an idiot, all alone, had no skills, no education, no friends, no family nearby.  After separating, I began to know myself better and realized that those were all lies.  Every single one of them.  And let me tell you something - I actually need to thank my ex for giving me the motivation to change that.  The stupidest thing he ever did was to tell me that I couldn't make it.  Because you know what?  I damn well can.  

So last week, I walked into that room knowing that I had HUNDREDS of friends and family praying for me in that moment.  I asked that they would pray that things would be decided favorably, that we would be able to work things out without having to go back to court.  And you know what?  I was wrong to ask for that.  And those sneaky friends of mine knew it, and you know what they prayed for? 

God's will be done

 I was praying for MY will to be done.  I wanted to accomplish MY goals in that meeting.  I wanted things to go MY way.  And they didn't.  But you know what did happen?  

I stood my ground. 

I looked that person right in the eye.  I didn't duck my head, I didn't drop my gaze, I didn't cry, I didn't cave, I didn't beg, I didn't apologize.  All of those were conditioned responses learned over the 13 years that I was with him.  And for the first time since I met him, I stood my ground.  No, things didn't get worked out.  Yes, we will be in court. Again. But it was such a measure of how much God has changed me over the past 3 years.  I am intelligent, articulate, funny, attractive, a fierce mother, a loyal wife, a dedicated homemaker, a wonderful friend.  I have completed my degree and am pursuing another.  I have made more friends in the last 3 years than in the previous 10.  I am stubborn, and sometimes cranky.  I have a dark sense of humor and quite a bit of snark.  I love it.

I believe that God's will was done in that meeting. And I believe that He acted to accomplish His will despite my selfishness.  And after seeing that, I started looking more closely at my life.  In what ways had I been calling the shots around here, and not been willing to let God have control over?  Sure.  I'm a Christian.  Familiar with the Apostles' Creed?  Because I believe in every single line.  But... somehow, I've allowed my life to stray from God.  I've taken Him out of the equation.  I believe, but I don't interact.  I claim the promise of eternal life and salvation through Jesus Christ, but I don't speak His name in my home.  My Bible is dusty.  It's been months since I went to church.  We've even gotten out of the habit of saying grace before our meals.

And that's when I realized: this is not who I am either.  That has started me on a journey of rediscovery. I've spent the 7 days reading my Bible, searching for God in the pages that I know by memory, but have not allowed to soak into my heart.  I've never felt so far away from God in my life, and yet I can still see His hand at work in my family.  What kind of grace is this?  That I could have so forgotten Him, and still be worth His time and attention.

Picture Credit

I hope to keep updating this post as I have delved more deeply into Scripture, and as my relationship with God is growing.  I am going through the study "Experiencing God", which you can find here and join me! For now, I will leave you with the most empowering verse I have come across in my reading this week.  If you are encountering struggles, hardship, and anxiety I hope that this will give you the comfort that it gave me.

"Be strong and courageous.  Do not be affraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you." Deuteronomy 31:6 NIV

Going to the Dogs

Folks, it has been said about me for a LONG time that I can't have a regular experience with anything.  Like, never ever does something just go the way it should.

Case in Point: today I got some lunch from Lucky Wishbone (Good things are going!) and when I reached across the counter to get my food, I knocked over my GIANT cup of Coke which spilled all over my basket of steak fingers, AND onto the lovely lady who was serving me.  

You can't make this up.

Another thing that has been said about me, and which I was not aware of until I met my husband, is that I "spin a good yarn".  Apparently I can't just say a story, or just tell someone what happened.  There is back story, there are emotions, descriptive words and imagery, and lots of humor and general snarkiness.  

What can I say?  I'm a complex person.

But this next story is one that brings those two traits of mine into deliciously frustrating cohesion.

I present for your enjoyment: Saturday

One beautiful Saturday morning, on December 17, 2016, my husband and I awoke in our empty house.  The kids were gone for the week, so things were very quiet.  The dogs were sleeping on the bed and begrudgingly moved to the floor when I started pushing them with my toes and saying "Get down, get down, get down!"  My wonderful husband and I laid there, looking at the ceiling for a few minutes, not ready to fully accept the fact that we were awake.  He looks over and says to me "We have nothing to do today.  We should go out and do something."  And he was right.  He and I had finished our Christmas shopping and wrapping WEEKS ago.  We had built and finished sealing our new dining room table the night before.  We didn't have kids for 6 more days.  We had literally NOTHING to do.  

