the dirty little secrets of an urban chicken farmer

OK, I'll admit it. I put the pretty side of urban farming out there for everyone to see. I neglect to tell you things like the poop. THERE'S A LOT OF POOP, PEOPLE. I don't mention that I have to clean out all that poop from the coop. Often. And I don't tell you that if I'm smart, I have to spray down my deck to keep the poop from cooking onto the wood. Often.

So today I'm here to be honest. I know you've seen my chicken posts and thought, "Oh how cute! Look how fun! It can't be THAT hard, can it? I SHOULD GET SOME CHICKENS!" I know this because you've told me so. I hear it all the time from friends and aquaintances. They, YOU, are thinking about getting chickens. What should you know?

Lesson #1, first and foremost! BE PREPARED FOR POOP. If you do not have a member of your family willing to deal with this issue on a regular basis, you're not ready for chickens.

Lesson #2, BUY A BOOK! Get yourself educated. Don't get the chickens and THEN buy the book. Do it now. It may save you from getting rid of those chickens down the line when you realize they have pooed all over your favorite brand new lawn chairs next to your beautiful pool in your well manicured and lovely backyard. Pinterest-worthy lawns with gorgeous pools do not mix with free range chickens. Just being honest, people. HEED MY WARNINGS.

And Lesson #3? Well, it's hard to say what should come next. Let me tell you what I found today. Maybe THIS is #3. It's that darn Flo. She's gone broody again. Thank the sweet Lord above she's not hopping the fence again, but she's definitely off her rocker.

This morning I opened all the windows. It's gorgeous weather in Oklahoma today and I was enjoying the birds chirping and the occasional chicken squawking. I felt the fresh air blowing in. Yes, it was a lovely morning with my pinterest and coffee.

Let me mention here that I am no chicken expert. But I am an expert on MY chickens. And when they squawk, I know there's an egg a'comin'. So I'll be honest, I was slightly taken aback when I heard Flo on the deck. Hmmmm. I've only been getting 2 eggs a day for the last 5 days, down from 4 eggs a day. Hmmmm.

As I got up and crossed the living room, I looked out onto the deck. There was an empty, broken egg shell. WHAT??!?!!?!?

This is bad, peeps. Really bad. You don't want your chickens eating their own eggs. (Lesson #3? Perhaps!)

When I went out and picked it up, I was squatted down. And I looked under the table to find Flo sitting on one of the chairs that was pushed under the table. Were those eggs I saw underneath her?

You bet your sweet biffy they were. And Oh. My. Gosh. There were FIVE. She's dying to hatch some chicks!!

I'm in big trouble. I need to go read my books again. Not sure how to proceed.

And the last lesson for today, especially those of you who are STILL thinking you are the exception to the pool/beautiful backyard rule: Lesson #4: CHICKENS ARE DESTRUCTIVE.

OK, not in a horribly significant way, but nonetheless. They dig holes all over your yard for their dust baths. (SEE A BOOK ON CHICKENS)

And they will eat your pretty plants.

And last, but not least, they will break/tear up your things.

Now, consider yourself fairly warned. If you can handle all of the above, race on out and get you some cheek-uns! You can do it! Anyone can! ;)

p.s. I love my girls.

i know what you did last night

Do you? If you're my facebook friend you've gotten a sneak peek. Yes, I am one crazy old mama.

Let me fill you in. There is a torch being carried from California to Boston and it runs day and night, round the clock, by crazy people like me and 5 of my newest friends. And it was, by far, one of the coolest things I've ever done as a runner. Check out www.onerunforboston.com and you can even see it live on a gps map!

So last night I went to bed at 9:45 pm. And I woke up at 11:35 pm. We met at a Starbucks in Norman and hopped in the car together, all six of us, filled with anticipation and lots of snacks and water in the trunk.

And then we drove. It took a couple hours to get out into rural western Oklahoma. And let me tell you, when someone says you can see the stars better out in the country, they are speaking truth, people. It was amazingly and frighteningly DARK out there.

We found our ending point here:

Oh yes, we did. I don't think we could have found a better named bar on the face of the planet. Right?!

Anyway, the girls needed to use the potty by this time, so we all thought, Hey! Let's go in!

It seemed like a good idea at the time. Last call was about to occur. It was, after all, 1:30 in the morning.

