Be prepared to be shocked.

Just kidding, you won't be shocked at all! I'll be darned, you can just call me Marmee, we're having another little sister! Another wee lass to add to this lineup! FOUR sisters! ha! Whenever I imagine a baby of mine, it's always been a girl so that's sortof what's naturally come to mind. So we're actually not surprised. We happen to think our itty girls are the epitome of the bees knees. Creams of the crop. The cat's meow. You get it. 

Can I add a disclaimer here? Somethin' I've just had a hankering to get off my chest? People think they're being really original saying something like, "Just wait til their teenagers! You'll be hatin' life!" (hi five) or, "Oh man think of all of that PMS!" (hi ten). They're not original, guys. And not even funny. We might lead them into a false sense of security because maybe we'll give them a courtesy laugh. But if you know us, you know our real laughs. And that ain't it. We've already heard it all with three little girls. Every time we go into public! Can we just think about mood swings when we have to? Can we please revel in their sweetness and daintiness? Can we enjoy matching dresses in sets of four for now while we can!? You think they're gonna let me dress them forever?!? You think they're gonna think matching each other is cool forever?! You think you're better than me?!? So give us a break! Let us enjoy them and be excited to add another sissy. I'm sorry, but as far as my family goes, it was my brothers as teenagers who gave my parents the most headache. We girls have always been exemplary members of society! Just kidding. We obviously had our fair share of teenageitis. But if we were to go down the list of bone-headed moves, the boys had us beat. Even though I was a pretty big bone-head. Who says, "bone-head" anyway? I don't, but I like it. Point is, the nurse at my OBGYN office said, "I'm so sorry," when I told her... and I nearly did the flying squirrel across the front desk and grabbed her by the collar. Instead I opted to just tell her, "I'm not."
I know people have good intentions, it just gets old. And I'm sure moms with lots of boys think the same thing.

More sugar and spice! More ribbons and curls! Also, I really do want you to start calling me Marmee. That's a legitimate request.

Ahem.

I don't know if people even blog much anymore. I mean I know a few in my circle who do faithfully... and those I still read. But it just isn't what it used to be. Instagram and FB are just so much faster and life is a highway, baby. I personally wanna ride it all night long. You're welcome, btw. For getting that in your head instead of Do you wanna build a snowman. Even though the analogy doesn't really work.

 Facebook's been sortof bothering me lately though. I feel like Fb likes have become so diminished in their meaning. They just seem to be trite now-adays. You used to know that someone genuinely liked your status when they'd give you the old thumbs up. But now it means so many things. Because people announce their grandmothers passing and there's 67 likes. I don't like it when people pass away. These are some of the many decipherings of FB (and instagram) likes as I've come to learn:

• I genuinely like this post.
• I didn't read this post at all but I like you.
• I'm so sorry. 
• This is inspiring.
• This totally sucks that this happened to you but the way you wrote about this made me laugh.
• This totally sucks that this happened to you but I like your outfit in this pic.
• I'm here for you. 
• I didn't read this post (actually have no idea what this is even about!) but I was supposed to call you back forever ago and never did so this is how I'm trying to compensate.
• We used to date and sometimes I online stalk you just for fun, not because I'm unhappily married, and I accidentally liked your pic one time trying to make it bigger on my phone but forgot that IG doesn't work that way and now I'm mortified trying to decide whether to let the "like" stay or to unlike it because what if you've already seen it?? Huh??? Which I have actually been on the other end of... happened to be trolling online precisely when a "like" from someone unexpected came through... only to have it vanish seconds later. And then it's awkward. Let's own our likes people.

All in all, I just like blogging so much more. But when I talk about blogging in a social setting, sometimes people make me feel like I'm carrying around a discman and my pack of CDs, even though I know people are still blogging. Lots of great people. Just as they should be.

I mostly wish I was still blogging as much as I used to. Here's to trying.

I actually told Jason the one thing I wanted for Mother's Day was a 3ish hour block of time to write a blogpost. (I'm thinking of starting to call it a blost. Because we all know that "blog" came from condensing web-log. We dropped the "we" and made blog. I so hope that the english language becomes one condensed blob of sounds. So no one has to actually ever say full sentences. I could say "I-ingore" and everyone would know I meant, "I'm going to the store". Life would be so easy.) So last Saturday morning, I sat down and started composing this here blost. (You just wait, it's gonna catch like wildfire!) The only sound I could hear the entire morning was a lawn mower in the distance and my fingers pecking away at this here keyboard. It was a marvelous thing. Not permanently. But yes, when it's sparingly, it's completely sublime.

