It’s toad season. Neko is beside herself with excitement. Each summer we seem to catch and release the same toads, as we began recognizing certain markings. Our house is a bit like a toad day spa, with fresh water and captive meals. Last summer Leaper and Sweet Pea were our regular visitors.
This is the first toad of the season, and she has been dubbed Philomena by the eight-year-old with an ever-maturing naming strategy.
I know, you’re probably thinking, “That first photo? What in the world is that?”
And, yes, my friends, you are right. It’s a horrible photo that looks like nothing. And that is the whole point of my story today. That big pile of sticks, remnants of the big wind storms, looks like absolutely nothing.
Let me back up for a moment.
We have this chicken named Blob. (Yes, she’s a girl. And, yes, that is her name. This is what happens when you let young boys obsessed with video games name chickens.)
If Sarah Palin hadn’t gotten to it first, Blob could have defined “going rogue.” We have no idea when she started laying eggs last fall, because she always laid somewhere in the woods. At first I suspected she was a dud in the laying department, but when the first snow rolled around, I caught her in nesting box. It was this huge gotcha moment followed by celebration.
So she laid in the coop all winter.
But once spring rolled around, she went back to her old ways. One day Tom found a few eggs, laid delicately on the seat of the tractor.
I’ve been noticing the absence of green eggs in the coop lately. It’s left me wondering.
Then today Neko was mucking about in the yard and suddenly started screaming, frantically pointing to the big pile of sticks. And there, in the midst of the debris, lay SEVENTEEN GREEN EGGS.
In case you don’t do chicken math, that’s nearly a month worth of eggs.
Of course, we had throw them all away, because they don’t come stamped with an expiration date. And I suspect she doesn’t lay in a methodical left to right order.
This is the chicken that is going to live until the age of 10. In addition to staying close enough to be tripped over, but just far enough away to slip past when I need to shuffle her into the coop, she will taunt me with her covert egg laying, scoffing at the whole cost of feed vs. cost of eggs ratio. I suspect we will grow old and cranky together.
There’s some nugget of a sitcom here. Golden girls with a poultry twist.
Four-year-olds and large, hissing cockroaches. Just another day at the preschool program…
Always a fantastic way to kick off the field trip season. Thanks to all who swam, cooked, laughed, bar tended, and kid wrangled. Supa fun.
(Also, happy birthday to my amazing father. Love you!)
(I know these photos are atrocious. Carry on if you can.)
We stopped by the library today to pick up a few books.
In the Children’s department they have a few toys for kids to play with. Just as we were about to go, the Youngest caught sight of the doll house. Clearly, someone had cleaned up in a hurry, because the furniture and dolls were shoved in at random.
Twenty minutes later, I found myself sitting on a couch, watching her meticulously place each piece of furniture in exactly the right spot.
Thank goodness, because I would have had to do it myself if she didn’t.
During the running program at school, students got rewarded at 20 miles by making teachers do something. David insisted on a game of hockey with Heidi.
Love those teachers!
The cake and cupcakes were nothing short of brilliant. The game and the enormous baseball equipment were an added bonus.
Remember all those ballet classes? They are finally culminating in a dance recital. Which, clearly, by the end, was running a bit too late for our little ballerina.