So I thought about it for a moment, and remembered that I have this great book called "Arizona Family Day Trips" on our bookshelf, and we haven't really done too many of the trips in it.  I said "Why don't we go to Cochise Stronghold? Or Tombstone?"  Wonderful husband agreed.  I was so excited to go on a trip (Hello, I'm a Lawson, road trips are in our blood!) that I was dressed and ready to go in about 6 minutes.  Wonderful husband was still in bed, but chuckling about how excited I was.  I called my mom to share with her my excitement over the fact that I was going on a spontaneous road trip (who do you think I learned this from?) and she suggested heading North to Globe, AZ to check out Besh-ba-gowah Archaeological site.  What a perfect idea!  Since, let's be honest, Tombstone is a tourist trap.  So, we let the dogs out, threw on our hiking shoes, and grabbed some McDonald's breakfast on our way out of town.

  photo credit

To get to Globe, us Tucsonans have to drive up Highway 77 - which is a small, 2 lane highway; as opposed to Interstate 10.  77 takes you through all this lovely high desert with scrub trees, grasses, and mountain foothills, until you come down into a gorgeous little rural community surrounded by Aspens, a little creek, and cows.  Seriously.  Tons of cows.  At one of these picturesque turns in the road, our day suddenly changed from leisurely trip through the country into... whatever it is that it turned into.  Let me explain:

I almost hit a dog.

A gorgeous black and white Pit Bull was running down the middle of Highway 77 with her equally handsome brindle Blue Nose boyfriend.  I swerved to avoid them, and then pulled over onto the shoulder.  Wonderful husband asks if I am going to go back and get them.

Now, it should be noted that I ALWAYS stop for strays.  ALWAYS.  I will stop my car, whistle or call to them, and take them back to their homes.  I would want someone to do the same for my two meat heads if they ever got loose, which they DO... which is why we use this pet-friendly gps.  BUT on this particular Saturday I didn't feel too inclined to do it.  I wanted to go on this trip.  I was excited about Besh-ba-gowah, and I wanted to share that with my hubs.  But, he got me.  It was the right thing to do.  I ALWAYS stop.

And so I did this time as well.

I flipped a U-turn, pulled over next to the dogs, whistled and opened the car door.  Two GIANT dogs jumped happily in my back seat and laid down to take a rest.  The female (who we promptly named River, because our Whovian side was showing) and the very handsome and impressive male (who we called Hercules) didn't have a collar or any tags.

We kept driving for about a mile until we came to a gas station in what we later discovered was Dudleyville, AZ.  I asked the attendant where animal control was.  They don't have one.  I asked about a vet.  He is only there every other Thursday, because his office is in Casa Grande.  I asked about a dog catcher.  They did have one of those, but this particular Saturday he was working a shift at the mine.  I asked if anyone recognized the dogs.  They didn't.  I love small towns, I really do, but this was frustrating.

Defeated, I walked back out to my car where WH was waiting with 275 pounds of drooling, panting strays in my brand new car.

On a whim, I asked a guy walking into the gas station if he knew what we could do.  To my surprise he says "My wife is the dispatcher for the county, let me see what she wants us to do".  Gleefully, I waited for him to make the call and then heard the decision.  "Take them to Globe".  Globe is a bigger town, they will definitely have an animal control there.  

Well, that wasn't so bad.  We were heading to Globe anyway.  We'll just keep the dogs in the car, drop them off in Globe, and then go about our day.

So we drove the next 45 miles into Globe.  Elated that I finally had cell signal, I searched for the animal control office.  Following my GPS instructions, I ended up in the Globe Cemetery.  Stuck behind the participants in a funeral which was ending.  I waited patiently for the mourners to make their way to their vehicles and proceed down the one-lane road.  And then the front car stopped. And the woman got out.  And started walking around the cemetery looking at the other headstones.  

Now, I can empathize with her.  She has just experienced a loss.  She is grieving.  Maybe she knows others who have passed and buried here, and she is taking the time to show her respects.  That's fine.  But her husband, who was in the car still, could have pulled over to the side so we could get through.  Cars are lining up behind me, trying to leave this cemetery and I'm thinking "Oh great - now I'm in this funeral procession, and I don't even know these people! I've got two stray dogs I'm trying to unload!"  That's when a woman came up to my window from the car behind me, and asked me if I could just drive over the grass (you know, the grass that grows on TOP of the GRAVES) so we could all get around.  No, ma'am.  No I cannot.  

Have you seen that YouTube video of Carla?  Where she says "McScuze me b****?"  because this had to have been her twin sister.  

Instead I inched forward bit by bit, until the man in the car in front of me got the idea that we were trying to leave.  He pulled over to the side and I was able to barely squeeze around him, AND avoid desecrating the graves of the departed by driving over top of them.  When we left the cemetery I pulled over and checked my GPS again, I thought "maybe it is a small road and I missed it the first time, so I will go this other way."  Well, the other way took us through a trailer park, where a very kind gentleman finally pointed me in the right direction. You want to know where the animal control is?  On the hill above the cemetery.  We were right below it the whole time.

When I finally got up the hill, you know what?  It was closed.  Of course it was closed.  I called the number on the sign and spoke to the dispatcher for the Sheriff's office who informed me that she would tell the dog catcher to call me.  

