A Typical Day 'Off'

This was my week to have Friday off, so I got to sleep in until...the normal time. L. had an appointment for shots, which meant we needed to leave at the usual time. Then I discovered S. had wet the bed, which hasn't happened in ages, and that meant we did not leave at the usual time. Pretty close to it, though, thanks to Daddy showering her while I threw bedding in the washer and sprayed down the mattress.

We pulled in to the clinic parking lot in enough time for me to do S.'s hair with the rubber bands and comb I had shoved into my pockets. Except that L. had very quietly, at some point, spit up all over himself and the car seat. That also hadn't happened in a long time. Did they know where we were going, and were acting in cahoots? No fever, happy as a clam, looked like curdled milk, so I made a Mommy diagnosis of motion sickness. Changed him, wiped down the car seat and covered it with a spare diaper, and headed in for the shots.

I'm one of those annoying Moms who doesn't feel the need to pump my kid full of a million chemicals at once just to save on trips, so we very politely said just two today, please and thank you. I think they are getting used to those Mommies, because they didn't argue or even roll their eyes. L. was outraged at the pokes, but has had none of the fever the other two got at that age (when they got all the shots at once), and both he and S. got rubber duckies, so all was good.

From there, to Walmart. Well, what can you say about Walmart? I didn't get everything on the list, because a) Walmart never has everything on the list, and b) we had at least one more stop to make, so refrigerated items would have to wait. Despite S. getting 'stuck' at the giant wall of TVs (and this is exactly why we don't have cable, little girl), and the elderly woman in front of me in the checkout line not understanding how a debit card works, we made it to the library on time for the storyteller, Indiana Bones. Yes, I go to work on my day off.

We had a very light turnout - may have been the threat of rain, but the clouds held off, and those who came had a good time.

Okay, they are mostly looking concerned here, but trust me, he tells a good story. Plus, he has a whip,

a crystal skull,

dinosaur claws, a dragon, and Medusa's head in a box. (I didn't take a picture of the latter, because if you all turn to stone, who will read my ramblings?)

L. mostly ate grass and sticks, flirted with A. and A., and growled back at the dragon. For him, a very good time. We stayed for lunch afterwards, and L. had a star on the bottom of his tray, which apparently earns you a rubber shark. Who knew?

Back in the van to head home. After sitting in the warm sun for a couple hours, L.'s first set of clothes and the car seat were smelling a bit ripe. Added to the blanket we sat on for lunch, and which L. had mashed most of his into, I had the second load of laundry for the day, and hadn't yet touched the usual piles.

The kids were both asleep in the van, and probably didn't even notice being transferred to their beds. Nap time, when Mom can get things done, right? I got the groceries successfully unloaded and put away, and was about to make the birthday cake popcorn for tomorrow's party, when I heard a chicken making a fuss. Not unusual, they fuss when a bug hops by; but this was on the wrong side of the fence.

Oh, bad words, bad words, bad words. Run outside to find feathers everywhere, and one of the Marthas hanging limp in the husky's mouth. More bad words and a lot of yelling, and I'm using an empty feedbag to scoop up what I'm sure is a dead chicken. Run back up the stairs, through the house, and out the back door, to deposit the chicken that is now clucking at me into an empty plastic tub. Carry the tub back in and to the bathroom, thinking, am I going to have to put this thing down? More bad words.

Leave the tub, run back outside to the chicken coop. Feathers EVerywhere, door to chicken yard open slightly, noises of much angry chicken discussion coming from the coop. Fortunately, three head counts confirmed that everyone was now accounted for, and the only other missing feathers were due to molting. Secured the door and tried to figure out how the dog(s) got past a metal gate, two latches, a full sized sheet of plywood, and a bungee cord. No answers there so far.

Back inside to check on the chicken and call Daddy. Chicken is standing and alert, so I decide to give her some food and water. I am talking to Daddy on the phone, bending over to put the water in the tub, when L. wakes up and starts yelling.

I can't blame the chicken for being scared, L. is way scarier than any slobbering, fanged creature that may want to eat you.

I'm a little fuzzy on all the details here. The aftermath was two rooms full of feathers, the contents of my bathroom counter scattered to the winds, and a chicken wedged under my bed, refusing to come out.

This, of course, necessitated a Facebook post.

When I finally got the chicken back into the tub, I learned a few things:

1. The chicken doesn't want to be in the tub.

2. Chickens do not understand mirrors. They get...agitated.

Note to self: bleach bathroom.

3. L. does not like it when chickens are agitated.

4. Chicken feathers stick to everything. Chickens have a lot of feathers. Those are kind of two seperate things, but kind of not.

Needless to say, the chicken was deemed fine, and went back into the coop. Which I have checked the door on three times so far while typing this post.

By this time, S. was awake, so getting things done during naps went the way it usually does. L. has had a much-needed bath, Daddy has come home and wired the coop shut, and now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go pick the feathers out of my hair, as we have a school board dinner to go to.

I'll be ordering chicken.