father's day

We went for breakfast at a restaurant for father's day. Maybe not such a great idea. The place was full of...well...fathers. Took the kids to the 'fairy forest'...

They were extremely stoked. Liv was excited to see fairies. Briar was just plain excited.
I was excited to take a million pictures. (I filled my card by midday.)
I only saw one sweet little fairy. Liv saw tonnes.
I love the magic of the forest.

I am so happy that I have kids who love it too.
I got a kick out of this sign. It made me think of the 'whomping willow'. (Yes, I've read 'Harry Potter') Liv said to me in her very serious tone, "Trees won't hurt you if you're nice them, you know." We picked up Jeff's fabulous cousin, Pam. With it being Father's Day, we figured it was appropriate to spend time with someone related to the kid's father...Also, Pam lost her father three years ago and the kids are a tie to her dad as well. I hope we can keep it a tradition.
She treated the kids to mammoth-sized ice cream cones.
I got to eat most of Briar's.
Liv enjoyed feeding the pigeons on the dock.

Briar enjoyed chasing them.

It pissed Liv off a bit.

Climbed to the top of the clock tower...

Took pictures....

We saw a boat that Jeff used to run. I felt like running down to it to check if he was there. I know it's stupid but at times, I just feel like if I look hard enough, I'll find him.
Checked out the wares at the fish market.

Had a play at the park.

Wrote letters, drew pictures and attached them to balloons to send to Jeff... My letter was dirty. He'd think that was funny.

Kids in the park thought we were there with balloons to hand out. They started to mill around in the hopes of getting a balloon. They must of thought we were crazy to let them go right away and not have a meltdown.

Liv wanted to know how Jeff would get the rolled up note out of the balloon string. I said that I think he already knows what it says and that the balloons were just a formality.

We watched them fly away....you could see them for a long time....escpecially the red one. Maybe next year, we'll only get red ones.

I'm still just trying to sort out some 'feeling stuff'. There is so much more I need to let out....but I am hestitant to let it out here. I need to get it out.

I am considering making my blog password protected. I am hesitant because I have grown to really appreciate the community...of both homeschoolers, friends and other widows. I don't want to close that off but I also am bothered by some...stuff.

I am not positive that I am doing this yet BUT here is my email address if you'd like access.

Having trouble uploading pictures....We're still here, though.

blablabla

I don't think I'll be writing for a few days. I'll post some pictures occasionally so you know I'm here still...I just don't feel like I have much to say that I haven't said. And Father's Day sucks.

P.S. Lola is still missing. I found some black feathers on the lawn. Liv insisted we put up posters around the neighbourhood, just in case....I would laugh if I saw a missing chicken poster on the street. I would think it was a joke.

Poor little Liv drew this picture today. It's a drawing of Earth with Liv looking up and crying while Jeff and Lola look down and say, "I want to go home." with lots of tears running down their faces. (Lola also says, "cheep. cheep.") Bloody hell. I wish I hadn't let the chick out in the coop. And I wish Jeff hadn't died....I especially wish that Jeff hadn't died. But you know that.

happy socks

Jeff gave these to me for my birthday. And another pair for Christmas. He called them my 'happy socks'. They were supposed to make me happy when he was away for work. They used to. I think I wore them out or their super powers faded away.

He gave me two pairs. One pair is less faded. Maybe I'll try them.

come on! seriously!

Why do I suck so badly at poultry husbandry? Liv is going to remember this. In mid-life she is going to report to her therapist about the pivotal moment in her youth where her mother completely misjudged the sizes between fencing material and soft downy chick bodies resulting in the absence and probable death of her beloved chick causing her to lose complete faith in all of human-kind.

same day, same thing

I was directed to this blog. This man lost his wife on the same day from the same ailment as Jeff - pulmonary embolism. His blog is heart-breaking. He is now raising their daughter who was born the day before his wife died. I wish I had words of wisdom to give him or something that would help...But even going through this at the same time as him, I have nothing. I don't know which words would be appropriate. I don't know what would help his healing. All I can say is, "This fucking sucks, eh?" Kinda lame. But true.