I really need to start writing more frequently because my brain is turning to mush, as was recently demonstrated at a family baby shower during a game of scattegories (watch it, Cathy.) And I've been sitting here trying to decide how much of the last four months (since I've written) I want to try to cover in this post and then panicking because I'm wasting time thinking instead of just writing and getting 'er done. Because that door's gonna come swinging open sooner than later and the circus will return. Literal circus. Elephants, ring master, fiery hoops... all of it.

So, a couple more things to update you on. You already know we're expecting baby girl number 4. Four kids seem like so many more than three. I still think of myself as a new mom here, folks. I'm still trying to figure out diaper rash aren't I? What is happening in the world.  I'm almost 16 weeks. Exciting! Super exciting now that I'm past the worst part of the whole charade. The part where you barf into the kitchen sink without any notice at all. Hopefully that's completely behind us (me). Just like saying "we're" pregnant, right? ImeanamIright?!

Something note-worthy: I sent this picture to my mom at 8 weeks pregnant. 8 weeks! like I'd only known for a few weeks we were expecting again. Does everyone remember how early 8 weeks is? Okay I just want to emphasize that.  I sent this to her to remind her of the glory that was coming my way once again. Because I'm obviously full of glory here.

Here's the real kicker folks. The real kicker. She texted me back, my very own mother, and asked, "Meradith is that you right now?!?" At 8 weeks pregnant. Let me clarify, this was THE DAY before going into labor with Isla. Like hours before giving birth. I was astounded and awe-struck at her question. And I just didn't even know how to proceed. All I could do was maniacally laugh. For hours. Hours and hours on end. And then finally mustered, "No, Mom. That was the day I pushed Isla out of my body, remember how Isla weighed 8 pounds 9 ounces?" to which she responded, "Oh.. I was gonna say, she's for sure having twins." As if that justifies it! Give this bod a little more credit, ma!

I actually look like this right now. This isn't an intentional "belly" pic, and it was from this last week, not eight weeks preg.

 

The reason I took this picture was to share with a close associate that I had successfully worn the same outfit 4 times in a row that week. That the only time I was forced out of pajamas for any outing, this was ready and waiting for me. Because 1. dressing yourself and discovering every single week that what you reach for to put on no longer fits you is not fun. and 2. When you're pregnant, you've gotta minimize. Big time. You won't see me much without a beanie on these days because I'm not expending the energy to do my hair. And when you run into me at the grocery store, I'll probably be wearing this outfit. Anyway, no one even said a thing to me that week. Which makes me believe I could get away with wearing the very. same. exact. outfit day after day for the rest of my life without my husband noticing a thing. It's baffling and comforting all at the same time. Ignore my sinister eyebrows in this pic. It's just another part of my look lately, as it was when I was 39 weeks pregnant in the previous pic.

Another important item on the agenda are birthday celebrations. Scarlett turned 4 years old last month, Isla turned two 8 days later and we spent 4 days in between in Chicago with Honeywell Security. Buzzzzzzzzzzz. As in bees. As in busy bees. Don't let that go over your head.

We threw a joint birthday bash for Scarlett and Jason's sister Cathy... they share April 21st. 4 going on 40 we called it... and it was a costume masquerade ball of sorts. We haven't got the pictures back from that yet... but I'll post more when we do. It was quite the evening. Here's one of little sis on her special day. Oh Scarlett Marie. You should have your own show someday (or right now), like Lucille Ball.

 

 And here's Jason and me. We don't really like to go all out for these kinds of things so we just found something old lying around in our closet... I told Jason he was being a major poor sport for just wearing one of his church suits but you just can't get expect everyone to get into this stuff. Oh well.

 

Here we are in Chi-town for a romantic spring get-away. 42 degrees on that Saturday.

Jason also had his very first pedicure while we were in Chi-town.  It's a big deal when you have the world's most ticklish feet. I included a short video clip from that... as well as a couple other clips. Because I'm realizing a pattern when I pull out the camera with my husband. Just notice how each of these clips conclude.

 Bludgeoning.

Isla June started our her birthday kind rough. She found her first grey that morning. Getting older is hard.

