Eggs

we are getting very close to having eggs!! our first group of girls are 18.5 weeks and our second batch of i'm-still-not-totally-sure-what-the-gender-make-up-is chickens are around 16 weeks. they have started this crazy weird moaning type of squawk and two of them are assuming the submissive squat position while just hanging out around the coop.

it's hard to see rosa parks back there, but she is definitely the youngest in terms of how close she is to laying. she's just a dainty lil lady, taking her sweet time.

i opened their nesting boxes 2 days ago and prepared them--they had previously been closed off so nobody would try to sleep or poop in them. i've also been searching around the run every day to see if they've picked their own place yet. so far, nothing. but i know it's coming!!

it's the two harry potter themed lavender orpingtons that are giving me fits. their waddles and combs seem far too big to be hens, and myrtle clearly has sickle feathers. i'm about 95% sure myrtle is more like a malfoy. except not evil.

hedwig up there, let me just tell you, is a giant, fat, ridiculous chicken. i have never seen a chicken so big. not that i've seen a lot of chickens in my day, but she is HUGE.

H.U.G.E. she has to be well over 8 pounds.

nobody is trying to crow yet, so we have some more time to prepare ourselves mentally for the possibility that one of those beauties is going to be dinner.

anyway, we are waiting very impatiently to see our first egg!! it should really be any day now, and i cannot wait to make a yummy soft boiled fresh egg with some cheddar grits. mmmmmmmm.

not much of an update. certainly a poorly worded blog to say the least.

can't all be winners!

Decade

july 14, 2005 is the day my brother died at 17 years old because of a water park accident in Ponca City, OK. the accident was due to the perceived invincibility that 17 year olds have, and gross negligence and childishness by the owners of the park.

his birthday was july 1.

the first couple of years july was simply a hard month. it's a lot to reconcile yourself with in 2 weeks. sadness at the passing birthday, but also wanting to celebrate the life you had with someone, followed immediately by the day that stole them from your life in a fantastically precise sequence of random events.

it sets a tone. your mind and body remember that turmoil of emotions and you become pavlov's dog. each day rings out and you salivate and then gorge yourself on grief.

it's hard to break that cycle, especially when everyone surrounding you is victim to it as well. it seems normal. it seems impossible to defend against.

i was very lucky last year to have a friend who had lost a sibling around the same ages that my brother and i were when he left earth. a friend whose family had come well out the other side.

someone who graciously and gently reminded me that it was simply a day. and that i was giving it control over me.

i think i began crying some time around 11:45 the evening of july 14, 2014. by far the longest i had ever made it in the previous 9 years. i didn't have much energy left to process that milestone, but the last year has given me plenty of time to mull it over.

i came to realize that it WAS just a day. just july 14. a bad day for our family, yes. but probably a miraculous day for so many other families. we have dark days scattered throughout history. i certainly don't break down every year on the anniversary of the oklahoma city bombing, though that event was the first major disaster that i had full cognition of and made a huge impact on my childhood. the loss of my brother was much more profound than the feelings stirred in me on april 19, 1995. but i deeply grieved my brother for much longer than i grieved the victims of OKC.

i have never believed that my brother was gone. gone here in front of me, yes. but i have, from the day he died, believed that he was still with me because of the great gift of communion with the saints. i call him the patron saint of peanut butter.

(side note: in catholicism, theoretically everyone who gets through purgatory and into heaven is a saint. we just assume that some people make it through purgatory with rapid speed and have reasonable faith that they are in heaven because they performed miracles and thus appear to actually have undoubtedly had God's favor, so we canonize them. the pope will never canonize my brother and label him the patron saint of peanut butter, but i like to think Jesus fist bumps me whenever i say it)

i talk to him often and i visualize him here with us, guarding us and witnessing our lives.

he sees us laughing, loving, growing our families. he hears our jokes and sees our hugs. i'm sure he laughs when i use mom's lines on my own kids. he sees us lively, light, and joyful.