Lola the coop pooper

She's living in the coop now. I feel a bit sorry for her since she seems to be a bit of an outsider. The other chickens peck at poor little Lola's feet. But she's a trooper and she hangs by herself pecking at small bits of chicken crap and runs over to you when you visit her for a cuddle.
We've decided that the only 'chicken' that we're sure is a she-chicken is now named Lucy...Lucy and Lola sound good together. Please, please, please don't grow any rooster bits, Lola!
This big guy is the one that we are SURE is a rooster. No cock-a-doodles yet, but look at that comb, man! His name is Mr. Chicken. I love this picture. It looks as if Mr. Chicken is about to take out Liv's eye and she's freaking out...In reality, she is singing to him...opera. Or her version of opera anyhow. Silly, Bean.
Oh, and look who's at the fence. If it isn't Fuck-les?! Notice that Eli couldn't give a chickens cloaca about the poultry....But Freckles, damn it.

j'adore le camion

I've hated Jeff's truck. As a family vehicle, it sucked. It was a 'gas-pig', it was difficult to park and I was always saying was it 'could forever think of new and creative ways to screw me over'. It would break down in the middle of an intersection with a toddler and a large dog inside. I'd have to try to push a half-tonne truck to the side of the road. It stunk both inside and outside. I remember being sick of waiting for a solution to whatever issue it was now having, so I took a picture of the offending part, went to the parts store, showed them what I needed and with the help of my grandfather, we got it running again. In one year, I had the thing towed home eight times. Eight times!

Now that he's gone, I regularly sit in it and feel close to him. I feel badly for the truck that I've be filled with such loathesome thoughts towards it in the past...Now I feel close to Jeff when I'm in it. It is as if it's part of him....not just a thing, but an actual piece of him. He called it the 'Blue Mule' and he adored it. In fact, he'd say that when he died he wanted to be buried in it....Or cut into small pieces and used for halibut bait....Or cut in two and have one part sent to the Eastcoast and one part kept on the Westcoast.

Now when I sit in it, I look through the cassette tapes (yeah, cassette tapes), I check out what ephemera resides in the backseat, I smell his coat, and touch the steering wheel. I sob as I think of the trips we've taken in it oblivious to what was to come. The conversations we had in it. Bringing Liv home from the hospital in it. The excitement I'd feel driving it to whichever harbour he was in to see him.

For Valentine's Day one year, he bought me the car. We went out for dinner just the two of us. I was expecting Briar and it was time to have a car that was a tab bit safer. He was excited to have the truck to himself and start calling it 'his truck' again.

Anyhow, now with the closing of Jeff's business, I had to think of what to do with the truck. Sell it? Give it away? Keep it? I recoiled everytime I thought of not seeing it in the driveway. Of not being able to immerse myself in it. So today, it has become the 'family truck' again. I can't dispose of it with the business. I find that I love it now. I love what and who it represents. I know it won't last forever but right now I need it.

thank you

I just want to say 'thank you' to all my commenters. I would love to respond to each of you....but as you know, I am a bit brain impaired at the moment. Please know that I read every comment and it means so much to have you all backing me up and supporting me. I am surprised and humbled by those of you who have said that I've helped you. It is a symbiotic relationship then. You have helped me too. Thank you.

epiphany

A dreaded driving excursion down island to appointments with lawyers, accountants and bank managers has yielded some benefits that I wasn't expecting. I was alone - no kiddos with me this time. I cranked the music hoping to not have think too much. I played the new Weezer cd hoping that focusing on the lyrics would distract me. No go.
I couldn't help it. I thought and seriously pondered. I had a sudden realization....an epiphany. I am afraid. I know I've been saying that nothing scares me anymore. This is true, in part. I am afraid of being 'sad'. I am afraid of feeling this. I realize that I have been 'fighting' this. I have been resisting and trying to find things, distractions, to keep me from fully feeling the range of emotions that I think may be required to heal. I have to let myself be sad. I have to experience this. I can't hide. It'll find me....maybe later, but I'll find me.

