Noah has a friendgirl.
He “calls” her on the phone frequently.
“hi dita. it’s noah.”
Sweet, two year old Noah. Guard your heart, my boy.
And please, stay away from the cougars – no matter how cool they are.
Neglect doesn’t even begin to describe this little ol’ blog of mine. I won’t make excuses, we’d be here all day. However, this mama’s days as a working woman are soon drawing to a close (for now)… which means more times for the things that bring me joy. Time to cook. To read. To sew. To crochet. To play with a two year old before he turns three. To write. To hula hoop. To start my book. To volunteer. To love on my chickens. And my husband. To get my Dave Ramsey on. To dream about starting my own business (and then I’ll need to Dave Ramsey some more). To be.
And to hold you over a little longer, some photos of our recent(ish) happenings:
Turns out camping gear isn’t only for the wilderness – especially here lately.
The rain has been sporadic at best – say once every three weeks – but when it rains it pours. Quite literally. And with that rain comes a couple of power outages, usually for an hour or more at a time. But we aren’t worried – we’re prepared. Like boy scouts – minus the red socks and dorky shorts.
And I’m not complaining, for the record. I like when my rain barrel is full, my plants are watered, there are puddles to splash in, and the tomato plants grow a foot over night.
Working on the coop and hanging out with the chickens is kind of like therapy for me – always something to work on where I can be busy with my hands, not think a whole lot, and get lost in what I’m doing. I like that. If I could only justify more hours spent out there and less, well, other places, life would be grand.
But then people might start calling me the Chicken Lady – and we already have one of those here. She’s buried on the front forty near the waterfront in the Union Star Cemetery. So maybe we should go on and get that goat – I could get behind being the Goat Lady….
(Give me a break – it’s late.)
I say all that to bring you this, something almost totally unrelated. My kid really loves his chickens – all the way down to raking out pine shavings and filling (and emptying) their feeders. He’ll be a good little farm boy yet.