*** it should be noted that this entire time, my WH and I are drifting to opposite ends of the spectrum on what we should do with these dogs, since we can't find animal control.  He has taken the position that we should keep them. I advocated for sanity, since our OTHER two dogs are... untrained.  Seriously folks, we need to train our dogs.  Maybe we'll try this.***

Chris, the dog catcher calls me and asks where I found the dogs.  I answer him "on 77 just outside Dudleyville."  He says "which side of the Gila River?"  "Um.  Whichever side Dudleyville is on."  "We can't take these dogs."

Wait.  What?

Apparently the Gila River is the dividing line for Pinal and Gila counties.  Since I found the dogs in Pinal county, I would have to take them to the animal control in Pinal county.  

Now, were you paying attention as to why I can't do that?  Right - there is no animal control.

Chris tells me that people from the counties do this all the time - they will take the animals into a neighboring county so that their home county does not have to bear the financial burden of caring for the animal.  At about this time, Chris also arrives at the animal control office and now speaks to us in person.

"That is is not remotely what I am trying to do.  I tried to get them help in Dudleyville, I even spoke with the dispatcher, who told me to come here."  "Ma'am, she shouldn't have done that." "What if I just let them out of my car here?  Can't you just pick them up?'  REMEMBER: we are IN the parking lot in front of the Globe Animal Control building.  We can hear and see the dogs that are impounded there.  "No ma'am, not without citing you for abandoning the animals." "What if I was just kidding, and I tell you that I found them in Gila County, on THIS side of the River?"  "No ma'am, because I know that isn't true."

Oh for cryin' out loud!

"Ma'am, you're going to have to take those dogs back to Pinal county."

WH and I looked at each other.  There goes Besh-ba-gowah.  We don't have any leashes, we don't know these dogs, we can't take them with us to walk around an historic site. I refuse to turn them loose on the road again.  So we load them back up, and turn around for home.  I called the Pinal county sheriff and told them that we were coming back to Dudleyville with these dogs, and could they please meet us out there with an officer who could take them to their animal control facility.  "No ma'am, but you can drop them off.  We are open until 5."  "Great!  Where are you located?"  "Casa Grande".  Guys, that's 2 hours back to Tucson and then get on I-10 for another hour to go to Casa Grande.

Ridiculous.

I am so ticked off.

Like, you wouldn't believe how frustrated I am.  Poor me!  I was trying to be a good Samaritan!  I was rescuing these two abandoned dogs who would surely get hit by a car OR die of starvation or exposure!  There is no possible way this day could go any more sideways than it was.  

And then I saw them.  Red and blue flashing lights.

Funny how red, white, and blue are the colors of freedom - UNTIL you see them flashing behind your car.

"Ma'am, do you know what the speed limit is through here?"

"55"

"Yes ma'am.  Do you know how fast I clocked you?"

"No sir"

"71"

At which point I'm pretty sure I made the 😬 face.

"Where are you going?"

"Tucson"

"Where are you coming from?" 

"Tucson"

"You're going to and coming from Tucson?"

"Yes sir.  You see..." and there I launch into a somewhat truncated version of the story you have read up until this point.

"Wait right here ma'am"

"Yes sir"

Bless his heart.  He let me off with a warning and a reminder to "take it down a few notches".  Thank you Jesus.

WH and I decided to take them to Tucson to try to get them picked up by a rescue group.  The trip back to Tucson was noticeably quiet.  WH was still mad that I refused to take in these dogs, so he fell asleep.  Said dogs were sleeping quite soundly in the back seat, and I didn't get any radio reception - so the remainder of the drive into Tucson was very quiet.  We called several Pit Bull rescues in the city and none of them were able to take the dogs.  I even pulled over and posted on FaceBook requesting help, because I was afraid that if I took them to the Humane Society they would be put down (don't get me started on how we need to outlaw bad owners, and there is no such thing as a bad breed).  After being reassured by several people that I should take them to the Animal Care Center in Pima county (where Tucson is located) and that they would be treated well, that's what I decided to do.
Now, I'm not a naturally deceptive person, but I knew after my experiences that day that one of the first questions I would be asked was where I found these dogs, and specifically what county I found them in.  Can you believe it, after I got to the center in Tucson, I realized it - I had the county wrong the whole time!  Those two dogs weren't found in Pinal county - they were found on highway 77 just inside PIMA county.  Silly me. 😉

Washable Crayons

While J will help me put away laundry, and if I have been really behind on taming the laundry beast that week, he WILL help me wash – I am generally on my own when it comes to the loading, sorting, drying, folding… blah blah blah blah.  I hate laundry. 

