Sunsets and Silhouettes and Cowgirls

I love photographing at sunset.

It's my favorite time of day.  Mostly because the massive onslaught of the day is behind me and a lovely glass of hooch is in front of me.

I love the light at sunset.  It makes everything golden and magical.

It makes me want to dance and wander in the wheat fields.

"We don't have wheat fields."

It makes me want to make out.

"Stop it."

Fine.  It makes me look thin.

"How much hooch have you had?"

None...yet.  Why?

I love how sunsets make silhouettes.  I love a good silhouette.

As I was trying to think of what I wanted to say about these silhouette pictures that I adore, my daughter suggested that I say,

"I just love you."

I mostly think she suggested that so I would finish up and she could play her game.

But, it works.

I just love you.

*Sigh*  And I love a good sunset.

My Chicken List...a.k.a. Let's Do 52 ~ Wk. 23 {Solo}

I'm really angry at the chickens.

The chickens are on my list.  At the top, in fact.

My list is called  

Chickens I'm Really Angry At Because They Ate My Pumpkin Plants

I'm not that creative when I'm angry.

I've replanted six of the pumpkins, and the chickens better stay away from this time, or I'll have them for dinner.

And not in that "Come on in.  Draw up a chair.  I'll feed you a hot, home cooked meal" kind of way, either.

I think you get what I'm saying.

I'm determined to have pumpkins and sunflowers in my garden this year that do not get eaten by creatures.

You hear that, chickens?  Keep your free-ranging selves over there!

That should about take care of it.

Let's Do 52 ~ Week 17 {Mellow Yellow}

I took this picture of my daughter a few days ago.  It was inspired by an image I'd seen done of a young woman wearing a turquoise outfit laying in a field of yellow flowers.  It was very sunny and gauzy and made me want to drink lemonade and go fishing and run around barefoot.

We had a really sunny day this past week and I took the opportunity to get my girlie in front of the camera and create an image like the one I'd seen.  I was pretty pleased with it until I went to write about it.

I had nothing.

Nada.

The theme that I was taking it for was Mellow Yellow, and the only thing that went through my head when I looked at this was

They call me Mellow Yelloooowww

and that was dumb.

So, I decided to hold off saying anything about it and see if something just came to me.

Then, I showed the picture to my mother.  I don't usually show off my images like that to her.  I kind of like them to be discovered on their own.  I'm really not one for self-promotion.  Not that she wouldn't like them.  She's my mom.  She has to like them.  It's part of the job.

Anyway, I showed it to her and she said,

"Cute.  Where did you find that field of dandelions?"

And I said,

"In my front yard."

And she kind of looked at me out the side of her face and went "Ewghhhh".

So I immediately went on damage control.

"Well, you know, I mean our yard man is gone and we're trying to find a new one and so we had to mow the yard ourselves last weekend, you know.  And we did the front and the back and then he started on the side yard, but he only went just past the fence line and then, you know, because it was so hot and stuff, I think he just got tired.  And technically the city owns that part of the property anyway so they should really be the ones maintaining it.  So...you know...."

Her eyes were kind of glazing over and she was just looking at me and nodding her head so I figured it was a good place to stop.

Then she said,

"Well, I love her hair like that,"

and I knew my job was complete.

They don't call me Double L Damage Control for nothing, you know....

Let's Do 52 ~ Week 17 {Big}

He used to be so small that his entire body fit in the crook of my arm from my shoulder to my wrist.

Then he got bigger, but not so big that I would let him out of my sight.

Then he got bigger, but not so big that I would let him eat off of anything that wasn't plastic.

Then he got bigger, but not so big that I would let him use anything sharp.

Then he got bigger and Daddy decided it was time to hand him the lawn mower....

Now he's so big...

Big day.

When The World Was Covered With Ice {or How I Survived A Week At Home With My Family}

We've been housebound for the past week while our entire world came to a complete halt and was covered in snow.  Anyone who tells you that it's so wonderful being at home with their family for a whole week without any kind of break or alone time is lying.  Lying.  Right to your face. 

At first it was fine.  Kind of like a fun camping adventure, but in my own bed and without the bugs and camping stove.  And the flannel shirts and boots and outdoor fires and roasted marshmallows.  And there were no fishing poles.  And no one sat around singing camp songs.  And at no point was I fearful of a wolf or a bear coming to steal our food in the middle of the night.  You know, really, it was nothing like camping at all.