 

I can't believe she is two!!! She is the most joyful babe. This little age... and her exploding little vocabulary.. is so scrumptious. Most of the time. This one has my heart.

 Next on the agenda: an update on our chickens. Since they deserve their own blog, right. Eye roll. We've been wanting to get rid of our rooster for some time. We gave a couple of our hens to Jason's parents, and they've adjusted quite nicely. But only having four hens has left our rooster quite... unsatisfied. Which is really unfortunate because it makes me not like him. Because I feel like he's a deviant. Now I know you say animals can't be deviants in that way... but I happen to have a couple monkey stories as well as a dog (I won't name names) that would convince you otherwise. Point is- our hens are getting beat up. Like bald patches on their backs. And it's been really making me mad. So, as nice as he is as far as roosters go- he had to get the boot. Jason and I have been trying to figure out how to do this for weeks. Til one day, I went outside after Jason and the girls had been working out there, to have Lucy cheerily tell me, "Mom, the rooster's found a new home." So I look at her dad. "What'd you do with the rooster?" Jason (like the Godfather): Don't worry about it. (Think thick new york accent). Me: Honey, really what happened? Jason: Just don't ask questions. He found a new home and we won't have to worry about him anymore. He's fine. 

At that point I decide I won't ask anymore questions... he's being so illusive and mysterious. Did he really just hack our rooster? Haul him off to a butcher? I can't really expect details in front of our girls if he did. So I decide I'll be content with solving the mystery a little later that day when we're alone.

Until a few minutes later when I'm planting in our garden and Jason's assembling his new BBQ (third one I might add- all with specific functions and purposes, alright?) that in the distance I hear a distinct crow. Like a familiar crow. Our rooster's crow. I jerk my head to Jason and he to me. And his eyes are all bugged out and shifty. Me: That's our rooster crowing. Him: No it's not. Me: Ummm yes it is. Where did you put him?? (laughing now) Did you just go dump him on our neighbors yard? (another crow) Him: Dang it I guess I didn't carry him far enough away.

So I'm sortof laughing to myself in amusement. And then the crowing's getting considerably louder. Closer. And Lassie's finding his way home. What do we do at this point? Do we try to hide from him? Do we say, Oh sorry about that buddy... you found your way home! Hooray! Do we act like nothing happened? Then I get a text from our neighbor about our rooster staggering around drunk behind her house on the trail to the beaver pond. OK she didn't exactly say that but that's how it went in my mind. Me: Jason, he's just wandering around back there behind our fence! I'm going to get him. Jason: No, don't. He's found a new home. He's gone now. !!!!!!! Everyone in our neighborhood knows those chickens are ours! Like we can just be like, "Nah... that's not our rooster... sorry." I did tell him next time he just planned on following the trail to the beaver pond to lose an animal, he's gotta blind fold him while walking out and spin him around at least three times before dumping him off.

Our rooster came back. Just hopped right over the fence and resumed mating with one of our hens. Sigh.

 Can I confess something? That actually might be the only actual shocker in this entire blost? I don't feel "farm-fresh" eggs are that much better tasting from store bought. I know... I KNOW! I want to tell people when they ask how much better they are. I want to tell them you can taste the difference in the nutrients and the darker color just makes me feel so much better about eating them versus store bought. But let me be honest here. I have to remove chicken poop from these eggs every. single. time they're gathered. And even if the store bought ones paled in comparison as far as taste goes, I might just rather have them anyway so I could avoid what I have to suffer with the chicken poop. Especially while pregnant and nauseated. And then you're just supposed to crack 'em open and chow down. Mmmmm! That didn't make me lose my appetite at all! Ugh maybe I'm just not granola/pioneer woman enough for all this. And don't let these girls fool you. They love the chickens.  

But begged for a puppy dog for Christmas. And when Jason told them We already have chickens...  you'll have to prove yourself with the chickens first, Lucy said to me, "Mom I love to eat chicken. I think we should eat our chickens and get a dog." Bone-chilling how quickly they'll turn on you.

Good news is, we won't be skewering our rooster anytime soon, despite Lucy's savagery. Because he found a new home on a farm in Payson. And I'm sure he's lovin' life. Because they have lots more hens. (On a downer note- they also have a much bigger, meaner looking rooster--think Little Jerry-- they told me they were offing and they'd keep the boys separated. Hopefully that's happened so Hans can have his pick).

That brings us to the end of this blost. Big hug little kiss.