One particular day I was folding clothes that I had just pulled out of the dryer.  You know that fresh, hot, wonderful newly-cleaned feeling when you have laundry that just came out of the dryer?  That’s the best.  Of course that wasn’t what I was dealing with, because that would imply that I had actually pulled the laundry OUT of the dryer as soon as it was done.  And that’s just crazy talk.  No, this was cold, rumpled, and as I got further into the load I noticed something else that was a bit peculiar.  It was stained. Like, bright red blotches of stain all over every single piece of clothing that I had in that over-loaded hamper.  Of course I had to investigate.  The empty, partially-disintegrated crayon wrappers in the dryer lent trap that I totally always empty before every load (guilty look) confirmed that it was melted crayon.  Ugh.

photo credit

At this point you just throw your head back, let out a frustrated groan and think “really? REALLY?”  Oh well, they’re little boys, right?  They don’t know any better.  I calmly called them into the room with me, and said “Boys?  When you put your clothes in the hamper, can you make sure your pockets are empty?  Someone left a crayon in their pockets and look…” I hold up the now-ruined clothes to show them.  To my dismay there were no gasps of outrage, no tears of injustice, no mourning for the clothing budget spent on sharp-looking school clothes that were now relegated to play clothes only. 

G1 didn’t even look up he just said “Okay mom, sure.” And leaves the room

 G2 says “No its ok mom, it says on the box that they’re washable crayons.” 

All you can do is blink a few times to try to process that information, and then move on.  

Now its just me and the ruined laundry pile, getting to be GREAT buddies.  At least I'm getting those stains out.  IF you find yourself in the same situation, grab you some of these little miracles.  Wish me luck!

Starving To Death

We all know that one person in the group that is always eating.  Whenever you see them, they have something in their hand that will shortly be stuffed into their mouth.  Usually its me.  Not going to lie.  When I worked outside the home, I always had food.  There was a dog that came to the office with one of my co-workers occasionally.  This dog was not overly social, but when he came to the office he didn’t leave my side.  Why? Because I always have food. 

Well, I think this is a trait that G2 has inherited.  Who knew you could inherit an appetite?  At first it was cute.  When he was a toddler, he could hear a snack wrapper from across the house – even if you were hiding with said chocolately treat in your closet (not that that ever happened for real *ahem*) and he would toddle over to you with his sweet little face and his chubby cheeks and tilt his head to the side and say “Schnaaaaack?”  Adorable.  Unless you weren’t familiar with it, in which case it was creepy – as my mother found out.  She cracked up when she asked me what was happening one night while babysitting and my response was “Oh, give him food.” 

He’s 8 now and he has never outgrown this.  The child is literally ALWAYS hungry for something.  I shudder when I think of his teenage years.  We’re going to have to become one of those crazy coupon families that has shelves and racks of canned goods.  People will come over and say “Oh, are you preppers?” to which we will respond “No, those are G2’s snacks for this week.” 

One of the issues that we encounter with him and his sensory issues is that he isn’t always aware of what the feelings he experiences mean, he just knows that he’s feeling them.  Being full is one of the things I would like him to feel.  He will always say that his stomach hurts, but I was convinced that it was just that he was feeling something and couldn’t place what the feeling related to.  So I was really working with him on identifying these feelings.  He would say “Mom? My tummy hurts.” And I would say “Ok, now think about that feeling – does it really hurt? Or are you full? Or are you hungry?” Sometimes it would work and I could see him really starting to get in tune with his body.  And then one day came the sass.  Also something he most likely inherited from me.

 “Mom? My tummy hurts.”

“Does it really hurt?  What does it feel like?”

 “It feels like I’m starving to death.”

 Now – recall my earlier comment on his sweet little face and his chubby cheeks?  There has literally NEVER been a moment in this child’s life when he has been STARVING.  Hungry?  Yes.  Ready to eat? Sure.  Starving? Never.  Enter MY sass and sarcasm: “Really?  Starving to death?  And what does THAT feel like?” A split-second pause. “It feels like my heart is breaking and if you loved me, you would give me food.” Ah.  Spot-on, right in the guilt center of my mom-heart. 

A few minutes later I was kissing his chubby little cheeks as fast as he could stuff them full of what I’m sure was a fairly elaborate meal.

The Smell

Last night, after J got home from work, he wanted to take a shower.  Perfectly reasonable.  

He also wanted to take a HOT shower.  Again, not an unrealistic expectation. 

  

However, apparently it was on this occasion, because there was no hot water to be had in the entire house.  After a few snippy remarks to each other about whose fault it was or wasn’t, we remembered that our home is still under the home warranty that we purchased when we closed on the house.  The next morning, I called the warranty company, and was pleased to find that they were able to send a plumber to our house that afternoon.  What wonderful customer service! 

  Before  the plumber arrived, we first had to do some finagling.  Both Toffee and Max had to be put in the kennel, because we can’t teach them to not jump and knock over our guests.  I also needed to entertain G1 and G2 while the plumber was here, so that I was able to participate in an adult conversation.  And since they hadn’t yet taken their bunnies out for some exercise and play time, this was the perfect opportunity.  OK, now that I had a game plan, it was time to put it into action.  