I realize that physical and emotion pain are two different creatures; but I think there are marked similarities (of course)and I had the memory of both my labours to help me figure this out. The labour I went through with Liv was long - 29 hours. I fought and screamed. I felt sorry for myself. I was scared and became an animal in pain. I lashed out. Jeff jokingly told me that I reminded him of a pitbull mama. Afterward, I came to realize that my resistance had hampered my progress. I wanted it to stop so I pushed against it. Liv and I ended up having to stay in the hospital for days and I had awful infections which put me back there weeks later. My fighting against this unseen foe (pain), I had unwittingly affected my daughter. She had a broken, fearful and ill mother.
When I gave birth to Briar, I had a completely different perception. The whole experience was different. I knew that the pain was necessary BUT I breathed through it. I told myself it was normal and necessary in order to give birth. I imagined myself completely relaxing and letting my body do what it needed to. Jeff and I walked up and down the road. We watched a movie and even weeded the garden. I let the pain take me and loosened against it. My acquiescence was imperative. I healed so much faster. While I was tired and, at times, overwhelmed, I was capable of being a mother who was there for her little ones.
Much like my first birthing experience, I have been fighting. I have been raging against everything and anything. I have lamented the injustice of Jeff's death. I have tried to hide from feeling and it has been finding me...in unexpected places and times. I think I have to teach myself to release myself to it. I need to feel it to let it stop hurting so badly. It's a necessary evil and maybe on the other side, even though I won't be blessed with a tiny perfect little one, I may have some other gift. At this moment, I have no idea what that would be as I am having difficulty looking forward, but maybe? Just maybe, there will be something that I can take from this feared and loathed experience, and better myself or my life? We'll see, but I am willing to try. If my release will make me heal faster, I'll try.

someone who knows

Jeff and I had knew a fisherman who died suddenly two years ago leaving a wife and kids behind. I remember at the time thinking I should send her something to help out...but didn't know what to send. I had intended to help her; who knew it would be her who would help me?

I had never met his wife but knew him from the pub that I had worked at for seven years. Suddenly the other night, I had the urge to connect with her. Last night, I called. I didn't know if she wouldn't want to talk about it. If maybe she didn't want to deal with it or wouldn't be able to tell me it would be okay since she was still 'in the thick of it'.

I am so glad I called. I cried. I asked her if there was hope. We talked about the parallels between their deaths. How the kids are doing. Which avenues were the most helpful for providing financial support. Which fisherman continued to call to check to make sure she was okay. Her beliefs in the possibility of life after death. Going up against WCB for a pension.

It was so helpful. She was so helpful. I felt ridiculous calling and dropping this 'hi, you don't know me but....' but she was great.

She just opened a landscaping business. Her children are doing well despite having a few hiccups and missing their dad. She's doing well. I can't imagine being there yet. But I am happy to see that it is possible. I am happy to see that it is possible to still love and miss your husband but to move forward and become whole once again.

11 weeks

I've had to raid Jeff's shaving kit for back pain medication. I don't like doing it. I want it to stay how he left it...but I can't justify spending money on more when there is already some in the house. But it's lame to have to have things change....I guess they've already changed 11 weeks ago. I just want to hold onto any tiny thing I can.

I miss him so badly...I don't know if I can do this.

pain in the back

I've put my back out. Not really sure if that is what the term is for this predicament but it is what it feels like. I can't turn, bend or even crush garlic with the flat of a knife. It feels a bit better after my surprise visit to the chiropractor (in that I can now life both arms - not just my right one, higher than my waist).
My sister came to the rescue to pick up the kids and drop them off at Marnie's....after getting em dressed. I don't think I have been dressed by anyone since I was about 2. Odd experience. Glad it was my sister.
Robo took me to the chiro appointment. I feel like every time he's visiting, something falls apart around here. Poor guy. I don't know what I'd do without him at times. It feels so good to talk to him about Jeff and the kids. He was one of Jeff's best friends and he always came home with Jeff when they weren't fishing. It's a little bit of normal. A little bit of consistency for the kids.

down/drown

The sadness is seeming to seep into all the corners. I am having trouble keeping my head up. It's not depression. It's not melancholy. It's the 'nothing'. It's an ache. There is nothing I can do to fix it. There is nothing I can do to make it better. There is no one I know who understands this fully. There is nothing.
I drove too much in the last two days. I hate driving since Jeff's death. It gives me much too much time to think. I sit in the seat where Jeff took his last breaths and ruminate excessively. I can't distract myself with laundry or phone calls. I can't stare blankly at the chickens or throw a ball for the dogs. I can't fix the button on Liv's dress or hold the other end of the measuring tape for Briar as he pretends to be a puppy on a leash. I just sit there and replay those last moments. Think about what I'm missing. Think about what the kids are missing. Dread Father's Day. Hate all the bullshit crap that people think is important.
Today, I went to buy myself a new bra and jeans. I left the kids with my mom. No distractions. I stood in that fucking change room staring at myself for so long thinking, "This is what a widow looks like. Do I really look like a widow? Can people tell by looking at me that I'm a widow? That I have no one? That I am on some half-deflated inner tube floating blindly in the ocean alone? That it would be less painful to just let go and have it done?" As I'm standing there, I can hear everyone's frivolous conversations. I hate them for it. I despise the girl telling her friend about some new diet pill the doctor gave her to lose twenty pounds because her life is just 'too busy' for exercise. I think the woman who is telling the clerk that her daughter will only wear a certain name brand is a moron. Who fucking cares?! Just shut up! I emerge from the coccoon of the change room with the veneer that I wear so often lately plastered to my face, smile fakely at the 20 pounds girl, nod at the name brand lady and book out of there before I puke on their shoes or start chucking hangers at them....