But as we entered, you could literally hear crickets chirping. It fell silent upon our entry and EVERY head turned our direction. I will admit, I was scared. I wanted nothing more at that moment than to blend into the woodwork and disappear but we were wearing running clothes in neon colors. And so there was pretty much NO CHANCE OF THAT HAPPENING. Luckily I was surrounded by some ballsy women. And they forged a path straight for the bathroom. Past the people playing pool and smoking so heavily that my lungs went into a fit. Past the plastic tables used during the week for their famous buffet. Straight for the one hole bathroom. And then a REAL friendly old lady came over and stated, rudely, that she was going to need to see every one of our IDs if we were going to stay there. Eek! I left mine in the car! I'll go get it!

So off I went and there I stayed. Well a few minutes later I was beginning to wonder if the girls were coming, so I walked over and looked in the window. They were sitting at a table drinking a beer! Talking to the locals! They were having a grand ol' time!

Soon they all filed out (it WAS last call, after all) with a whole new set of friends. It seemed that while I sat in my car with Jerry, the girls were inside making new friends. It's a very friendly set out there in the boonies. After the shock wears off from seeing strangers enter their beloved space, they are happy to share the love! And buy you a beer!

Not long later, we were zipping down the two lane highway that we were about to run. We got to our hand off point and met our previous runner, a lady, by herself, with a dog. SHE HAD RUN FOR 10 MILES ALONE IN THE PITCH BLACK, PEOPLE. WOW. So we strapped on our headlamps and took off! Torch in hand.

Apparently Brenda runs with full on makeup at 2:30 am. Who knew.

This is Laura, our fearless leader, taking the torch from the amazing lady who ran alone with her dog.

When we took off, we made a plan to have someone drive the car of every leg. Who drove depended on who wasn't running that part. I ran the first two miles, then drove a few miles, jumped back on for a mile, and then drove some more. I hopped out and ran the last mile as well. But three of our runners ran the whole 12 miles, because THEY ARE THAT AWESOME. Way to go Laura, Tara, and Jerry! You are my heroes.

Sometimes when I was alone in the car for a mile (10 minutes), I wore my headlamp on low and read my book. Yep, that's how I roll.

And then on one of my stops I spotted this.

Hey, I love Jesus! And I love living in the bible belt, but I will admit to being shocked that you can apparently spend public dollars to erect a sign like that in small town Oklahoma. Who. Knew.

Well, a few miles later, we were done! Just like that.

And Laura handed it off to a man and a lady. And off went the torch, on it's way to Boston.

Coolest running experience. Ever.

i'm bleeding! make it stop!

My son. He is an athlete at his core. He came swinging a bat out of the womb.

OK, not really. But he did walk out, talking about how hot he was for 9 months.

OK. Another exaggeration.

My son is a natural at almost everything he tries. But we have found his weak spots. They include, but are not currently limited to: roller skating, skate boarding, and playing an instrument. Also, he dances like Elaine from Seinfeld.

While he has plenty of hand/eye coordination, he lacks balance for things that involve wheels.

And although he can sing like a pro, hitting every note perfectly (though don't ask him to do this for you. he will feign an inability.), he can not play the recorder for the love of all that is good.

Today I drove him to school. He had all week last week during spring break to practice for his latest "belt test" with the recorder. He had to play Amazing Grace. So he pulled out the recorder in the car and started playing.

Which brings me back to a time in my life when I called my doctor's office from my closet. The sound of my children's voices was reminding me of nails on a chalkboard. They promptly required my presence in their office within the hour. That was rough. But not to worry, it was fleeting.

However, I digress. Sort of. See, this morning in my car as the captive audience to the worst recorder performance I had ever bore witness to, I wanted to hide in my closet. It hurt. Like, painful. Painful.

But I powered through, like a good mom, and even tried to sing along, to help him hear the error in his ways. When we finished, he said, "Thanks Mom. That helped!"

To which, I replied, "Honey, you're welcome. But don't quit your day job. Did you practice last week when you had time?"

"No. I was busy! Playing games and sleeping in!"

"OK! Well, just be prepared. This may be the first B you've ever gotten in your life." (trying to toss in a little guilt for the lack of preparation)

"What? First, Mom, they don't give As and Bs in Music. And second, WOW! You're not even being encouraging!"

"Honey!! You are good at so many things! You just can't play the recorder well at all! But I love you! You are an awesome athlete and you're so smart! We all have our gifts. Yours just isn't music."

I'm happy to report that the whole time I'm telling him he stinks and his recorder skills have made my ears bleed, he's giggling. And when I finished my monologue on how great he is, minus playing Amazing Grace, he burst out laughing.