Catch the dogs, drag them into the kennel.  Whoops!  One got away, so lock up the first one, chase the fugitive through the house, grab by the collar and shove in the kennel.  But make sure you don’t let the first dog out in the process.  Get out the baby pool, some lettuce, and a towel so that the kids can play with their bunnies.  Go into the mud room to grab the bunnies and hand one to each boy, making sure that they are safely set up in the family room.  Might as well take this opportunity to clean out the rabbit hutch, too.  I got too caught up in doing that, and before I knew it the plumber was ringing the doorbell which set the dogs into a barking frenzy.  I welcomed him into the house, showed him the hot water heater (which is located in the laundry room with the dogs’ kennel), assuring him all the while that they can’t get out, and they’re very friendly, just jumpy.  He seemed happy enough to just get to work, and quickly told me that our water heater is super old and leaking internally, causing the electric components to short out.  “No problem”, he tells me.  “Your warranty covers a new one.” 

Wahoo!  This is my lucky day!  

The plumber leaves to go pick up a new water heater, and I get to making the kids a snack and setting up a movie for them.  The plumber comes back, and gets to work removing the old water heater.  After a few minutes, I hear “Oh my god!” and the dogs start barking again.  He comes around to the kitchen and says “Um, ma’am?  I got your old water heater out, but… um… Well, there was a dead lizard in your pipe.” “In my pipe? How?” “Ma’am, I have no idea.  I’ve never seen that before.  But… it’s been in there for a long time.  That’s what The Smell is.”  Just as he said that, this smell unlike anything I have ever experienced in my life comes crashing into my kitchen.  I was punched in the nose by this horrible, noxious odor.  I’m pretty sure I turned 3 different shades of green before I could cover my nose and mouth.  I ran to the windows and doors and threw them open – who cares if the air conditioner is running?  I had to get The Smell out of there!  I asked him “Wait a minute, if it was in the pipe, was it in my water?”  To my horror he says “Yes ma’am.  Every time you turned on the hot water.”  

I couldn’t even process this information.  I refused to process this information.  

We went on with the afternoon, got a new top-of-the-line water heater installed, and the plumber tells me “This is a great water heater, you’re going to save a lot on your electric and water bills!  Oh, and by the way, I left the lizard in the corner of the closet.” And then he left.  As soon as he was gone, I ran to the laundry room to get rid of the lizard and free my house from this smell.  As I turn the corner into the room, out comes Toffee, looking very guilty.  I peek into the closet and see that the lizard is gone.  Toffee ate it.  A rotten, decomposed, nasty, stinking lizard body.  She’s disgusting.  I could just vomit.  I went through the house and went through an entire bottle of Febreze, and when that ran out and hadn’t made a dent in The Smell, I started in with an aerosol can of disinfectant spray.  The kids fled to their rooms and closed their doors, leaving me to cook dinner and suffocate in The Smell.  When J got home from work, he figured that it was just that he had been at work all day – he never suspected the true origin of The Smell.  After we had eaten, and were relaxing around the dinner table and discussing our day, I told him the truth about The Smell.  I could see the realization hit him.  Every time we used the hot water.  Washing dishes.  Washing our clothes.  Washing ourselves.  Lizard water.  Every single time.  Lizard water.  We vowed to take extensive showers that night and to wash all of our clothes and dishes immediately.  Just as we were about to finish this conversation and pick out a movie to watch with the kids, the dogs came back into the room with us.  Pow!  The Smell returned with a vengeance.  “It’s coming from the DOGS!” I exclaimed.  “I need to brush their teeth. Now.” 

Now, brushing their teeth is interesting.  Lots of experts say to start teaching them to tolerate having their teeth brushed when they are puppies, and I agree that this is the way to go.  However, this is not the way I went.  Instead, our teeth brushing occurs only when J can catch a dog, pin it down, and hold the mouth open while I brush their teeth as quickly and efficiently as I can.  This time was no different, except that having the dog THAT close to me made The Smell even worse.  Once we finished brushing both dogs’ teeth, we discovered that this hadn’t totally abated The Smell.  It was going to have to be a bath.  Max is just a treat to bathe.  He is a Spaniel, so he willingly jumps into any and all water and his bath is no different.  He happily hopped into the tub, and relaxed against my legs as I scrubbed his body from nose to tail.  When I got his head wet – the primary location of The Smell – he decided that this was the perfect time to do it.  All dogs do it.  They shake.  And when he shook, he shook right into my face.  I could almost see tiny particles of rotten lizard hit me in the face.  I actually started to cry. This was just the very last straw to my day.  All of a sudden, I hear J start shouting “What are you doing?! You’re getting me all wet!”  At first, I thought he was making a joke about crying, but then I realized that I was actually getting him all wet.  I had the shower spray nozzle in my hand, and when I jumped after Max shook, I turned the nozzle around and was dousing J! There was really nothing to be said, I mean, I just sprayed the guy with water, I couldn’t exactly act like it hadn’t happened.  So we finished up bathing Max.  We towel-dried him and released him into the house.  

Then it was time to wrangle Toffee.  Toffee is a diva.  Toffee hates the water.  She hates baths, rain, puddles, and anything that makes her even remotely damp.  God forbid she actually gets wet.  This is her, in the only place in the house where she will lay down.  See? Diva.