And you know, the shitty thing about the 'happy mask' that I have to wear, is not for me. It's to keep everyone else 'happy'. No one wants to know how I'm actually feeling. They don't want to know if things aren't okay. When I say things are crappy, they shift on their feet, they look all concerned and uncomfortable and say stupid shit like, "It'll get better." "You have to be strong for the kids. They need you right now." or "I know." No one seems to understand that Jeff and his death aren't something that I can just 'get over'. That healing is NOT just a straight and steady road. It's twisty and bumpy. It has valleys and peaks. It is so foggy on that road that I don't know what to expect and they certainly do not know what to expect when they are not even in the same 'car' as me. Stop telling me how fast to go, what the road ahead is like and that you know what driving this fucking road is like when you haven't even been on it. I know you're trying but just let me lean for a minute. Don't be uncomfortable that I say something 'sad' or 'upsetting'. Be happy that I opened up for a moment. Be glad that I was comfortable enough for a brief second to say how I am truly feeling and thought that I could remove this grotesque smiley-faced mask in your presence. Please give me a break. I am really trying the best I can.

lucky

Despite what has happened, I am lucky. I am so blessed to have such sweet and amazing little ones to care for. They remind every moment of every day of their wonderful daddy. And though I miss him with every fibre in my body and mind, I have them to hold and love.

enough chicken nuggets already

Okay. Yup, Lola is so cute. I love how Lola follows us everywhere. I think it's surreal in a good way watching a chicken peck around your feet while you eat your cereal. BUT I hate chicken poo. It does NOT belong in the house. I've tired of it quickly, I know, but I'm a clean freak. I admit it. It conjures up images of avian flu and I can't help but wonder what types of bacteria are swarming over those little turds.


So, Lola spent the day in the chicken coop in a bid to familiarize her with the fact the she is a CHICKEN - not a human, a chicken. The ladies (hopefully, but I actually think we have four roosters and ONE chicken) were curious but not unkind. I left Lola in the cat carrier as she can easily slip out the mesh of the coop and into the waiting jaws of Fuck-les...oops, Freckles.


We're in the process of putting a chain link fence around the chicken coop in the hopes of slowing down the duck-killer's (aka Freckles) annihilation of the flock. We've decided that the hill beside our house will now be avian heaven (not in the dead sense but in the 'this-is-a-great-place-for-us-feathered-animals-to-live' sense). IF we ever manage to get ducks to hatch and live longer than a few hours after their struggle into this world, we will put a llittle kiddie pool and duck house in as well. I hadn't planned to keep ducks at all but now that we lost our little ducklings, I am loathe to let any go...at least initially.

Marnie returned Freckles to us from his sojourn at her place. I must admit that I was not in the least bit happy to see him.

But all the kids, nephews included, are happy to see the murderer home. Argh. I was hoping they wouldn't notice he was gone. (I think I'll hold this grudge for awhile. Those ducklings represented looking forward and hope to me and the kids. I'm still pissed off.)

See this? THIS is an extraordinarily good dog.

See this?! Take note. THIS is a very naughty, duckling killing, egg-sucking, but kid-loving dog.

treasures from the deep

Marnie and I ventured out to the beep the other day with eight kids - five two year olds, two five year olds and one six year old, plus Marnie's four month old puppy! I felt like a mother duck with all the little ones following after us.
The tide was SO low and we found so many cool creatures. This eel was definitely a highlight!
I know I posted this picture in a previous post but it was just too cool to not mention again. Liv found it and was sitting on the shore laughing away at it with Briar calling us to come see. We were trying to move our herd to another part of the beach but I reluctantly went back to check it out. I am SO glad I did! We're not totally sure what kind of fish it was, but when I fished it out of the sand for a thorough check over, it seemed to resemble a lingcod or some similar type of fish. It was about 30 cm long. We let it go in the ocean but it didn't seem too...vibrant. It perked up a bit but I'm not sure if it made it. I hope we didn't cause it it's distress.
The picture doesn't do the colours on this little fish justice. The side of it was a vibrant royal blue! So pretty! Dead but pretty.

exhausted

You know that feeling of utter fatigue that you have never experienced until you've had a newborn baby....okay, a newborn AND an older child? Yeah, the one where you're concerned that fellow drivers are going to call the cops on you to report you as a drunk driver? Where you are crazed with feelings of needing to sleep and become frantic with the deprivation?

