I don't want to work on my paper, so I thought I would take a moment and say I am still alive and will try to do better!

Ian has the sweetest teacher this year.  She is 24, fresh out of college, and has tons of energy and creative ideas.  She is a great match for second graders.  This year she decided to hatch chicken eggs as a science project.  Once she got them into the room she had a panicky thought..."What do I do with them when they hatch?"  Rookie. 

She called around, in a rural town surely there must be somebody who takes chicks.  Nope.  So she decided to let the kids, with their parents permission, adopt the chicks.  Of course Ian wanted one.  HAD to have one.  He asked Mike, who said "no" in no uncertain terms.  Then we had tears.  Thursday, Mike went into Ian's classroom to pick him up after school, and saw Ian holding baby chickens, and come running over to him saying "Dad!  Dad!  Look!"  Mike melted.  He claims that he didn't realize that this was a class project, he thought it was just a whim Ian had.  He also hadn't realized it was adopt a chick or it would be, well, terminated.  Mike was further softened by one chick with 2 broken legs laying in the brood.  Poor baby.  The kids were so tender and concerned about that one.  We were going to have to have a talk about the Plan of Salvation, and mortality.  Something to look forward to.

So that night we started researching chicken care, since they needed to come home on Friday.  (If it ever comes up, do not google "How to bed chicks".  Believe me, the results that you get have nothing to do with straw and pine shavings.)  During the course of our research, we discovered that chickens are very social animals who do not survive more than a couple weeks alone.  So Maryn could pick a chicken too.  Okay.  Then, it turns out, if you are going to have 1 chicken you might as well have up to 10, there is really no difference in supplies and care.  Fine.  We'll just take all the chickens that were unclaimed at the end of Friday.

So, Friday, mike sets off with a little rubber maid box with shredded paper in it to bring home chicks.  Oh, and the dog.  Because it was show and tell day and Ian wanted to show and tell the dog.  I can only imagine what Mike was mumbling under his breath, but I am sure it included reconsidering the decision for me to go back to work.

He just came home with 2 chicks.  The rest were adopted by other families. We decided it was time to have a talk with Ian about the chick with broken legs.  As we began the conversation, he cut us off.  He told us not to worry, because Ms. Vandermale was sending it to a "special care facility".  We decided not to tell him that the special care facility was in God's chicken coop, since he was so happy with his explanation. 

By the time I got home from work, about 5:30, we had a complication.  Chicks jump.  Who knew?  One chick, Maryn's, whom she named "Cluck", kept jumping out of the rubber maid box. 

    

I found a larger cardboard box, and moved the operation.  Well, Cluck kept jumping. In the card board box he couldn't jump OUT, he would jump and get his head stuck between flaps then start flailing and peeping like crazy.  Since we didn't want the chicks to hang themselves, we taped up the sides.  Turns out even card board boxes with taped up sides are not water proof, and chicks poo a lot.  Shredded paper doesn't absorb too much.  And chicks sloop their water everywhere.  And their feed.  And did I mention they poop?  A LOT?!?!?  Then there was a concern about the cardboard catching fire from the heating lamp.

And to think the day before I had actually said "Chicks?  How hard can it be?"

Sooo...we brought a large rubber made tub out of the basement, invested in wood chips, and moved the operation once again.  But by this point, Collin was feeling a little left out.  He wanted a chick, too, although had been way too cool to admit it when we asked him if he wanted one at the beginning of all this. So off to the feed store we went, and got another chick.  Collin named him Shadow, a great name suggested by Grandma.



Just once I'd like to get a picture of that kid where he doesn't look stoned. I am hoping it is just the age. 

We had some concerns that Shadow wouldn't be accepted by the other two because he is an entirely different breed, but they let him right into the brood.

 


Did I mention that Ian picked a name for his chick?  The ABSOLUTELY MOST PERFECT NAME IN THE WHOLE WORLD FOR A CHICK?  Yup.  Pecker.  He decided to name his chick Pecker.

 

We had to explain that although the chick does peck a lot, Pecker might not be the best name choice.  Then he deicded on Nibble.  I had visions of hollering "Cluck!  Nibble!" across the back yard, and wondering what the neighbors would think I was saying.  GOod thing those names don't rhyme with anything inappropriate.  But then Ian decided his chick looked more like a "Tweety Bird".  That lasted almost 2 days.  Now it is Master Yoda.  That has been the name since Sunday, so it might just stick.

As to the gender of the chicks, we just aren't sure.  Ian is.  He is sure they are all girls and will lay lots of eggs.  We talked about how sexing chicks is very difficult, and his response was "well, maybe in your world but in mine these are girls".  So there ya go.  It appears that you can compare the size of combs and waddles when they are older, but even that is hard unless you have a male and female of the same breed standing next to eachother.  The most scientific information we have found on sexing chickens is "if it crows, it is a rooster.  If it doesn't, it is probably a hen". There was the chicken expert who said "If it lays eggs is it a hen.  If not, it is probably a rooster".  So there you have it.

And thus begins another unexpected, absurd, and wonderful adventure in parenting.  Now we have to figure out plans for a coop.

Let me set the stage for you.

I've worked 7+ hours at the office, many more at home.  The kids have been on my nerves.  Mike has worked 10+ hours at the office.  The laundry is dinging that it is done.  The house is a disaster.  The remnants of dinner are hardening on plates.  But the kids are in bed, so Mike decides it is time to make his move.  He comes into the kitchen where I am doing dishes, comes up behind me and slips his arms around my waist. (I remember his dad doing this to his mom and thinking it was so sweet!)  He leans over like he is going to whisper sweet nothings in my ear, and sings:



Sweet spring time song of seduction.  Guess what?  Didn't work! 

Want to seduce me?  Fix the heating element in the dishwasher.  Now THAT would be sexy!