and then he watches us allow it to abruptly come to a massive, screeching halt.

because of him.

i would never want that for my family if i left them here on earth.

the inexplicable days where it's just too much, i would understand and feel sorrow. i wouldn't want my family to be in the throes of summer exhilaration, only to feel obligated to interrupt it so they could put on a mourning cloak for me and give power to the day i died.

beyond that, i came to what i can only call a very catholic conclusion: this is one day. july 14 was one day in AJ's life. arguably the darkest day. the last day of his physical life. and that is a big deal.

but it was not the last day of his spiritual life. it honestly may not have even been a profound day for his soul. it very likely was not the darkest nor the most profound moment in his soul's existence.

if i believe his soul is still pulsing through eternity, there is no reason to treat this day with such somber reverence.

on earth this day may signify a great loss. but in heaven, for all i know, today he is having a peanut butter party with our dog beaker and my grandma b and his cousin A and L (our sister's mother in law).

i expected the 10 year mark to be earth shattering. to be as painful as our 10 year wedding anniversary will be joyful.

instead (thankfully), it is just a tuesday. we're getting groceries and i taught the letters A and M to the kids at the gym. we ate lunch as a family and the kids got covered in dirt and sand. my first thoughts this morning centered around figuring out the schedule for the day and lamenting my stupidity for staying up until 3am to read.

and for coffee. my first thoughts are always for coffee.

rather than feeling guilty, i am finding that i finally feel free.

and i find myself hoping and wishing for that freedom for everyone. not only for us, but for the loved ones we've all lost.

i think they would want to be remembered for the life they led, not the day that life stopped on earth.

at least that's what i want.

Buck Cluck Squack A Doodle Do!

sustainability has been heavy on my heart for a good while now.

it's a common word in our culture today with the rising focus on green living. it's a great word, and one we should be focused on.

i'll have other posts about this, but i've been trying to approach most things from a sustainable viewpoint.

are my health habits sustainable? am i engaging in physical activity and nutritional intake that can be healthfully continued for years to come? are those activities feasible for the earth's continuance as well?

are our food habits sustainable? are we eating seasonally, are we composting and putting discard back into the earth?

are our financial habits sustainable? are we living within our means, are we planning for the future?

on and on and on.

one answer to these questions is our new friends:

In no particular order, Raven, Oriole, Blanche, Jane, Hedwig, Myrtle and Rosa Parks

after minimal research and maximum spontaneity, we came home one afternoon with 4 baby chicks. the brown and tan ones.

guys, they were the cutest thing that has ever happened.

our oldest. he would sneak into the bathroom where they were living every morning to hang out with them

SERIOUSLY CANNOT CONTAIN THE CUTENESS

guess what? chicken butt. get it?

obviously i was smitten. they're easy to care for and they have great little personalities. from the beginning i could tell who would likely end up being the top chicken in the flock order, and i was right.

it's jane.

how did i know jane would be in charge? because jane would wait for everyone to fall asleep. cuddled together. ball o' adorable fluff.

and then she wold open her little eyes ever so slightly. and look around, very gently.

and then take a running nose dive underneath everyone, waking them up and sending them scattering and then she would sleep in the middle of where they just were, nice and warm, as though nothing ever happened.

born politician, that jane.

"but wait," you are saying to yourself. "i see only 4 chickens in those pictures. there are SEVEN in your first picture. i just went back and double checked and there are 7 names as well!"

well done, observant one.

i couldn't control my feelings toward the cuteness and i bought 3 more.

the gray one and the black one were added to the flock when the bigger girls were about 2-3 weeks old.
jane was a dick about it and i took her out of the cage and made her watch everyone eat and she was
PISSED about it. but then she stopped nose-dive-running at the new babies and they were able to eat.

we had to get the next 3 as a straight run, which means we had no idea if any would be roosters.

turns out one is.

roosters are against city ordinance. but it's hedwig, and i love him, and he has ridiculous swagger. so we are going to put a crow collar on him and hope for the best.

so this brings me to sustainability again.

chickens are a sustainable thing. they eat tons of table scraps and their poop is great for compost, and they give us eggs. it's a win-win-win. sustainable system.

