NOTE TO SELF: buy birdseed.
Yes, we have chickens! Baby chickens! A Louisa-sized lapful o’tiny little fuzzy cute-lets!
Oh yes, we have chickens, and yeah… sigh… they are in my bedroom (otherwise known as the wildlife-sanctuary-wing of the house.) They were originally going to spend the first few weeks of their lives in our backroom, but since we have the kittens (or should I say we have FORMER-KITTENS-WHO-ARE-NOW-HULKING-BLACK-LEVIATHANS-OF-MANLY-FELINITUDE) and since 2cats + 13baby chicks = 0baby chicks, we needed to rethink that plan. And since my room was pretty much the only room in the house with a door that securely fastens in the cat-proof sense of the word, into my room the chickens went. About the middle of next week they’ll be going to the farm where lavish accommodations await them: a coop carefully constructed to exacting historically correct standards, painted with historically correct authentic milk paint and with two- count ‘em two windows. Oh my goodness, yes… I have chickens in my bedroom. In a few days they’ll be gone, but until then
Where does one cat end and the other begin?
I don’t know what the weather’s like around your house this week… I hear tell that some folks have got daffodils already. We don’t have daffodils. We have snow. And wind. And icy-mix, whatever that may be. In fact we have so much of the aforementioned weather that our church services were canceled yesterday. We don’t have daffodils yet, or even snowdrops. We won’t see our crocus for several weeks yet. But that’s okay. Don’t feel sorry for us… we have something to tide us over until the days of green grass and bright blooms.
We have our birds.
We’ve got chickadees and sparrows and cardinals and blue jays. Soon we’ll have robins and bluebirds and orioles. We still have our juncos yet, and we always always have our sweet little house finches. I know a mama’s not supposed to have favorites, but the house finches are my favorite… at least for today. I love how they perch in the bushes, all in a line, waiting patiently for their lord and master to attend to their never-ending needs. I love how drab and plain they are except for the streaks of red that extend from their beaks to their stomachs. Maybe it’s a trick of nature, maybe it’s an optical illusion, maybe it’s some nifty feature that God built into their little systems when He was creating them… I don’t know; but those rosy little breasts of theirs seem to grow brighter as the weather gets stormier.
… but we had a wonderful Christmas; a happy, carefree, surprise filled coupla days. Oh yes, it was quite the holly jolly celebration.
Speaking of holly and jolly, I wrapped everyone’s gifts in this jadeite green paper sprinkled all over with holly and snowflakes. To complicate the inevitable pre-opening guessing game, I used a secret code involving various patterns and widths of ribbon in lieu of gift tags. I’m tricksy like that.
Ahh.. the joys of the day: new jammies and new toys. OK, true confession time: I wish I’d have thought up the idea for these squishy little beasts. They have removable lavender scented rice bags in their tummies (for heating up in the microwave.) I foresee these being especially appreciated in the event of cold nights, a bout with the flu, or an especially grueling math test.
In this photo here, Louisa contemplates the relative merits of crispy chocolate bells vs. mini peanut butter cups (both foil wrapped in colors of the season of course,) and Puff does his best Wren imitation (in spite of the bizarre feline facial expression, the animal was in actuality purring.) You’ll have to make allowances for the poor boy, overcome with jealousy as he was, in light of the fact that Wren received this bag full of nifty gifties and he received… well, pretty much nuthin’.
the boys’ birthday.
My dears, it was so much fun, we wish you could have been there… well, now that I think of it you were here. You really were. We thought of you often. We talked about you. We prayed for you. The things you sent were here, and now they are ours, a part of our home and a part of our lives.
A whole story written out on my front steps.
Noah took the garbage out last night and came in with… THIS….
Which, in my opinion, was precisely two minutes and fifty-nine seconds too long. oh yeah.
Well… it’s every mama’s nightmare. My boys are in the slammer. The pokey. The big house. But what can I say? They done wrong and they gotta pay.
Tis true. My little angels have committed that most heinous of feline offenses. They have … err.. relieved themselves outside of the boundaries of appropriateness, if ya know what I mean. Not always, not even frequently, and never when there are human-type folk within sight. But late at night, when all the house is asleep, they commit horrendous crimes against housekeeping and hygiene. A couple of times by the back door, once on the stair landing. (the stair landing? who ever heard of a cat doing THAT??) I was frustrated. I was troubled, and I tried to find a solution to this most disconcerting dilemma. But when I came down one morning bare footed, to discover they had left their mark IN MY KITCHEN, all bets were off. Nobody messes with (or in) this mama’s kitchen and emerges unscathed.
“That’s it!” I said. “Something must be done!”
The children’s father had a large two level cage from former ferret-owning days which he was willing to lend to the cause. We brought it home, cleaned it up and the children fitted it out for the two wayward young men: a cozy corner bed, fuzzy comfy furry flooring, dangling boas and other objects of amusement. On the lower level are food and water dishes along with a litter box. For them to do their dirty deeds. And into this den of horrors they are put each and every night. Their sentence: life. A lifetime of nights.
I’m sorry… but it simply had to be done.
After spending a wonderful, marvelous, fun-filled* weekend at Nana and Grampa’s house, we were happy to come back home. After unloading the car, retrieving the neighbors’ runaway dog and spending a couple of hours helping some friends with a bit of heavy lifting (and Lego playing,) Noah was happy to settle in on the couch for a bit of relaxation.
*howz that mom? hehehe
The Last Little Cat by Meindert DeJong is an easy book; easy enough for a second or third grader to read on their own. There’s something though, about the way DeJong writes- the way he makes the words go round and round upon themselves- that makes this book the perfect read aloud. My best advice? Wait ’til you’ve got an hour or so, snuggle up together with cups of cocoa (or in our most recent case, glasses of icy fruit drinks) and read the whole seventy delightful pages all in one sitting.
The six other kittens drank the milk, and grew and grew. But as they grew the nest grew smaller. Then there was hardly a place in the nest for the last little cat. Always the little cat was at the outermost edge of the nest. It would try to snuggle itself warm against the other kittens, but at the outer edge it would only get half warm. It was always half cold. It was half warm, and half cold, and all hungry. And it needed to be full and warm- full of lovely warm milk, and warm.
See what I’m talking about? Too good not to share.