The Tale of the Perfect Little Chicken Coop

Once upon a time a wonderful family built a girl the Perfect Little Chicken Coop for her birthday.

And the girl loved it.

Then the EVIL DOT swooped in leaving a trail of chaos and stress in it’s wake and the girl was forced to move away from her Perfect Little Chicken Coop.

Fortunately, the girl’s family was so wonderful and generous that they offered to move it to her new home for her.

So, they came and they blocked it up high enough to drive a trailer under it.

And the girl looked at it and thought it was a bit bigger than she remembered.

Then the wonderful, generous family put the coop on the trailer and drove it to her new home and there was no doubt about it.

It had grown.

As they drove through the neighbors orchard it continued to grow…

… and grow!

The Little Chicken Coop grew so big that by the time they reached the pine trees a little trimming had to happen…

… and then a bit more trimming.

But the Quite Large Chicken Coop kept growing until the wonderful, generous, hardworking family was forced to hook it up to the tractor to navigate the tight turn through the trees.

And it was still a very…

…tight squeeze!

When they were through the pine trees the wonderful, generous, hardworking family rejoiced – but it was too soon.

The Little Chicken Coop had become a Giant Enormous Chicken Coop and the wonderful, generous, hardworking and intelligent family had to come up with new ideas to squeeeze the Giant Enormous Chicken Coop down the trail to it’s new home.

Finally the The Giant Enormous Chicken Coop reached it’s resting place and began to shrink back to it’s normal size.

But it was still a Quite Large Chicken Coop!

Inch by inch the wonderful, generous, hardworking, intelligent and patient family lowered the Quite Large Chicken Coop down to the ground.

As the coop was slowly lowered to the ground the girl had to leave and take her children to swim lessons. When they returned home, and all ate dinner, and said goodbye and all the little ones were tucked in bed, the girl went out in the dark to look at her chicken coop.

And there at her new house, just where she wanted it was her Perfect Little Chicken Coop.

The End.

While you may be inclined to believe that the above was a fantastical fairy tell let me assure you that it was all true. Except that if you read this to Clara she would point out that it is actually the brooder house. And, while the ducks are going to be temporary tenants, true chickens rarely grace it’s hallowed walls, they have their own perfect coop.

Baby Jonas

Aug19

Jonas Richard Eloranta

Born at 2pm on 8-14-2013

21 inches

8 pounds 2 ounces

Sarah, Jonas (and Tyler too) were all doing so well after Jonas was born that they went out shopping.

And bought a house.

Which is great because Tyler is getting a new job.

So, new baby, new house, new job and look, two out of the three of them are still smiling!

Congratulations guys!

Sadly, I’ve yet to get to meet my new nephew. Thank goodness for digital cameras and e-mail!

Croquet, Canoeing and Crepuscular Rays

Aug6

The 2013 WWCWR :

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Weirdos

Jun15

This is what my dogs likes to do when it rains: (He might be part goat.)

This is what my husband and our youngest like to do with crayons:(Don’t let his innocent face fool you, John took his out for the picture.)

This is what happens when you ask my oldest to smile for a picture:(This is also why photos of her have been scarce lately.)

This is what my ~~zombie~~ middle child looks like after she finds mascara on the floor:(Not smiling goes well with zombie eyes.)

This is Storm:

(That’s just her normal.)

Weirdos – you just gotta’ love em!

Sheep Shearing

Jun14

Have you ever had a chance to watch a sheep shearer at work?

I find it to be mesmerizing.

The way wool comes off in one big piece, the sheep rolling in front and underneath the shearer as he turns them around and around.

The way he knows just where to grab a leg, push on a head or pull at an ear to move the animal easily into position.

The way he and the sheep make it look so easy that I want to try it too.

Instead, I looked at the length of his legs compared to mine, mentally calculated the weight of both sheep and clippers and decided I would join the watchers at the gate.

Some of us had an easier time finding a good spot to watch than others.

But she tried and tried.

And what Jane lacks in height she makes up for in perseverance…

… and smiles!

Just about when Jane got it figured out we moved locations.

Which is when I found myself sitting on a pile of hay in an old barn.

The rain on the roof was just loud enough to drown out the pockets of conversation between family and friends. The sheep moved about in the fresh straw while the kids helped feed them and as the shearer continued at his work, I sat and enjoyed the moment.

A moment of calm in what has been an unusually stressful and hectic week as we continue on with our “relocation.”

A moment that smelled of hay, sheep, and warm rain.

A moment of the best kind.

Have you ever had a chance to watch a sheep shearer at work?

I highly recommend it.

Happy Birthday Great Gramps!

Jun5

Happy Birthday Great Gramps!

Eaten by Lions

May26

As it turns out I’m an old slow zebra, and the rest of my family… lions.

Also, tag is not my strong suit.