It snowed a lot.  More than we've seen in several years.  It's funny because every fall we, Prince Charming and I, sit around talking about how we'd really like a big snow this year.

"Yeah, I could go for that."

"Totally.  Me too.  Like, that would be awesome!" Prince Charming never really got over that Valley Girl phase.  Sometimes I'm embarrassed for him.

Once the snow stopped, the ice came.  Not the Ice Man, because we don't have one of those.  Actually, I've never really seen an Ice Man, so if we do have one, I wouldn't know.  Anyway, the power went out which really sucked for about six hours.  Then it came back on.  Then it snowed some more on top of the ice.  Then the cable went out.  And the internet.  And my kids started getting a little antsy and whiny.

"What are we supposed to do without the internet?"

Wait.  Sorry.  That was me.  I had all these blogs and status updates that I wanted to write.  I tried putting them all in a Word document, but it just wasn't the same.  I wasn't able to look at you when I was talking, and, truly, knowing you're out there when I'm typing really does make all the difference.  I'm not lying.

What I was able to do during our two day technological hiatus was reconnect a bit with my lens, which was something I promised myself I'd do in the new year.

Yes, that was an official resolution.  Even though I promised I wasn't going to tell you what any of those were, I'll let that one go.

I officially resolved to connect with my lens.

So, I set up my new tripod and started looking out the window.  What I realized, however, was that my neighbors were getting a little freaked out because I had my camera pointed out the window.  I really didn't care all that much until they put up a sign that said

STOP TAKING PICTURES OF US OR

WE'LL CALL THE POLICE!

Nag, nag, nag...We've never been close, anyway.  Who cares?  I'm over it. 

Turns out.  The ice was pretty cool, too.

 
It totally covered the trees in our yard.  The trees that grow cherry blossoms every spring.  The trees that I've taken thousands of images of because I love the bright pinks and greens that pop out on their branches.  The trees that I then get totally sick of because I've examined every possible knot and cranny on their trunks.  The trees that I want to hack down during the summer and fall when they drop inedible cherries on my car that stick all over my roof and make little burgundy spots on the paint which my dad then says I need to scrape off because it'll ruin the paint and really I should just be covering up my car with a protective sheet or better yet, just clean out the garage so that I can park in there.

The trees that died in the ice storm after they were so covered in ice that one of them fell over and the other lost so many branches that we're going to have to cut it down anyway.  Poor trees.  I took their picture over and over and over, just so I could remember them.

Then I got sick of it.

Then I got sick of the ice and the snow.

And I got sick of the technological hiatus.

And I got sick of my kids and all the stuff they kept wanting from me...like food.  Food means dishes.  Dishes means cleaning.  I got sick of cleaning.

I got sick of Prince Charming and his stupid outdoor extension cords that he draped all over the house in case the power went out again and he needed to hook things up to the generator.

And his 1000 piece puzzle that was spread out all over the kitchen table.

And the popcorn that was dropped on the carpet during our Marley & Me movie night that we didn't get to finish because the disc was bad.

I was in a foul mood.  Severely foul.  It was vulgar.  Almost vile.  I needed out of the house.  I needed to go somewhere that didn't require me to prep, plan, cook, clean, referee, deal with, play with or listen to anything.  So, Prince Charming took me to see Happy Feet 2.

No.  I'm being serious.  Unfortunately, it wasn't playing at the wine bar movie theater, so I had to suffer through with a diet coke, two buckets of popcorn and a Milky Way.  Oh, and the kids were there, too.  Girle and I split a Twix bar.  Then I felt better. 

When we got home, I apologized to everyone for being Cabin-Fever-Psycho-Mom-From-Hell.  They were all very understanding.  They didn't even make me pick up all their clothes that I threw out the windows.  I probably will anyway, though.  PC wanted to make sure that I put that part into the story.

"What about your attitude?  Huh?  You gonna' talk about that?"

"Yes.  Okay...honey.  I'll talk about that."

 
Yadda...yadda...yadda....I roasted a chicken, put Ocean's 11 in the DVD player, the cable came back on, and I was happy.

The End.