Yeah. That's me. Is it just life? Or is it the exhaustion of grief?

question period

I am struggling with some ideas that I've heard and have possibly thought...possible? I hear people talk of things that happen that are supposedly messages or signs from loved ones who've died: the special song on the radio, the coincidental meeting of someone you haven't seen in a long time right when you need them, the radio shutting off intermittently, the bird you see repeatedly, etc. I so want to believe these comforting thoughts but other more rational thoughts plague my mind making these other occurances seem to be just coincidences as I hunt for some sort of reason or belief.
This is what I wonder:

-If that song was put on the radio 'by Jeff', how did he do it? Did he 'possess' the DJ telling him that he had a sudden urge to put it on? Or maybe the station manager (isn't it them who decide what to play and when?) How did he know I would be listening? I flip through channels constantly.

Also, what about all the other songs? They have to mean something to someone out there listening. Does that mean that radio is basically just a 'request show' for ghosts and spirits to let their loved ones know they're there?!

-The bird is on its' seasonal migration North. I provide seed. It's beneficial for it to stay around while it raises it babies where it has a supply of food. It just happens to be a cool looking bird. Would I notice if Jeff 'picked' a nondescript bird? Is Jeff the bird?

-When the radio unexpectedly turns off and on, how can I say it's Jeff? How can a dead person, even if (a stretch here) is still 'alive', turn a radio off and on? Does he use his transparent fingers to press the off switch?

-Did Jeff know where I'd be at a certain time and whispered in the person's ear that they must go there too? How? I didn't know I was going to be there until the last minute.

-What about when good things happen to you and you think 'Hey, that must be ____ giving me a helping hand.' It would only make sense then that someone who really thought you were a shit caused all the crappy stuff to happen.
Please excuse the sarcasm, but I want to believe. I guess part of me does believe, out of the need for comfort. But the rest of me is angry....frustrated that I hear of people who whole-heartedly believe these things and how it brings them peace. I want peace. But I am too rational when it comes to this...death and spirits. I am afraid of believing and being let down. Reaching the end of the road, hoping to find Jeff laughing as I run into his arms once again, and only finding a quiet darkness. I don't want to get my hopes up. I just want to know he can see the kids and how they're growing and what they're doing. I want to know he's with me and telling me he thinks I am doing okay. That he knows that I wish I could go back in time and relish every tiny conversation and snuggle a little more.
Please tell me your stories. Help me believe. I really want to know he's here.

hi...sorry it's been so long

I am awful at returning calls and emails....now more than ever. I am so sorry if I haven't responded. I do get them. I do mean to reply but life gets away from me way too quickly. It usually goes something like this:

*receive a message or email from someone kind and thoughtful...okay, even just the bank*
I think to myself, "Oh! I need to call them. I still haven't thanked them for the casserole/lawn mowing/card, etc.! Liv would love to have a playdate and it would be lovely to have a walk around the lake."
"I'll get on the computer/phone and give them a call/message right now while I remember!", as I take the dish soap and put it on the shoe rack wondering, "Why the hell is the battery charger here?!"
"I better go find the phone." I press the phone locating button...I can hear it beeping from some far off location. I follow the noise and along the way, I put a bandaid on a child, I pick up library books, Lola and the dirty diaper discarded by Briar. When I finally find the phone, I can't pick it up because my hands are too full. After putting the phone in my pocket, I put away my load and think, "I wonder if I need to shut off the water to the whole house to fix that tap outside" and wander off to find the wrench and put it in the washing machine.....