EXCEPT.

when one of the people in your house goes overboard and gets 7 chickens and then goes to the backyard chicken class at the extension office AFTER getting attached to 7 chickens, you find out some interesting information.

such as:

the breeds of chicken we have usually lay about 6 eggs per week. each. each chicken. 6 eggs per week.

obviously the rooster doesn't lay eggs.

we have 6 hens. 6 eggs a week per hen.

36 eggs a week.

friends.

that is not sustainable. WE WOULD ALL HAVE TO EAT 2 EGGS A DAY TO KEEP UP WITH THAT AND THE KIDS DON'T EVEN EAT EGGS!!!!!

but now i love the chickens. so the sustainability picture expanded to include sales and barters. whatever.

next problem.

the rooster.

who we are not supposed to have.

it got me thinking. chickens were made, like all other animals, to mate. studies and experience tell us that flocks are more complete with a rooster among them. roosters offer protection and are part of the flock order. and reproduction is certainly wise when it comes to a sustainable lifestyle.

if we can keep the crow quiet and don't get in trouble with the city, and we let the chickens sit on some eggs every now and again and turn them into babies……

well, then we can pick out the weak or aggressive chickens, or the extra roosters, and we suddenly have dinner. which, yes, means we have to kill chickens.

suddenly, even though i'm not necessarily excited about killing chickens, i saw the system from a much more primal stance. this is how people survived. daily eggs and what can be hunted provide protein. the chickens eat the scraps and produce poop and waste that become compost, which feeds the soil to grow better crops. the crops feed the family and the scraps feed the chickens. chickens who are poor producers, weak, or mean get killed and eaten because it's better not just for us, but for the flock. a chicken who is making no eggs is making no babies and is just eating food that could be going to productive ladies. mean chickens and weak chickens are a threat to their own flock. the rooster protects and fertilizes. two roosters in a flock is a mess. they fight and harm more than they serve.

it works.

it makes sense.

we don't need factories to feed us.

granted, balance is nice and i'm sure pioneers would have loved to have loved a hungry man or two on harvest days when mama was too sick to make dinner.

we survived this way for thousands of years.

we won't be killing the original 7 any time soon and we are a good 6 months away from the first time we will be looking at killing a chicken for dinner. i'm sure i will write about it.

i know we will face a lot of confusion and possibly a wee bit of backlash. but i hope more than anything that we can be part of a shift in this world. that we can be part of a generation that returns to the roots of ourselves, that values skill and knowledge and work, that remembers self-sufficiency and teaches it.

if not, i'm sure i'll end up homesteading somewhere, as a total social outcast :D

I'm Not Going to Apologize

i think that's common protocol to apologize for a blog absence.

i won't.

this is the internet.

1. nobody cares that i didn't write for whatever number of years
2. i don't care
3. blogs are for A) cathartic release, like a journal, or B) informative purposes, like an excessively drawn out, but free, how-to book. mine is a journal, so i have the right to forget that i even had a journal for 3 years.
4. meh

there are a billion places to begin.

my marriage has been in a precarious state for a number of years and it came to a big, pus-filled head last year in september. i saw a counselor who told me something to the effect of "the problems your husband is having are too big for you to handle. you are not big enough for this. God is sitting behind you while you claim that 'you have it under control and you don't need help and you'll figure it out', and He is waiting for you to say 'I don't have the skills or the knowledge, and i need someone else' so He can step in and do the dirty work."

at the time i very conscientiously knew what she was saying. i went home and relinquished control over major things that most people would have had trouble letting go of.

our marriage improved, he improved, and life has been good. i'm not going to break down the specifics dish out intimate details that don't need to be forever plastered on the internet.