Luckily we've instilled laughter into our kids and being able to laugh at oneself often in our home. If nothing else, he's well adjusted.

bless his tender heart

Second grade. Ahhh, the sweet, sweet age when you read a fable about a cock and there's no question that they're talking about a rooster. Even though their teacher feels uncomfortable saying it, there are no snickers. No sideways glances. Yes, second grade is a precious and innocent time in life.

So it's no wonder that today in second grade, one of my students asked what tender-hearted means, which is ironic because she is.... And so I began to explain. "Tender-hearted means that you have a tender heart. Your heart feels things easily because it's so soft inside." As I'm wondering to myself if that explanation is adequate or appropriate, another friend in my class pipes up. He was near the tornadoes last May in Moore, Oklahoma and he gets skiddish with storms. And then I hear his, the sweetest little voice say:
"I think I had that last year when the storms came through? Yah, I think I did."

Bless.

I keep saying that I have the best class in the whole school. Do you see why now? These are the children I get to spend my days with. Precious, tender-hearted children.

dinner courtesy of pinterest

So I said I would try some new things in my diet and tonight I made good on that promise to myself. Behold the chicken recipe I found on pinterest, with avacado, diced tomato, and cilantro on the side.

YUMMMMMMMO.

I won't mention what I ate for dessert.

will power

Hi, my name is Kim, and I'm an addict.

I'm addicted to sugar. And chips. And I need professional help.

But I'm on a quest. I've been in a stalled position for a couple months now. Not signed up for any races and waiting. Running sporadically, for fun, and waiting.

What am I waiting for? The New York City Marathon! I threw my name in the hat a few months ago. For the third straight time. And up until this year there has been this "rule": Throw your name in three years in a row and get guaranteed entry on the 4th year. But as I was looking on the website the other day to determine the drawing date, I found that the rule has changed! After 2014, you are no longer guaranteed entry on the 4th year. And my little heart broke. :(

Because I'm not getting any younger, PEOPLE! And running a marathon will not get easier as I AGE! And frankly, I only think it possible in the next two years of my life. And after that, well.... you know I'm living in uncharted territory at this point anyway. I never imagined living past 40, so who knows!

So what does an addiction to sugar and chips have to do with New York? Well, I'm pretty sure they won't be "on the diet" for marathon training. And it's time I nix them now!

It would have been really convenient for me to still be Episcopalian right now. I could be observing Lent and pretending like I wasn't eating chips and/or sugar. (I was never good at Lent when I was participating. Now? Fugetaboutit.)

So I'm going to have to come up with my own will power. And dang it. That's hard.

I'll start Monday.

i found myself on the internet.

I love a good make over. And a few years back we did one to our home that was over the top. I just found it again on the internet. Funny, huh? It's on a website called betterafter.net

You must go check out her awesome website. So many fun things to see from pieces of furniture to homes! Check it out!

fast cars

*out of the blue*

G: Granny goes EXTREMELY fast.

Me: for what?

G: In the car. I think it's cuz her old muscles are tired and she just lets them weigh down on the gas pedal.

THIS, my friends, is TRUTH. Granny (my mom) is a crazy driver. All my friends who have ever survived a ride in her car agree.

autocorrect pigs

To note:
1. "Amanda", a parent in my class, sent me a text this morning. She also happens to work on staff at my school.
2. "I" was feeling a little sassy when I read it, still giggling about my last blog writing.
3. A "PIF" is the Parent Information Folder that travels back and forth to school with each child.
4. "Mental Math" is a Math facts assignment that I send home in the PIF.

And now, I present to you, an actual text message that I was involved in, complete with me, laughing my fool head off. I'm the one in the blue bubbles.

lady g

Today's funny comes to you courtesy of my son, G. I've just woken him up and we're laying on his bed in the dark quiet.

G: Mom, last night I saw a picture on the internet of lady gaga without any makeup.

Me: Oh yeah? (thinking to myself: Scott! he's in big trouble. why was my son looking at pictures on the internet? where was his daddy? while I was sleeping... okay, I can't be that mad.)

G: Yah. And she was WHITE!

Me: (a small giggle is bubbling up, because I'm wondering how he ever DIDN'T know she's white)

G: Yah! She's WHITE and she has BROWN HAIR! And she doesn't even have special eyes!

Me: (silent, stifling my laughter)

G: Yep. Can you believe that?