Please just know that at one time you were the reason I was searching for the phone or sat down at the computer only to forget why I was there or who I was phoning. Sorry.

free to have your own opinion

Why do I have so much trouble knowing what I want or need? I think I know and then I hear someone's (unrequested) opinion and have doubts. I stand up and state why I am doing what I'm doing. I put on a brave face. I take it and I listen. I don't feel listened to at all. I am speaking but nothing comes out as they talk over me and believe themselves to be above me. Then, when they're gone, I worry and doubt myself. I feel angry that I am doubting myself. I feel frustrated that Jeff isn't here to make these decisions with me and that I feel blown by the passing wind of other's notions of right and wrong.
Why do these people think it is their business to tell me if I should homeschool or not? What to do with our car? What job I should get?
I am trying the best I can. I am trying to land on my feet as fast as I can. There is no time to waste as we have no money...so I have to drag myself to my feet and face the wind. Just because I'm standing doesn't mean I'm invincible. It doesn't mean that I feel the comforting support of Jeff holding my hand through this and helping me along.
I am doing the things he and I decided were best for our family before he died. I realize that changes will come. I realize that I have to shift my hopes and dreams. But if I can keep my kids from feeling more turmoil and upheaval than they have in the last while for a little time, then I will do it.
But I hate these people's opinions that are thrust upon my lap like someone else's used tissue. I don't have the energy to chuck them back and I worry that they might just belong in my pocket.
They're free to have their own opinion...can I be free to have mine? It is my and my kid's afterall.

now we know

Remember when I was concerned with what Freckles would do to the chickens?

We now know.


Happiness and excitement were in the air here today as we watched two of the duck eggs hatch. The rest of them seemed to have not made it somewhere along the way. Liv and I were jumping up and down and hugging each other when the first one broke free of its' shell. The second one was a surprise we found after the kids had bike ride. Over dinner, we discussed possible names and giggled.

Then....
I can hardly type it. I went downstairs to find that Freckles had broken into the incubator and eaten the ducklings. Those soft, downy wobbly little creatures who were so tuckered out after a 48 hour trial to get out of their eggs....only to be eaten by a fucking dog. He also ate all the remaining eggs in the incubator...eggs that had been stagnating in a warm place for weeks. It's like an avian horror movie down there. Rotten egg yolk, shells and baby duck poop are all over the floor. It stinks.

And we have no ducklings.

We worked so hard learning the various stages of development, candling the eggs to check viability, measuring temperature and humidity, researching the steps of the hatch, turning the eggs multiple times a day, etc. We were ecstatic to see the 'ducks' of our labour. Liv was proud. She called a bunch of her friends inviting them over to see the babes.

And that asshole ate them. Fucking dog. Does anyone want a border collie/golden retriever cross? Great with kids! Bad, really bad with poultry. Liv is heart-broken....So am I.

backstroke

I am often told lately that I am being 'so strong', that I am so capable and am doing better than others think they would do in this situation. I have a choice. Please excuse the cliche, but I can either 'sink or swim'. Being a parent, I think that the majority of people with children would choose to swim. I don't want to. I want to sleep...I want to be a pebble at the bottom of a deep pool but I don't have a choice in my mind. I need to teach these small sweet kiddos that even though something so astronomically awful has happened to us, we limp on. We hold each other up, we give each other hugs, we forgive each other when it is too much and we swim on. I can't let them sink so I must swim to keep their heads above the swirling water too. It may be the backstroke and I may be swimming crookedly and slowly, but I have to keep going if I'm going to give them any sort of life worth living....Even when I can hear the siren song of the mermaids drawing me below...I must swim on.
I'm not strong. I'm just a mommy who loves our kids.

meet Lola

We now are the proud owners of Lola, the house chicken. Our awesome friends, Brent and Penny, (what I refer to as B&P's farm here) gave Liv the sole chick that hatched in their incubator. She quickly named him/her 'Lola'. I said she could sleep in the cat carrier for one night....ONE night. I hadn't anticipated a cute fuzzy little chick who HATES to be away from people, follows you everywhere and if you walk to quickly will cry until you go back to scoop her up. She naps in my lap while I type and eats the crumbs off the floor....Okay, I've fallen in love with a chicken. A chicken! She is just so sweet and cuddly. Yes, she is indiscriminate in her choice of poop deposit receptacles (often opting for the floor or in our hands) but she is so cute that I can't help but to overlook it for now. Especially when it brings such joy to Liv and Briar. I love it when they're happy lately. Too many sad faces and moments.

pollen!!!!

I realize that these may look too similar, but there are differences in each photo. It was so cool to watch the pollen release from the grass and float in clouds away on the morning breeze....in Liv's jammies... The pollen is just letting go. You can see slight swirls of pollen around the plants.