in this last month, several major components of my life slammed themselves into a large brick. there will be a spectrum of damage, from shattered beyond repair to minor restorative work. what falls where remains to be seen.

i am tired. i gave all of my patience and understanding and grace and forgiveness, everything i had, last year when my marriage exploded. i have methods that i have grown accustomed to using in order to deal with stress. at least half of them are unavailable to me after the great brick wall incident of 2015.

i am tired and cannot see my safety nets. or the end of the tightrope i am walking. or how high it is off the ground.

i also cannot explain the situation in any literal terms, it seems. ANALOGIES FOR EVERYTHING!

on thursday of last week, my cognitive understanding of the wisdom my counselor poured over me last fall was swallowed by a deep emotional understanding.

it is not simply stepping back and releasing control over some things. demoting myself, or delegating responsibility to the Lord and taking what is left. delegation is still control. demotion still implies that you have a position within the system.

it is stepping back entirely, against my will, because i know i will fail if i stay here. it is putting my life, my responsibilities, my duties, my joys, into His hands with no knowledge of what will happen.

and then being covered with the peace that surpasses all understanding, right?

sure.

there is a peace. in the sense that the chaos is no longer mine. i am not sitting at the bed of the brick wall, sorting through pieces and trying to figure out what belongs where or is salvageable. my hands are not the ones bleeding. the gears of my mind are not the ones turning. the decisions aren't mine. i am back on some hill a hundred feet away, watching and waiting for someone to give me an update.

i do not feel blissful. there are no soft, joyful, radiant beams gracefully enveloping my spirit, warming me into transcendence.

i feel confident that in the end, what is left will be there because it was meant to be. i will always carry a strong conviction that there is a purpose for everything, because my God tells me so, my faith tells me so, and my life has proven it to be true thus far.

i am not sure that peace is necessarily a positive or joyful thing. peace after war brings joy, certainly. it also produces tension and anxiety. it requires that people create new cultural norms. it forces us to finally see the ruins around us that we had to ignore in order to survive.

peace can remove fear. that does not mean it removes pain.

i think that kind of peace is beyond comprehension. sitting a hundred yards back on a hill, terrified, solemn, aware that the pile below may be entirely destroyed, heartbroken and disoriented, and yet not screaming or impeding the work being done, not fighting the people trying to help you, not cursing them, not burying yourself in the ground to die, cannot be processed. that peace can only be experienced.

that kind of "peace" is the kind that tells you that the disaster will still be there if you walk away for a moment. it reminds you that you must trust the ones working, because you cannot do better. it reminds you that you cannot do anything right now. and it reminds you that at least once, maybe more, you were down in the shambles for someone else who couldn't do anything at that moment.

so i took a break from the wreckage and carted my peaceful ass to reconciliation for the first time in 5 years and sat myself in a pew for Mass.

and it helped.

and i have started praying the rosary every night.

and it helps.

because i don't have to make up any of my own words for Mass or the Rosary, and God knows i'm far too tired to even do that.

and then we will go to counseling and doctors and they will grind out plans that i will follow, and they will give instructions that i will follow.

because that is all i am big enough to do right now.

and honestly, i don't feel bad about it.

so i'm not going to apologize.

Circumstances

i went out to dinner with some of the other clearly crazy women who took on a role as a military man's counterpart.

i ended up asking pretty much everyone at the table how they met their man. the stories were REALLY interesting!! that's a truly unique thing to military life-- all the moving around gives you the opportunity to encounter a host of experiences and people that you would never otherwise have been exposed to.

and along that road, people often meet their spouses in some unexpected places.

like on a street corner. in fact, after this evening, i know TWO couples who met each other on a street corner. one was dared by a friend to talk to one of the men in those cute sailor uniforms, another decided to make a snide remark to a girl he walked past at an intersection.

the girl accepted the dare and has been married over 20 years.

the snide remark quickly turned into wedding vows.

i know someone who was at a bar with her girlfriends. a guy walked in, and a friend pointed him out and mentioned how cute he was. the (possibly intoxicated) girl said "i'm in love with him". they had never met.