 We caught her and had to wrestle her into the bathtub where she quickly became the most pathetic mess I have ever seen in my life.  Her giant brown eyes blinking in the water, her ears turned down, her head hung low, her tail firmly tucked under.  The whole time I was scrubbing her I kept saying “This is what you get for eating lizards.”  After she was dried off and released into the house, she and Max did exactly what all dogs do when they’ve had a bath – run around the house like lunatics, growling, barking, nipping at each other and generally causing a ruckus.  

At least we finally got to the source of The Smell.  Now the house smells like dog shampoo, Febreze, and disinfectant spray.  At least I got a new water heater out of it, right?

When a Baptist Serves Communion

Today, I walked into church and the greeter says to me "Have you ever thought of serving communion?" "No." "Would you be interested?" "Sure." "Ok, come here." and then walks me over to the central area and says "Bob, I have a server for you"

I'm thinking "Ok, well, I guess today is as good a day as any, and they need the help, so here we go"

Bob says "Ok, this is how it works..." and explains the general idea of serving communion.

Now, this is obviously not the first time I've taken communion, but I had some questions:
- do I do every row? or every other row? "Whichever row your partner is not doing"
- do I say something ot the people? "You can if you'd like"
- what do I say to them? "I usually say 'thank you'..."
- what do i do when I'm done? "set your tray down and do the offering"

At this point, I feel like i can handle this. I have the instructions, I have my game plan, I'm ready. No, wait... I didn't put on mascara this morning! And I'm wearing boots - that's not very churchy... At least I'm in the court, and not the main sanctuary. I can still do this!

Listen to the sermon, worship, and when the pastor asks the servers to get ready, I think "That's me! Yes! I'm ready!" I head out to the foyer and take my communion, pick up my TWO trays (what?! they never said I would have TWO!) and head into the court.

Now, in case you couldn't tell from this post, I'm a little bit Type A. I prefer to know EVERYTHING that is going to happen so I can be prepared. So, here I go, up the aisle, pass the communion tray to the first person and say "Thank you" (wait! why are you saying thank you?) and then the next row and say "Thank you" (stop saying thank you! oh shoot! You were supposed to go every other row!) so then I jump up to the next 2 rows to catch the trays (and said 'thank you' both times) coming from my partner, and then back down the stairs to say 'thank you' and hand off the trays. Then I start thinking "Geez - I suck at this! Wait! You can't say the word 'suck' while you're holding a communion tray! There has to be a special level of hell for that... ah! Now you said 'suck' and 'hell'! Ah! Again! And stop saying 'thank you!' Ah you did it again! Shut! Up!" All the while catching trays and sending them back down the rows. Then I get to the end of my section, which is at the top of the bleachers in the court. And somehow I have 4 great, big, heavy communion trays. And I have to go down the stairs. And I'm afraid of heights. And I can't hold onto the rail or anything because I have the communion trays. "Ok, self... you are either going to sit down on your bum and slide down these stairs, or you are going to take it a step at a time and pray you don't biff it and slide down these stairs face-first in a mess of clanging communion trays, tiny cups of grape juice, and miniature crackers."

Step. Step. Step. I made it. I set the trays down. And realize "Oh man! I still need to do offering!" Quick! Grab the offering bag and pass it to the first row (saying 'thank you' of course) and the second row, and when I catch the third row and start to send it down the fourth, the poor guy was confused and tossed his communion cup into the offering bag. Now, I could have been saintly and angelic and just continued on discreetly. BUT I am a spaz and my mind would not shut up about how I was probably the most awkward communion server in history, so what did I do? I said, in a stern voice "no", and dug the cups out of the bag and handed them back and continued on. When I got to the top row, my partner had already finished, and headed down the stairs, but my bag was on his side of the aisle, and I could see the people questioning where it went, and starting to send it to anyone who would take it, and I realized I would be chasing this offering bag all over the sanctuary. So, delicately and discreetly I start waving my hand in the air and saying "I'll take it! I'm coming!" and weaving my way down the row, trying not to step on everyone. I finally caught the bag, and rushed over to the foyer to turn it in.

At this point, I reclaimed my purse and Bible from my seat and thought "Well, I tried something new, and I can now officially check off 'communion server' as a volunteer option"

Lean Pockets to the Rescue!

Ok, every week I sit down and comb through all of the grocery store ads that come in the circulars in my mail box.  I write out a list of groceries that we need for basic things (kids' lunches, breakfast, etc.) and then... the magic happens.  That's when I get to do it.  The 2 words that inspire ALL homemakers everywhere.  "MEAL PLAN".
I saw you shudder.  Don't lie.
I'm the same way.  I think "WHY?! Why do we have to eat every single day?"
And then I realize that I have to do the shopping, and the prepping, and the cooking, and the cleaning.  And I even though I am thoughtful and I post the weekly menu on a cute little "Menu" board on my refrigerator, I will still have to answer that dreaded question "What's for dinner?" a million times.  Every. Night.
So, I feel your pain.  It's ok.