P.S.:  My mother called from L.A. where she's been stuck since the airport here shut down and she couldn't fly home.  Evidently it rained there.  The pavement got wet.  The people on the news called it Storm Watch 2012.  I guess there were some moms down there who got a nasty case of Cabin Fever. 

I can relate.

Let's Do 52 ~ Week 2 {Open}

At 7:45 this morning two guys from the city showed up at our house to clean the sewer in our backyard.  This was upsetting for several reasons:

1.  There is a sewer in our backyard.
2.  Two strange men were inside the sewer in our backyard.
3.  I haven't showered in two days.
4.  There is a sewer in our backyard.

That third one doesn't really pertain to this situation, but it's upsetting.  Mostly to Prince Charming who always asks me if I'm going to shower today when he leaves the house in the morning.  You know, like he's my mother or it's something I have to do everyday.  Get real.  Who am I trying to impress?  Let me tell you a little secret, lover.  The vacuum cleaner doesn't care if I have beautiful hair or clean underwear so just get over your clean-shaven, GQ lookin' self.  And he says, "Oh yeah, right," like he doesn't believe that he looks good, and then he grabs a quick sideways glance in the mirror and thinks "Yeah, I look good."  I know how he rolls, okay.  Please.

Moving on.

I've known since I moved in here that there was a sewer in the backyard, but in all the time I've been here, no one has ever offered to clean it for us, or remove it so we could have a slip n' slide, or told us that if we didn't unlock the gates ourselves they would have to use metal cutters to break the padlocks we have on the gates to get back there and clean it.

I know what you're thinking, and no.  They're not charging us to clean the sewer.  That's not what you were thinking?  Are you sure?  I took a class called "How To Be A Blogging Psychic", so I'm pretty sure that's what you were thinking.  Really?  It's not?  Hmmmm....that's curious.

Okay, back to the sewer.  Boy that's something you don't hear everyday, isn't it?  Unless you're one of these guys who goes around cleaning sewers because then you would hear that all the time.

"Break's over.  Back to the sewer!"

Mostly, the sewer cover in our backyard has just been used to fall over while someone is trying to catch a ball

(Prince Charming.....I think I throw a ball just fine, but whatever.  "I'm not standing on the sewer am I?  You want me to knock over my glass?"  Nag nag nag....)

or to hold our drinks while we're out tossing around, apparently, really bad passes, or planting herbs or partying while the kids clean the house.  It's like a little table.  But made out of steel with the word SEWER written across the top.  It never actually occurred to me that it would need to be cleaned.  Kind of like having a dirt floor.  Why do you need to clean it?  It's dirt.  It's supposed to be dirty.  Same thing.

I know what you're thinking, and my response that is that it doesn't matter that no one has had a dirt floor in their house for over a hundred years.  Ever been to the jungle?  Dirt floors all over the place.  Who's cleaning that?  I'll tell you who.  No one.  Because it's supposed to be dirty.  Just like a sewer. 

See, those blogging psychic classes are starting to pay off, but I won't say I told you so because I could not possibly be that rude to someone who has been so nice and stuck around for my sewer story.  It's almost over.  I promise.

Anyway, they opened the sewer and my first thought was

Gross.

Then I thought

Gee.  I should take a picture of that. 

I can totally use that for my new Let's Do 52 project group this week.  The theme is Responsibility.

I know what you're thinking.

Trust me.  I'm psychic.

I Don't Know....I'm Just In A Really Weird Mood....

I was supposed to have all this free time.  My kids were supposed to be in school, and I was supposed to have six hours a day to myself to do all that stuff I haven't been able to get to, like.....

Cleaning out the garage.

Cleaning out the playroom.

Cleaning out the kids' rooms.

Catching up on all the Glee I've DVR'd.

Taking a shower on a regular basis.

Putting a thought together in my head.

But, a funny thing happened on the way to my solitude and immaculately clean house......


Sick Kids

There have been 21 days of school this month, and I've had kids home sick for 5 of them.  That's 23.8% of the time.  Now, my daughter, I kind of understand.  She's never been in school before, and there's always that time when they start going to school that they pick up every friggin' germ that come across the alphabet carpet.

BUT

My son was sent home one day because his eyes were watering and he felt like he was going to sneeze.....

Seriously?.....The school nurse said that it was probably nothing, but that he really didn't seem like he was feeling too well.

I told him to rub some dirt on it and get back to class.

She made me come pick him up.