Another Year's Come and Gone

Can you believe I haven't written in over three months? Can you believe I ended last post implying I'd be posting again very shortly? That was a good joke, huh? Can't believe you all fell for it. I got you good. Let's all throw our heads back and have a good hearty laugh about this now. If we were hanging out I might even throw a bowl of peanuts into my face. 

I reference that scene from Dumb and Dumber a lot, but what you don't understand is that it's

it's my favorite thing to visualize. I'd say I spend anywhere from 77 to 93% of each day visualizing throwing a bowl of peanuts in my face while the room roars with laughter. And someday I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna take the plunge and JUST. DO. IT.

Seriously my head's about to implode. What is it with this time of year and head colds? We all forget how miserable colds are, don't we? When we're all good and healthy? Because if someone misses work or stays in bed all day over a "cold" we think they're complete wimps, right? Am I right? Like Really? He's gonna stay home and in bed because of a little case of the sniffles? But then you're hit with one and the world is quite literally ending. Sinus pressure that could actually shoot your head right off your body... send it soaring high into the air... like 15 or 20 feet I'm talking. Sore throat. Cough. Having to breathe through your mouth constantly due to congestion. The cotton mouth and subsequent taste left in mouth due to said cotton mouth. And then you start popping advil cold and sinus like tic tacs and you fool yourself into thinking you're getting better because you're masking the symptoms and then you try to do something like go for a run and you realize you might have the lowest IQ on the planet for making that decision.

Bleh. It's all utter misery. Real misery. I'm gonna try to remember this next time I'm tempted to mock someone for complaining about having a cold. Actually, no that's not me. It might be my husband though because he quite frankly NEVER. GETS. SICK. Which I'm happy about. Happy/jealous rage.

Before we get into the meat of this post, I'll have you know I've been desperate to get back to you, bloggy blog. I know you told me to only call you that name when we're alone but I can't help it. Don't be embarrassed. To show you how serious I am about us, I have a babysitter at my house right now. And I am here at the library. That's right, I'm paying big bucks for this time together. Because every second Isla is left unattended, she sprouts wolverine blades from her hands and destroys whatever she can in the house. She hangs by her feet on the ceiling fan and while revolving shreds around and around. You get the scene. I have plans to be a regular blogger again now that the new year is here, so be expecting that, folks. And by "new year", I mean the year my youngest child goes off to college. {Insert cry emoticon}.

I thought it was bad in my last blogpost to "wrap the summer up" in one post, and here I am starting a "wrap the rest of the year up" with some highlights I don't want to ever forget of 2013. After this update post, I'm gonna really get down to the nitty gritty of here and now. 

In August: We took my Dad on a surprise weekend get-away to Jackson Hole for his 60th birthday celebration. He'd been undergoing chemotherapy since January (still is) and hadn't really left the house during that time. So we thought we'd rent a cabin and give him a change of scenery. We thought we'd view the Tetons once more before they moved down to Arizona, which they did a few weeks after. My heart will burst even beginning to consider this year for my Mom and Dad. But this weekend in Jackson was relaxing and serene. It was perfect!

In September: Jason, family and besties threw me a most killer surprise 80's themed birthday party to commemorate leaving my 20's complete with a Thriller flash mob in my very own back yard. My parents surprised me, my pregnant Nessa flew in for the day so we could sing karaoke together, and I was so overwhelmed by it all that I ugly-face cried pretty much the entire evening. Isn't that the look we're all going for when we're in the dead center spotlight like that?

 In October: We left our baby Isla with my sissy Vanessa and flew the coop to Mexico with Lucy and Scarlett and 100 or so NorthStar employees. The girls were in heaven and the trip was amazing in every wonderful sense of the word.

 Remember that glass blowing factory we went to on our way to the beach? The one where Jason (not our three or our five year old) backed up into a glass chandelier and knocked off a bunch of hand-made pieces and broke them? And then we ran outta there faster than you can say "bull in a China shop"?

We asked to hold the large lizard, but this puny one was all they had.

Also, remember how these two are our kids second parents? Remember when that huge wave came crashing in and almost swept Lucy away and it was Merv who saved the day while her parents stood by watching? I do.

And then we came home, Autumn had officially arrived in our back yard:

  and I got to be a pubescent wizard boy for Halloween walking around stupifying everyone; "the boy who lived" if you will. Dreams come true, people. Dreams come true.