This isn't a post about how to make your grocery list, or how to meal plan, or coupon, or anything like that.  This is totally just a story to embrace the chaos that is life, to join together in solidarity, and to say that "it happens" to all of us.

Yesterday morning, I got up early (shocking, but true). I made coffee for DH and I, did my Bible study (see mom?  I'm a good girl!), threw in a load of laundry, started the dishwasher, fed the chickens/rabbit/dogs, put dinner in the crock pot, and left for work on time.  That was an entire days' work right there, all by 8 am.  I was on top of the world.  I even bragged about it to my coworker when I clocked in.

Which is probably why the rest of this story happened.

I came home after work and going to the gym, and smelled... something.  It had to be dinner in the crock pot, but at the same time, I really didn't want it to be dinner in the crock pot.  I can't even describe what it smelled like, but it was SUPPOSED to smell like a honey-soy-garlic chicken with carrots and green beans.  That is NOT what I was detecting.  I checked to make sure that nothing had scorched, and that everything was turned on and working well.  Dang.  It was.

I waited until DH got home, and as he was walking in the door he says "I'm starving!".  He must not have been able to smell it.  Maybe working in a truck with a bunch of stinky guys has its advantages afterall.

I did my best June Cleaver bit and brought him a lovely plate of the stinkiest thing I have ever cooked, and a cold glass of sweet tea.  We always have sweet tea in the fridge.  It's the house wine of the South.  I reluctantly made myself a plate and sat down to eat dinner with my DH.  He took a bite of the chicken.  And then... he just... LOOKED at me.  I can't describe the studious lack of emotion in his face, but I know it had to be deliberately blank.  I took a bite.  I LOOKED at him.  He cut another piece of chicken off, and manfully swallowed.  I think neither one of us knew for sure whether the other was enjoying the meal, and so we didn't want to spoil it if they were.  As I'm mentally preparing myself to take another bite of this HORRENDOUS food, I finally just set my fork down and say "Please don't eat any more of this.  This is disgusting.  I am so sorry.  I am not eating this.  You don't have to either."

A huge sigh of relief from my husband as he sets his fork down and says "Oh thank God.  That was terrible."  The rush of guilt was quickly replaced with laughter when he adds "But I want credit.  I was going to eat that whole thing."  What a good man.

I cheerfully dumped the plates in the trashcan, and start rummaging around for what I can quickly make that will feed him and not keep him waiting forever.  You know what I found?  Pepperoni Lean Pockets.  Thank goodness I had bought the big pack!   Heated them up, then snuggled on the couch to watch an episode of Doctor Who, and the evening was saved thanks to Lean Pockets!

Hey everybody! I'm making GUMBO!

This.  This recipe is shut-the-front-door delicious!  And, it impresses folks, so you know... it's a keeper.

Backstory.  (Because with me, there is always back story)

I was taking my kiddos down to play with some friends at their RV for the day, and I realized that I needed to have plans for dinner.  The boys had been asking to try gumbo for a while, so I thought "today is the day!" and I grabbed all the ingredients from the grocery store, then it hit me: I had chicken and sausage and veggies in my car.  In TUCSON. In March (It had already hit the mid 80's, so I couldn't just leave it in the car).  AND its a crockpot recipe.  Dangit.
So I messaged my good friend, Nikki.

Me: "I will have a chicken breast and kielbasa with me - can I put it in your fridge?'
Nikki: "Yes.  I totally get it.  I travel with those too."
Me: "Lol. You would if you were making gumbo!  Yikes! Its a crockpot recipe.  Can I bring my crockpot to your house to start it?"
Nikki: "Lol! Yes"
Me: "I'm a mess"
Nikki: "No problem!!  I have room for gumbo!"
(Isn't she just the sweetest friend? Hosting us at her house for a play date AND letting me make my dinner at her house!)
Me:  "I should make a double batch and leave some for you guys.  You want?"

And wouldn't you know? She DID want.

We had a great time visiting.  I was busy chopping things in the kitchen and tossing them into my crockpot and her multicooker (which I totally now need). Kiddos were outside playing in a fort and riding bikes.  Idyllic.  And then as the afternoon wore on, the smell of that gumbo wafted out of the house and we were all drooling.  When it was time to leave, I packed mine up and headed home.  Just as I put a batch of cornbread in the oven, I get a text from Nikki.

"I'm gonna need this recipe!!!!!!"  Six exclamation points.  I counted.

I swore I would send it to her shortly, and of course, never did.  Then I saw her later for her daughter's violin lesson (being the violin teacher, I was there).  She asked for it again.  I said "Sure".  And forgot.
Then she and her kids came up for my son's birthday party, and she asked for it again.  I laughed and said "Ooops!  I'll send it to you!" And then today, I just got a text from her.  Short and sweet and to the point: "I need gumbo recipe!"  So... here I am writing a blog post about it, instead of sending her the recipe.  I suck.  BUT... I figured that if she wanted it badly enough to ask me for it multiple times, others may enjoy it to.