Prince Charming

Evidently, because both of the children are in school 76.2% of the time, I must have all this free time on my hands.  Right?  Just standing around....doing my nails....catching up on Facebook...

...well, maybe that last one, but not the others. 

So, it's kind of become our morning routine for him to ask me what I have going on for the day, me to rattle off a few things, and then for him to come up with some project or activity that he thinks I can squeeze into my schedule, like...

"Hey, do you think you can make some jam today?"

or...

"Why don't you come down to my yard and harvest all of the garden."

or....

"If I bring out the ladder, can you re-paint the house?"

I was trying to get the garage cleaned out.  It was on my list.  It's been stuffed full of all kinds of crap since Charming moved in.

Senior pictures of his old girlfriend.

A black velvet, lace trimmed key chain holder (You totally thought that was going to end differently, didn't you?).

My old pom-poms.  

("Wait!  Don't throw those out!!  I might need to do a cheer!"
"You were on drill team."
"Doesn't matter.  Pom Poms girls always stick together.  Give 'em here...now.")

He never really thought cleaning out the garage was that important a job, since this was just a 2-3 year home for him before moving on to his next house.

It's been 15 years.

It's time to clean it out.  I've been begging him to help me with it, and he finally got bit hard enough by the organization bug and agreed to have one of his workers bring a flat bed truck to haul all of the crap away.

Yes, I said a flat-bed truck.  Seriously....

My job was to go through everything, and his job was to designate which flat-bed truck would be used for the job.  When he arrived home a few mornings ago, I met him at the stairs.

"Hey!  Have you been trying to get a hold of me?  I've been in the garage."

"Ummm...yeah.  How's it goin'?"

"Oh...good.  Yeah.  I need you to look through some of this stuff, though."

He didn't look too impressed at my progress.

"What have you been doing?  It looks the same in here."

"Oh, yeah.  No.  I've been going through boxes.  I cleaned out those two and went through all of those pictures."

"That's it?"

"Well, there were a lot of pictures.  Look at this one I found.  Do you remember that bra?"

"......................Were you blogging?"

"No........Yes.  But it was just a quick one."

"Ugh!"

He has no appreciation for my creative endeavors.....which he just refers to as I don't know where you get this stuff....

Dead Rats

Yes.  Dead rats have found a niche in my life this week.

"Mom!  Come see this really amazing thing I found in the backyard!"

I must have looked skeptical, because he followed up with

"Don't worry.  It's not a live rat."

What the hell!?!  Where am I living that this could now be a viable worry for me?  I used to shop at Nordstrom and have acrylic nails painted red.  I wore black suede heels and drank lattes.  I dated a really cute guy with a new house that he was going to live in for a couple of years before moving into his next house.  What happened?  How did I get here with mud on my flip-flops, a rip in the seam of my yoga pants, and the threat of rats in my backyard, alive or dead?

Fuckin' chicks.

Football

I love football.  I don't always understand it, and that sometimes irritates my beloved because if I have a question, I ask it.  I have a lot of questions about football, and guys who love watching football really hate answering questions about football while they're kicked back watching football.  I have found, however, that when you ask the questions naked you get a much better response.  I'm just sayin....

Fortunately, I don't have to understand football to photograph it.  Which I have been doing.

A lot.  A lot a lot a lot.

I never say how many pictures I take, but when you get a 25% return on a single game of 296 images....well....you know....that's a lot.  And it takes a lot of time to go through them and post them and then check back every few minutes to see if someone's liked them or commented on them.  You know how it is.

In fact, trying to find non-football pics in my folders right now...it's not happening.  I found five.

This one.....

Annndddd....these:

And technically, that one on the far left of the sleeping kid, I took at football.

It will end soon, I know.  Although, they're playing really well, so I'm sure there are playoffs in our future which will take us until just before Thanksgiving.

Crap!  Thanksgiving!  It's too fast.  I can't keep up.

The Meat Thing

It's not going well.

I made a pot roast.  And I ate it.  It was good.

Then I felt gross.

So I made chicken chili.  I ate that, too.  It was spicy.  And oh so good.

I didn't eat the ribs, though.  And I'm not making meatloaf.  Although, if I can convince him to ask me naked, I might consider it.

The Conclusion

"Where do you get this stuff?"

"I'm being creative, boy of mine."