 

 In case you didn't know, Jason was Hagrid. Oh, and in case you didn't know, go get a life.

Along with a miniature wolf, cheetah, and dairy cow to boot. Makes sense.

In November, we celebrated a little something our family likes to call, "Thanksgiving". Just a crazy family tradition we started, I know, everyone thinks we're crazy. Okay but really, this year's Thanksgiving was unique because we ended up having a Friendsgiving- rented a cabin in Big Bear Cali and Christensens, Carliles and Fullmers spent the week basking in each other's good jokes, watching our girls do the worm across the kitchen dance floor, and staying up late with inquiries of Would You Rather. It was a dreamy, dreamy week surrounded by pine and crisp mountain air.

There was a little of this…

 

And a lot of this…

And have you ever seen in all your life such delectable morsels?? I daresay no.

And December brought heavy snow and sparkly lights and garland and all of the magic of the season. All of the magic of Christmas eve and Christmas morn and the spirit that resides the whole month long. And by Christmas magic, I mean the kind that has children levitating around the family room. We had an absolutely wonderful Christmas.

The day after Christmas, we forsook our freshly revealed Christmas loot, packed and bag and headed for the warmer weather. My side of the family got to be together for a week in Arizona and every single minute of it was divine. Swimming in the pool all day and s'mores around the fire pit at night. {Insert second cry emoticon.} Phew okay, this has got to be a wrap, right? That sums it up ya'll. Cheers to the New Year. 2013 had it's good, it's bad and it's ugly. But we're still here. Maybe I'll get more than like two posts in on this here blog for 2014. Wish me serious luck.

Wrap it up. Put a bow on it. Sayonara til next year.

Au revoir Summertime. As much as I love you, the change of seasons is one of my very favorite things in life. So I'm ushering you on out. Now git! Beat it!! Scram!!! Ahem. Oh September in Utah. How glorious are you? Yeah, you! I'm talkin' to you, you little rascal! Don't act like you didn't know! How are we already to your last day? It's 57 degrees outside at this moment. And breezy. The high today is 74. And I'm euphoric. Except I tend to jump the gun a little this time of year. Like how I wore a ski mask yesterday to church, and alls anyone could see were my little beady eyes peering out. Actually, I did wear boots and a sweater over my dress last week. I teach gospel doctrine in my ward and was counting every time I'd feel a bead of sweat trickle down my back. I'm not exaggerating. At all. My face was all flushed and glistening as well. And as soon as I gave an "amen" to that closing prayer, I ripped that sweater off at the speed of light and started swinging it around over my head, like a helicopter. You know what song I wanted to sing. But I couldn't. I'm not sure why I had to wait til class was over to take that sweater off, but I did. Counted beads of sweat instead of the obvious solution.

Back to my point, fall here is SO SUBLIME!!!! Jason and I put our kids to bed last night, ran out to our back yard and cannon balled it right into our double wide hammock to look at the stars. Best part about it? We had to snuggle under a blanket. Because it was chilly.  Don't even get me started on the smell outside that comes with that chill. Heaven on earth. Think of the sound of leaves crunching beneath your feet and that camp-firey pre-snow smell in the air at night. You know the one.

This summer nearly institutionalized me, friends. I'm here to give you and our future generations our summer 2013 hi-lights before we're buried in snow. I realized I have to give you the condensed version if I'm going to be capable of this. This post is squeezing so many events into one post that it might blow your mind. Literally, your head might explode, and I'll apologize to your family at your funeral. It'll be the most bizarre causes of death anyone'll have heard of, and I'll be so overwhelmed with guilt that I'll have to run out half way through the service. Everyone will be talking about it for months, years even. And I'll defend myself for the rest of my life that I forewarned my readers. But do you listen?

First and foremost, did you know my sister Vanessa was here all summer with her chitlins? Which means the entire summer basically was spent making animals in the clouds.

Until we shoved them off the blanket so we could lay down and take selfies.

Jason and I had Jason work/fun related jaunts to Washington DC, New York, and Nashville. All within the first month of summer. I'm no spring chicken anymore people. Wore me right out.

DC in May is lovely.

I think I might hear, "That's enough, honey," from Jason more than anything else. Especially with lots of stuffy businessmen watching. Like in this photo below.