So.  Here is my gumbo recipe.

Jessi's Evasive Gumbo Recipe

• 1 chicken breast, diced
• 1 link kielbasa (or smoked andouille sausage, or beef sausage, or whatever you'd like), sliced into rounds
• 1 green bell pepper
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 10 oz okra (I've only ever used fresh, and instead of measuring okra, I grab "some") sliced into rounds
• 1 medium onion, diced
• 1 28-oz. can of diced tomatoes
• 1/4 tsp Tabasco sauce
• 1 Tbsp. Worcestershire sauce
• 1/4 tsp. black pepper
• 1/4 tsp. salt.

Combine in your crockpot and cook on low for 8 hours.

Serve over cornbread or rice, or just eat it plain - either way, its delicious!

There you go, Nikki!

For Real... Chickens

Now, I don't like birds.  At all.  That's the first thing you should know.  I despise going in to the aviary at the zoo.  I don't like it when birds fly around me, or near me, or where I can see them.  I'm going to blame it entirely on this one time when I was feeding the birds in Paris and they swarmed me for the breadcrumbs.  Because that makes it sound like a more realistic fear, and not that I'm weird at all.

But I digress.

We wanted chickens.  We wanted fresh eggs, and clucking, and silly birds, and kids going outside to feed/water/clean/gather eggs.  We wanted them to scratch around in our garden and to poop and help things grow.  So when we had moved into the house, and we saw the sign at Ace Hardware that says "We have chicks!" I marched right in, picked out the 4 I would want, and paid for them.  You don't get to bring them home right away, you have to wait for your chicks to be delivered to the store, and then you can pick them up.  So, I had to wait a week.  Which felt like forever. In the meantime, I got their brooder all set up for them
.

Super easy (since we were unpacking and had a TON of boxes around).

Here's what you need (my notes are in parenthesis - these are things I learned after we brought the chicks home from experience):

• box (sometimes you will see suggestions that you use a round brooder, because apparently chicks can get stuck in the corners of the box and suffocate.  I never had a problem with it.)
• Lining for the box - maybe some plastic sheeting or a cookie sheet or something because
• chickens make a mess and it soaks through your box
• they spill their water  and it soaks through your box
• they peck at the bottom of your box and when you pick it up, the bedding falls out of your box and makes a mess on your newly-mopped floor
• Pine shavings - they sell this in a big bale at the store as well.  We buy ours from a local tack & feed shop, because I have to spend the money on it, and I would rather support a local business than a big chain like Wal-Mart, but you can buy it there too.
• Chick feeder (maybe $3 at the store - not a big deal)
• Chick waterer (again, a couple of bucks - but ESSENTIAL!  Chickens are very succeptible to dehydration.  Keep water in there AT ALL TIMES)
• Heat lamp (they will need heat on them 24 hours a day until they are fully feathered.

Ok, so now I have all of supplies... I need chickens,

Ah!  Aren't they adorable??  Lookit!  I got the box, and the guy at Ace Hardware placed the 4 chicks into the box and then I felt like I was just nailed to the floor.  I walked over to the paint counter where J was buying some paint and showed him the chicks.  "That's nice, honey."

Wait.  "That's nice, honey"?!  He wasn't instantly enamored with their sweet little peeps?

"Babe? Why don't you put the box down in the shopping care so you can help me with this paint?"

"I can't."

"Uhm... why?"

"Because if I put them down, how will they know that I love them?"

*huge eye roll*

Guys.  I'm serious.  These chicks were the sweetest things!  After we got them home, I would sit with them on the sofa (on top of a towel, because their poop is disgusting) and just talk with them and watch TV with them.  They fall asleep so fast - its kind of like an infant.  One minute: playing.  The next: sleep.  And they didn't know how to settle down and sit yet, so they literally just fell over and slept.  

This is Cali, by the way - see her cute little black spots?  Couldn't you just squeeze her?  But please don't.

J says "I want a refund.  These aren't chickens.  These are fluffy marshmallows."  And he was right.

This is Claire.  Her full name is Chanteclaire - because J and I are 80's kids, and we couldn't have chickens in our house without a 'Rockadoodle' reference.  She's a black Cochin.  And probably the cutest thing ever.  See those little feathers on her feet? Cochins have feathers on their legs and feet!  It looks like she's wearing a frumpy set of sweats!  I love it.

You know what else I love?  That my kids think these chickens are adorable, too!

G2 is holding Del, who fell asleep.  Because that's the only thing that makes this any cuter.

The only thing more fun than having chickens in the house?  Taking chickens outside to play in their playpen!  They were still too young to just be turned out there, even if I was watching, so I fashioned a play pen out of PVC pipe and bird netting.  Closed on the top and all 4 sides, so you basically plop your chicks down, and then slip the pen over the top of them.

Safe and sound and getting their first taste of being outside.