"Well, stop it.  You're making me look stupid."

Fine.  Whatever....Love Bundle Boy.

The end.

And I love ya'!

~Lisa

Date Night With The Prince

It started off like an other non-beachy Sunday.  I was up early before anyone else.  Coffee.  Paper.  Laundry.  Ahhhh.....the quiet of morning work makes me just want to sing....and dance...really quietly though.  I don't want to wake anyone and ruin the quietness. 

Pretty soon, they all start crawling out of the woodwork.

"Mom, can you make pancakes?"

"What?  Are you kidding?  It's my Sunday, too, you know."  Okay.  I didn't really say that.  I just ignored it and made them some eggs and toast and a fruit smoothie.

Then, the phone rang.  We were invited to spend the sunny Sunday afternoon around Grandma's pool.  Hours of lazing around the big backyard, soaking up the sun, while the kids worked out every ounce of energy in the pool until they couldn't stand up anymore and we would be forced to drag their exhausted, sleeping bodies home to bed.  Sweet!  We're in.

Futz around the house.  Walk on the treadmill.  Shower.  Suits.  Sunscreen..and we're off!

Now, here's where things started to kind of get funny.  The cousins were there (we knew they would be), and after about 5 minutes together, my niece asks if my daughter can spend the night with her.  Aside from the fact that the idea of being down by one for the night makes me want to twirl around doing cartwheels, I wasn't sure how she'd do.  She's never been the greatest sleepover-er.  Add to that the fact that we had only one change of clothes, no pajamas, no blanket and no pillow pet, and I was pretty darn skeptical.  But, she begged and pleaded, and once it was made clear that the sleepover would be at Grandma's house, it was pretty much a done deal.

Once that had been decided, my daughter told us, quite matter-of-factly, that it was now time for us to leave.  She was going to have a sleepover and it was going to start immediately.  Didn't make a whiff of difference that it was only 2:30 in the afternoon.  No fun could possibly begin while I was in residence, and she wasn't about to wait until my sun-worshipping was done.  She's always been impatient like that.

We lolled around a while longer.  Unbeknownst to me, whispers were being placed in my nephew's ear.  He's younger and maybe didn't really take the hint my son was slamming him over the head with, so as the cousin's are getting ready to leave, my son says, out loud and in front of everyone,  

"Hey, when I can spend the night at your house?"

Cut to me diving into the pool, burrowing through the concrete at the bottom, and building a home for the rest of my life.  How many times have we talked about inviting ourselves places?  Talked about what inviting ourselves means?  Warned that if I ever hear him inviting himself somewhere, my answer will always be no, no matter how fun it sounds?  That it's rude and improper and inappropriate and embarrassing.

Did I mention the burrowing into the concrete?

No worries.  My brother took it in stride.  He's cool like that.  They'd been wanting to do a sleepover anyway.  Quick call home to check with the mom, and just like that, we were kid-free for the whole night.  Now, I was ready to go.  Let the kid-free twirling and cartwheeling bliss begin.

Sooooooo.....now what?  Are we supposed to, like, do something?

We walked in the house, no.  Wait.  We got out of the car....completely unencumbered.  It took, like, I don't know.  Two seconds?  Wow.  Then we walked in the house....completely unencumbered.  That took about half a second.  No one pushed through.  No one yelled that you're in my way!  No one immediately started scouring the kitchen for snacks and drinks.  No one dumped all of their stuff right in the entryway for everyone else to have to trip over.  We just walked in the house.  Just....walked in.

Once we got there, we weren't really sure what to do.

"Do you want to go out for dinner?"

"I guess.  Where do you want to go?"

"Well...ummm.....How about McDon....No.  Wait.....Chuck E.....Hold on.  I know this.  I know this...."

"Why don't we just grill up the chicken that's marinating?"

"Sub sandwiches!  I knew I'd get it!"

"Start the grill, Big Man."

While he worked on the chicken, I stir-fried up some veggies, and we enjoyed some very lovely complete sentence conversation.  We sat down to a quiet dinner in front of Lester Holt, just like we used to do.  On the couch.  Afterward, as we were sinking into our kid-free bliss, he turned to me and said,

"Chicks?"

I apologize in advance for the use of this extremely over done phrasing.