We went to a fancy gala while in music city. Remember last time when I said I had a good story to tell about me and a tambourine? We were at this here fancy dinner in this huge ball room full of round dining tables and the musicians there had handed out a dozen or so tambourines. When the music started, we were supposed to dance around with it just long enough to hand it off to someone else we didn't know. You know these getting to know you type things. Well, I started off with tambourine in hand, except I didn't hear the part about handing it off. I just thought we were supposed to keep going til the music stopped. There there I was, beating that tambourine like it'd never been beaten, dancing up a storm, figure 8-ing around all the tables... for like a good twenty minutes. Not kidding. I was about to pass out wondering WHEN IS THIS SONG GOING TO END?!?! When I finally looked at Jason, who was seated, he was watching me, laughing and trying to motion me over to him. So I went, and he told me I was supposed to pass it on a really really long time ago. I know that honey, I'm just waiting for the right moment. Can't a girl just dance around these people's tables if she wants to? Maybe circle them 4 or 5 times each? Smiling and waving all the while?

And then remember that morning how we went to a key-note speaker address in a big conference room and my phone started playing my audio book super.. I repeat super loud when he was speaking? And there I sat, fumbling around trying to turn the narration of "Pride and Prejudice" off and just couldn't do it? So I had to whisper yell, "Sorry!" like 5 times? And then I immediately spilled my water all over the crotch of my pants? And had to walk around making small talk with people with my husband? Did I mention the pants were tan? And it was a crazy amount of water? Didn't think anyone could be this big of a buffoon in the course of just a few days, did you? Jason can testify to it all.

Big. Long. Sigh. 

Moving on. We celebrated this boy's birthday while in Nashville and started the day off with a music city food tour. Ended the day at Kayne Prime steakhouse. If you know my husband you won't be surprised at all that the day revolved around good eats. Isn't he handsome? Don't be coy. It's okay. You can say he is. Go on. I dare you. Say it to my face. No really, you can. 

Part of Jason's birthday gift was to go to a race track and race a sports car while we were in Vegas a couple weeks later. He loved it, and I loved that they knew we were coming and had this cute little stand set up for us to use as a prop for taking pictures of our adorable children.

So here we are in Las Vegas at the Christensen Family annual retreat. It was about 110 degrees the duration of the week, but that didn't stop us from taking family pictures and acting like the heat wasn't getting to us. Isla is especially chipper. And Grandpa. 

Actually, all my kids look pretty awesome here too. 

Red hot sweaty faces meant lots of water gun fights and pool time. And that made it aaaall completely worth it! And the week was a total success as usual! 

Scarlett spent basically all day every day laying out at the pool working on her tan. She might not look that comfortable, but I'll tell you what. She was. Life jackets even make for the most inconspicuous tan lines.

But back to the family pictures- I'll never forget the squabbling and scuffling that surrounded that photo shoot. There was name calling and cursing and a few right hooks here and there. But we all said cheese and smiled brightly when that camera was ready. Just the way the best families do.

We can't forget Lucy's birthday party when we returned. She turned 5 and invited the little girls from our ward to come party with her- you guessed it, princess style. I couldn't believe that's what she wanted when we asked her. She's so unpredictable. 

And Rapunzel even made a guest appearance. It was the best!

What none of us could quite understand was my little niece Eve's complete and utter disdain for the visiting princess. Was it her singing? Was it her dancing? Was it the fact that she talked about what really makes a princess beautiful lies within? We're not sure. All we know is that any time Rapunzel would hint at doing something any of the girls didn't approve of, they'd threaten her by simply pointing to Baby Eve. And there E would be, popping her neck and cracking her knuckles.

Lucia is kind and thoughtful and so eager to learn and try new things. She loves life and is so fun to experience things with. She is the epitome of everything wonderful that a five year old little girl could be. She really really is. Except for when she throws a fit about the color of cup/bowl she's served. Hoping that doesn't stick with her into adulthood.

 Alright, I might get to our last month of August in my next post but right now I gotta get off this computer. I'm starting to get major heebie jeebies sitting here, so you'll have to be content with this until next time. Now, I don't wanna get any hate mail/texts like times before, with you being all frustrated and begging to know what we did in August. It's coming people. Or it might not be. Ever. Sometimes I play hard to get like that. I try to be unpredictable and mysterious with my husband but that doesn't always work quite like it used to (still not giving up though- with the whole mysterious and unpredictable thing. He just wishes he could figure me out!) so it falls to you. Xoxo. (Big hug, little kiss, little hug, little kiss. In that order.)