they were married in less than a year.

one girl saw her husband for the first time in a dark theater and even then noticed how good looking he was. oddly, they figured out later, they became a couple on the exact same day as their first encounter, a year later.

there are a lot of horror stories in the military in terms of relationships. but there are so many AMAZING stories too. total chance, right place right time, situations that could never have happened if it weren't for the military's role in the life of one of the partners.

i would never have met my husband if it weren't for the military. and if not for the military, i wouldn't have two healthy little boys, comfortably provided for and cared for by a stay at home mom.

e comes home for 2 weeks pretty soon, his vacation from the deployment. and then he goes back to a slightly different job than he's been doing the last 4 months. where he's been has hindered our communication just a tad. where he's going is going to hinder it quite a bit. it's not going to be easy. and i know i'll curse the military more than once during this time, as i have more than once in the past.

but all in all, at the end of the day, there's a balance. there's joy, laughter, unity, grace, and hope. there are trials too, but that's true in every career, every walk of life, hm?

here's to all of the joy that has arisen because of the armed forces-- every street corner romance, every nourished mouth, every chance meeting of friends around the globe.

and here's to all the people who are showing up, little by little, at just the right time, that are helping me along this journey.

thank you.

Control

i will try to make this brief, for the simple fact that i know enough of my own anger to know that it can be both explosive and lengthy if left unchecked.

3 weeks ago i asked my primary care manager (re: my general physician) for a referral to a doctor who could place an IUD for me. i was called back a few days later and told they were quite capable of doing it at the clinic and their first open appointment was 2 weeks later. i said that was fine.

i very VERY specifically, and repeatedly, requested a Paragard IUD and was specifically and repeatedly assured that it would be a Paragard.

the morning of my appointment, after i got all checked in and was brought back to the room where placement was to happen, i sat waiting for them to input the last of my info in the computer.

the device was removed from its box, wrapped in a sterile towel, and was sitting next to me waiting.

the doctor came in to double check that i was in fact there for IUD placement. and then i was asked to get into the customary hospital gown.

and that's when i saw the box. the nurse had been holding it in her lap, faced away from me, and was about to move it to a counter to my left. it was a Mirena. and i very quickly said "that's a Mirena, i'm here for a Paragard" to which the nurse responded

"honey, they're the same thing"

no, no they absolutely are not. this turned into a nearly half hour long argument between myself, a nurse, and 2 doctors who treated me in a manner that i will not elaborate on, but was at the very least unbelievably condescending.

what happened in that room was illegal. a Mirena IUD is not a generic version of a Paragard. it is NOT an acceptable, similar substitute. it has hormones, a Paragard does not. they were going to place a long term device in my body without even telling me what it was, thus without my consent. and then when i called them on it, they tried to sweep it under the rug by simply assuming i would believe their assertion that the two were no different from one another.

your doctors, pharmacists, whoever, do NOT have the right to give you ANY medication without informing you of what it is, the way it is to be used, and its side effects BEFORE the medicine is administered.

what kills me about this is that their attitude about the whole thing tells me that they pull this garbage all the time. they obviously routinely tell women things like "it's the same" or use their awesome reasoning of "Paragard will make your periods heavier, you know that right?" as a way to scare women into taking the easier to obtain Mirena. (because that's what this came down to-- they have to order Paragards differently and it's a much longer and more complicated process than Mirenas, so when they made my appointment, they had Paragards in stock, but when i got there, they did not. and they wouldn't be in for weeks.)

why is it that our society fights enormous, public battles for our right to terminate pregnancies, but nobody seems even remotely concerned with the fact that a scary percentage of women clearly don't know the difference, or the side effects, from one pregnancy-prevention drug to the next? doesn't it make more sense to inform people completely, extensively, even exhaustively, on their options that will prevent pregnancies, so they can make an informed, thought out, and individually tailored decision about what they want? don't you think more women (and girls for that matter) would be more prone to keeping up with their birth control routine, whatever it may be, if they felt totally confident in what that routine was, understood it, had some say and control in it?

i do.

here is the link to the side effects from Mirena, a hormonal IUD that releases synthetic progestin. progestin is the main hormone used in the "mini-pill" as well.

here is the link to the side effects to Paragard, a non-hormonal IUD

here is a link to ONE version of the pill, a hormonal form of birth control that uses a combination of synthetic progestin and synthetic estrogen.

you only have one body. don't let a stranger tell you what's best for it.