Pardon my french, but are you fucking kidding me?  We're alone in the house for the first time in about 153 years, and you want to go visit the chicks?  Just gimme a minute to grab the slug bait and I can get some work done while we're out there, you romantic devil.  Visit the chicks.  Sheesh!  So I looked him right in the eye and said,

"Okay."  I decided not to grab the slug bait.  I didn't want to use up all the fun at once, you know.

So, we're out in the back yard.  Chicks, chicks, chicks.

Water the plants.  Pull some weeds.

Take some pics.

And we're back inside to the couch.

This wasn't taken on the couch, but it's a really good picture of him and I love looking at it, so I just want to put it here.  That's all.

If you didn't know, or weren't aware, Sunday night TV about sucks.  And without a Netflix envelope to open, we were stuck with a ball game....until I convinced him to watch the pilot episode of "The West Wing."  I've totally gotten back into the first season and was sure he'd love it.  Now, pilot episodes can be kind of tough.  New characters and personalities to figure out.  The plot lines are strange and confusing.  You really have no idea what's going on, so I'm not too sure how much he was liking it.  That's not true.  I know he hated it, but he didn't give up on it, and just as I was about the start the second episode the phone rang.

Being that it was 9:30 at night, I figured that it was Grandma calling to say that my daughter was freaking out and wanted to come home, but the caller ID said it was my brother's house.  Hmmmmmm......my son was probably just calling to say good night or something.

"Hi, Mom."

I never talk to him on the phone and it's always weird to hear how small and young he sounds.  His voice was so little and high-pitched.  He could have been four, not in fourth grade.

"I want to come home."

WHAT!?!  Pardon my french, but are you fucking kidding me!?!  You're the one who wanted to go there!  You're the one who invited yourself over!  You're the one who said, "When can I?  When can I?  When can I?"  And now you want to come home?  FORGET IT!  You made your sleepover....so....you know....sleep in it!  So, I looked him straight in the phone and said,

"If we come and get you, you won't be spending the night anywhere ever again for the rest of your life."

"Okay.  How long will it take you to get here?"

He said that he just really missed us.  He'd had a lot of fun, but that going to sleep at someone else's house was just too different and he missed hearing our sounds.  I get that, I guess.  So fine.  We went and got him.  He was grinning from ear to ear as he climbed into his own bed.  His light was on just so.  The radio was playing the station that he likes.  As I walked out of the room, I heard him say,

"I know you're mad, but I'm really glad to see you."

I turned to him.  "I'm not mad.  I'm disappointed, but I'm not mad."

"You're mad."

"I'm not mad!"

"Yeah.  You're mad."

I rolled my eyes and walked out of the room.  Truth be told, it was nice to have him in his bed.  It would have felt sad and lonely for neither of them to be home during the night.  And it would have felt really sad and lonely to wake up in the morning and have coffee and read the paper and get Prince Charming out the door and work pictures and do some writing all without the bouncing off the walls noise and questions that usually surround me in the morning.  Yeah....that would have been really sad and lonely.  Totally.....I know. 

And what do you suppose he said when he came out of his room in the morning?  Was it

A.)  I'm so glad to see you and be home.  You're the best parents in the whole world!

B.)  I'm so glad that I made that choice.  It feels so right to be here with you guys.  You're the best parents in the whole world!

C.)  I wish I was back over there!  They're having blueberry pancakes for breakfast!

If you chose A or B, I love you.  Would you like to come and live with us?

If you chose C, pardon my french, but....oh, forget it.  I just got out the stuff and made the friggin' pancakes.

Post Script:  The girls had a lovely time during their sleepover at Grandma's and are currently planning their next Princess Polish Party Extravaganza. 

Post-Post Script:  The Prince and I are now making up a list of possible  dinner locations and outings for when we find ourselves alone again in another 153 years.

Friday Night Chicks

I remember when Friday was my favorite night of the week.  I'd be working all day, so I'd be too busy to wonder whether or not he was going to call me.  Then, I would finish work and rush to check my voice mail to see if he did call me.  He usually did.

I'd call him back.  The conversation almost always went something like this:

"What are you doing?"

"Just finishing up work.  What are you doing?"

"I'm just at home.  We can talk about it when you get here."

And I would go.  Sometimes we'd stay in and drink Mai Tais all night long.

Sometimes we'd go out to a bar or a club or to meet friends.