Chickens are threatening to destroy my marriage. That's right, chickens.

Remember how Jack Handey so insightfully pointed out, "It's sad that a family can be torn apart by something as simple as a pack of wild dogs"? Well today folks, I'm here to discuss the fact that it's also sad that a happy, loving marriage can be torn apart by something as simple as wild chickens. Or domesticated ones, in our case. And we're learning you don't even need a whole pack to do the job. We have four. And they're more potently destructive than you could ever imagine.

But remember how magical it was all to be? Remember what it was like for the girls to find the first laid egg? Remember how we all partied like it was 1999 for three days straight over that first wee little egg?

I'm about to paint you the real picture. I'm not proud of it. It ain't pretty. But it's gotta be revealed.

Here's the back story. I didn't want chickens. Not yet. Jason's been wanting to get chickens to teach the girls responsibility ever since I birthed our firstborn. I still thought this summer was too early. I told him it would just end up being another thing that's my responsibility. It would end up being more things I've gotta feed and clean up after. He swore that Lucy would be the one doing the feeding and cleaning. Remember how she just barely turned 5? Ugh. Here we go. 

 So yeah, I wanted to wait a few more years to get chickens. Or at the very least until, our fence was completely finished so they could roam some of the time. But neither of those things were waited on. We had a coop with chickens inside faster than you can slap your mama. I don't know about you, but for me that's pretty fast. So I'm taking our table scraps and watermelon rinds out to them, as I expected I would. He doesn't want me doing that; tells me alls they need is the chicken feed. I'm asking Jason when he's going to clean the coop out because the poop is out of control. I'm telling him I want to cancel the pest control, because once that fence is finished, I wanna give them recess and they're gonna wander and eat bugs, and we can't kill our chickens with pesticide. We can't eat pesticide eggs either. I tell him, I noticed the chickens are completely out of water today when I was back there. You think we should just wait for Lucy to notice?And he tells me chickens can live for up to 3 or 4 days without water, they'll be fine. ?!?!?!?!?!?!? The first night he brought those stinking chickens home, we were laying in bed. That coop's supposedly predator proof, but it's on loose dirt and has no bottom. So I'm laying there and shoot up in bed and tell him, Raccoons could easily dig under that dirt, dig their way into that coop. Those chickens aren't safe.  Him: The chickens are fine. Raccoons aren't gonna take on a full grown chicken, and they'll be fine for one night. Whaaaaaaat?!!!!!!? Me: You bring those chickens into the garage until we make that coop safe! Our girls aren't waking up to gleefully go check on them to find bloodied mutilated chicken corpses in the morning! Of course I had to find several accounts online of coons killing hens to back me up. But he eventually, full of loathing and vexation, brought them into the garage for the night, and put chicken wire a foot into the ground the next day all around the base of the coop, all the while shooting daggers into me from his eyes. In truth, all of these conversations with him have brought about what I can only describe as primate behavior in my dearly beloved. On more than one occasion, he's turned right into Tarzan in loin cloth right before my very eyes; beating away on his chest. And when this happens, I'm forced to go ape, too. And a scuffle ensues. He's stronger than I am. But I'm so scrappy. 

He thinks I'm being controlling. He thinks I'm inserting myself where I don't belong. He grew up on a farm after all, and has let me know several times that a little uptown girl like me doesn't know what I'm talking about with any of this stuff. (I never have been and am in no way now an uptown girl.) He just wants the chickens to be "his and our girls thing", and he thinks I'm trying to take it from him. And he wants Lucy to be solely responsible. Which means if she doesn't feed them or give them water, she's gonna find dead chickens. And that sure'll teach her consequences and responsibility. Gotta teach 'em the hard way. Ahem, I know I already said this, but, remember how she just turned five? I do. Remember how much that young whipper snapper Mattie loves her daddy on True Grit? And she's like 12 and avenges his death? I think this all plays into the vision for his life he created long ago in his mind. That along with several episodes of Little House on the Prairie, Back to the Future 3, and Swiss Family Robinson. And the first several seasons of Saved by the Bell, not the college years. The college years were the worst.