My problem with tag is multidimensional. First off, I know I can’t catch John. Unless he were to fall in one of the many pitfall traps, I mean dog holes, which are hiding in the long grass (because, yes, our lawn mower is broken again but that is an entirely different story), it’s pretty much hopeless. Then there is the part where I have to seriously work to outrun Ivy. The girl is fast. Clara, spent most of the time either strategizing about how she was going to “spear” people or getting a ride on John’s back. It’s possible that she is neither lion nor zebra and instead a native hunter. Jane, the only family member of mine I might have a chance of out running was already sleeping for the night. So it was me against the spear wielding, fast running lions.

Which brings me to my second problem, the giggles. I can’t help it. I try to catch John, it’s not happening- I get the giggles. Ivy lets me get close out of pity- giggles. Clara shows me how I should spear people instead- giggles. I attempt to outrun John who is carrying Clara and fail- giggles. I attempt to out run Ivy- giggles. All those giggles lead me to my third problem.

My third problem I’ll spare you the details but it involves too many giggles while running after giving birth three times. Also I would like to say that it’s totally unfair when you get tagged while you are “hiding” behind a bush. Clearly, I was “On T” as, apparently, they say now.

All this ended with me tripping while running through the lawn with a terrible fit of giggles and having my family pile on me as they informed me that I was an old, slow, zebra and they were the lions come to eat me.

Tomorrow we are playing baseball.

Lullaby Litmus

Apr15

When I was very young my Grandpa sang “Go Tell Aunt Rhode” to me at bed time.

I can’t say for sure that this hampered my singing ability in the opposite way that one says playing classical music to infants will enhance theirs. All I can tell you is that not even my Granny’s lullabies could outweigh the effects of the rest of the family’s singing and my innate lack of musical ability.

Well meaning people try to convince me that I exaggerate and that I must be a fine singer.

They are wrong.

All that being said, I also have children.

Which means that, they have been, or are, babies. Babies require lullabies, which means that I, their mother, need to sing.

So I sing.

The songs I choose to sing to my kids have one criteria – they must fall into my lowish, five note range. A range, that I have discovered, could be named the “drunken, dying range.”

I sing songs about, dying of sickness, and drunkenness, horses falling through the ice, dying at war, drinking whiskey, drowning, and people who have gout. Not your average nursery themes.

Unorthodox as the songs may be my singing, like my Grandpa’s, puts the kids to sleep. Whether it’s the soothing sounds of our voices or self defense is still a subject up for debate.

Written in response to Prompts for the Promptless – Episode 8 The Litmus hosted by Rarasaur and accidentally published before final editing due to a slip of the thumb -sorry!

Some Unsolicited Advice

Apr11

My brother and his girlfriend are having a baby boy this summer. Tonight as I look at my house full of three girls I am excited at the prospect of having a nephew to spoil and bursting with unsolicited advice.

As an expecting mother, all three times, the thing I hated most was the random, unsolicited, advice foisted on me by friends, relatives and complete strangers. So, as an aunt to be, I am keeping those thoughts firmly behind my teeth. I will not initiate conversations involving my favorite diapers and blankets. I will wait to be asked before I share my thoughts on co-sleeping, breastfeeding and strollers. I will not warn anyone away from scoffing at crusted food on high chairs, misbehaving children, and odd bedtime routines for fear those words will come back to haunt them. I will not spew phrases like “Life will never be the same.” and “Treasure every minute.” Actually, I don’t have to fight to keep those in. I would never say that. I hate it when people tell me that. Some minutes are meant to be lived and promptly forgotten. In fact I had more than my share of those minutes today which brings me to my unsolicited advice that, despite all that I have said, I am now about to foist on you.

Don’t ridicule the amount of baby blankets you will collect. The fuzzy, the small, the large, the quilted, the knitted, the ugly, and the cute – you want them all.

I suspect every parent to be looks at the mound of baby blankets they receive and wonders why on earth something so small needs so many. But, they will. Your job as expecting parents is to welcome those blankets with open arms, because, eventually, you will find yourself in a situation where you are ever so grateful that you have acquired 5,789 baby blankets.

Just as a not so random example I can tell you that one small 15 month old can puke on nine blankets in one short afternoon. But if you have another 5,781 blankets left the only laundry you have to worry about doing is your own four shirts, two rugs, the three towels while still having plenty of spare blankets available to make it through the night.

Also, when looking at that mountain of fluff you will receive it is important to keep in mind that not all baby blankets will stay baby blankets. Some will graduate out of baby hood with their owners and still grace their beds. Dolls, puppies and various other toys and animals need many small blankets and they are indispensable when it comes to tea parties and picnics. Once that happens you’ll be glad there are still 1,890 blankets not currently in circulation if a younger sibling should happen to join the party.

So, what I’m saying is that when baby blanket number 2,456 comes your way, don’t do like the rest of us poor misguided souls did and roll your eyes. Be nice, say thank you, and add it to your stash with a smile.

Love the baby blankets.

Embrace the baby blankets.

And if by some twist of fate you only end up with 3,098 just let me know I think I may have an extra one I can spare.