If we stayed in, we'd usually just lounge on the couch watching TV.  Some Ultimate Fighting thing or a baseball game. We'd watch and drink and laugh and flirt, with me all the while hoping that he'd want to the evening to last as long as I did.  He usually did.

If we went out, the evening wouldn't really get started until around 9:00.  We'd dance and drink and laugh and flirt, with me all the while hoping that he'd want to the evening to last as long as I did.  He usually did.

Those Friday nights have long since passed.  I no longer wonder if he's going to call.  I'm not worried that he doesn't want the evening to last as long as I do.  We don't go out much anymore.  Unless it's to the backyard to visit the chicks and the baseball playing monkeys running around out there. 

Somethings haven't changed, however.  We still lounge on the couch watching TV.  Some DVD thing or a ball game.  We still watch and drink and laugh and flirt.  It's just more comfortable now.

And much more fun.

Say Good Night, Chickie

The chicks officially moved in almost four weeks ago.  I admit, I've been a tad......unwelcoming.  But, they started it with the whole flying out of the box in my face thing.

Never mind.

Anywaaayyyy.....They're here and I don't anticipate them going anywhere anytime soon, so I've really been trying my darnedest to get along with others.

I offered them an olive branch in the form of Italian Parsley from my garden.  They were sceptical, but they chipped at it (Of course they chipped at it, they're birds....ridiculous, creep....No.  Be friends.  Get along, get along, get along.....)

I've let them wander around my feet without shooing them away.  Although, if I make even the teeniest, tiniest move, they all go squawking to the other side of the coop.  Whatever....

And I've taken their pictures every which way to Sunday.

Prince Charming took me out last night for a quiet, backyard date.  We hadn't seen each other much during the day, so a few peaceful moments perusing the yard together were lovely.  He opened up the chick cage and his favorite jumped right into his hand.  I started to back away, but decided to just sit with it.  Try to be more of the hostess my mother raised me to be.  I didn't object.  I didn't back away (much).  I was just quiet with them.

It was getting dark, so we turned on the light inside their house.  As they made their way up the ramp to tuck in for the evening, I was struck with really how beautiful they are in form.  Their silhouettes illuminated in the doorway.

As I sat at the edge of the coop, clicking away (you could say I was a Clickin' Chick....but, that would just be obvious and silly.  Yeah, totally.  I know....) I took a moment to admit what I've been trying to hide, and that is this:

I like having the chicks live with us.

I like their little red hen house.

I like the way it looks in our backyard.

I like that my kids are so excited about them.

I like that Prince Farming is so excited about them.

I like that it makes me feel like I'm living on farm in a beautiful countryside.

So, fine.  Secret's out.

I like the chicks.

And I love you for taking the time to read about them.

Smooches!

Prince Farming and His Amazing Body-Walking Chicken

Great show in the backyard last night.

It started off with me innocently spraying my new herb garden for bugs.  Little did I know, Farming was behind me opening the chicken coop and pulling out a bird to nestle with. 

I put up a bit of a fuss when he started bringing it over to me.

"No.  I don't need to see it.  I can see it from here.  Just stop....no, stop....Seriously.  STOP!"

"What?" he asks.  "It's not going to get you."  This as it springs from his grasp, chirping wildly, and flies six feet from his hand smacking its head into the side of the hen house.

Oh, so hilariouuussss.

And then his started his Chicken Whisperer routine.

"Who's a chick-chick?.....Awww, poor chick-chick....."

"Come here.  It's okay.  You wanna' walk on my shoulder?"

"You can sit on my head.  Just don't lay an egg....."

Yeah....he's gonna' hate me for that one.  Well, that what he gets.  I told him to stop.

He told me that they just want to be loved and if we treat them like pets, they'll lay more eggs for us.  This as a second one sprung from his grasp, chirping wildly, and flew six feet from his hand smacking its head into the side of the hen house.

No, I'm not repeating myself.  It actually happened twice.  With two different chickens, after which I briefly considered the possibility that I may have overestimated the fright-factor on these birds.

Nope, I didn't.  Just creepy.

After about 10 minutes of lovin' and touchin' and squeezin' (and screaming and scaring and running), the show started to wind down.  The birds were getting tired.  Their little hearts were racing.  Prince Farming had been about pecked out.  It was time to say good night.

But, not without a little audience participation first.

Chicks to you!

Love ya', gang!