Now, I'm all about teaching them responsibility. But let's be reasonable here. She's too young to be solely responsible for them. And ain't no chicken starving to death on my property if I have anything to do with it.  We're not farmers. We don't have necessity to have a harsh homestead view of the survival of the fittest and the circle of life, no offense Mufasa. Ain't no runts being butchered just for being runts while I'm runnin this home show. What Jason doesn't understand is, when he says, "it's not your concern," or, "just let it go, the chickens aren't your thing," etc, as much as I'd like to have the capacity to do that, it doesn't mean that I can. For a stay-at-home mother, a home is more than where you rest your head at night. It's my domain. It's my lair. It's my turf, territory, my business. All of it. SOY AMA DE CASA. I am the nurturer of life! Maybe I'll go build a chicken coop in his office. I'll tell him I'll come by occasionally to deal with them, but in the meantime he needs to just pretend like they're not there. Truth is, as much as I'd like to withdraw, (believe you me, no one wants to quit their job on sick days like moms do), no creature will ever dwell within the boundaries of our property without being under my stewardship, care and nurturing. Just won't happen. Ain't no way. This is why I didn't want to get the dang things yet. I am the mother of this house. I'm not being a control freak; control freak is not my thing. I have plenty of things, trust me. But this is just the reality of the situation. It's like when Jason has tried to take shifts with our babies in the middle of the night and tells me to just sleep through it if they're crying. What's the purpose of me laying in the guest bed at 3 AM with my eyes bugging out of my head listening to my baby cry? Just gimme 'er. GIMMEE!!! If they're gonna live with us, I just can't help myself. I'm gonna make sure they're taken care of until our kids really can completely take it over. If they're outta water I can't just sit back and wait until she notices. Not yet anyway.

If I was a career woman and we both picked our kids up from day care and headed home from the office in the evening, it's possible; (possible not probable) that I could wash my hands of it all, maybe the dynamics would be different in our home. But that's not the case. So if he comes home from work this winter and I'm out back roosting with them, he's just gonna have to deal with it. If I'm inside that coop, perched right on top of those chickens, keeping them warm and softly clucking to them, then so be it.

Maybe we're just not good at team projects. Weren't those the worst in school? Are any of you good at team projects with the Mister? Do sneaky hate spirals get the best of you every. time. you try to tackle anything together? Like moving for example. Or getting ready to host a party. Or how about when we'd been married for three weeks and thought it'd be cute to rent a tandem bike and take a ride across the golden gate bridge in San Fran? Except it turned out that they're like unrealistically difficult to pedal and we had to huff it up a gigantic hill and Jason was yelling at me to pedal harder and then I was yelling at him because he wouldn't let me steer it and then when he finally let me I immediately crashed us and made another biker totally eat it? This ever happen to anyone else? Anyone? Anyone?? No? Hmm. Another example, Lucy's first bath was a big hurdle for us. He was telling me what to do and how to do it and yelling, you're gonna get soap in her eyes!!!! all frantically. And then I had to stop it all, take a step back and seriously ask him if he's clued into the fact that this child has been living in. my. body for the past 3/4 of the year and how he could possibly entertain the idea that he was even remotely more invested in and concerned about the well-being of this morsel as I was. Then he apologized, we made up and had a good laugh about it all while toasting ginger ale to each other. And then I punched him in the throat. An unexpected jab to the adams apple can be a most effective form of communicating. I learned that in my RAD class. They asked me to come back and certify to be an instructor, remember? That basically makes me more Chuck Norris than anyone you've ever known. I can unscramble any egg. And why did the chicken cross the road? Because it didn't want to get a roundhouse kick to the face by me. Back on track.

Point is, I've come to the conclusion in the short few weeks that the chickens have been in our possession, that we have to get rid of them. They need a new home. Whether that means it was too early for our kids or too early for me or too early in our marriage, I'm not quite sure. It's possible that the neighbors may or may not have recently heard, It's either me or the chickens! There's not room for all of us! Everybody told us our relationship would be put to the test when we first got hitched, but no one warned us about chickens. They told us about selfishness and dishonesty. But why didn't they tell us about chickens? We might be on the brink of completely failing the chicken test. Hubby might be sent to sleep in that coop soon. They might end up being fried up. There's no telling what I could do. And I can't exactly see Lucy or Scarlett as adults sitting in a support group, saying, "Those chickens were the beginning of the end of mom and dad. They couldn't stand the sight of each other once the hens came and we had a miserable childhood and upbringing. But looking back I really feel like those fresh eggs were totally worth it."

 Any takers?