I am the VOOOOOOOOOICE!

happy st patrick's day! here is the obligatory link to what this day is REALLY about. now i don't have to feel guilty about encouraging people to go out and mindlessly drink for unknown celebratory reasons!

our house has been plagued by an enormous army of soldiers more commonly known as allergens.

i seriously envision them stabbing our nasal cavities with bayonets fashioned from twigs, covered in pollen poison.

i am still nursing, so the list of allergy medications i can take is limited- allergy medication by nature is meant to dry you out (runny nose, watery eyes, general oozing). it does not discriminate between phlegm and breastmilk, so many allergy medications can significantly deplete your milk supply. calvin basically refuses to accept that sippy cups have any purpose in life other than for him to fling around, so wiping out my milk supply seems like a very poor idea.

and by poor, i clearly mean on par with whoever thought up jelly shoes.

i can honestly deal with the discomfort. i gave birth naturally for heavens' sake! i am taking care of 2 children under the age of 3 by myself! i don't need no stinkin benadryl! i am woman! HEAR ME ROAR!!!

ok, hear me hack and cough up a wad of snot while my whole face turns splotchy shades of red and i begin to cry involuntarily and i wait for my chest to explode.

same thing as a roar.

the worst part of allergies for me is that i can't sing. in fact, the last 3-4 mornings i've woken up barely able to talk. my sweet, sweet coffee from my brother in law (BARISTA BROTHER IN LAWS ROCK!) has soothed my aching throat and the caffeine is probably the one thing that's really doing any work to relieve my constant headache.

coffee is my best, local, friend.

i have been singing more or less my whole life (which, if you recall my earlier post about being half deaf, is sort of a surprise to a lot of people). my brother dabbled a bit in a few stringed instruments and my sister got the double whammy and can both sing and play some music-machines.

singing is cathartic for me. i don't have much cause to sing in the house. i'm usually sort of preoccupied.

thankfully, with e gone i am the only one to run errands. also, our errands all magically have to be done at least 20 minutes away most of the time.

so i sing in the car.

it might be more accurate to say that i have a car-ride-long "the voice" style battle round with the radio.

and i am ALWAYS the winner.

adam levine would pick me EVERY time.

blake might not, but i don't trust his decisions anyway.

cee lo's cat would even be turned on.

and christina is begging me to let her sing on stage next to me

it's all true. every bit. don't question it.

there was a time when i would try really hard to look like i wasn't belting at the top of my lungs from the driver's seat. i was concerned that other drivers would make fun of me.

and then a few years ago, a few thoughts dawned on me:

1. nobody is paying that much attention to my car.

2. i will NEVER see those people on the road again, so what's the worst they can do? make fun of me to their friends who i will also never meet? ooooh the horror of strangers making fun of me and my never ever knowing about it!!!

3. it is really hard to hit all the dramatic notes of a song with your mouth half shut.

so now i have no shame. i'm busting it out like i'm dreamlover mariah carey, like i own the road and allllllll those people are my audience.

those honks are cheers of encouragement. the middle fingers? feverish clapping. they're on the phone calling their friends to tell them that they just saw the next american idol.

i'm the sh*t girl, i'm the biggest hit girl (see what i did there?).

but right now, i can't sing because my throat is under siege. so i sit hunched over in my car, bored, detached.

yes, even a touch depressed.

i have been eliminated from the battle round, voted off by POLLEN and the great state of alabama.

but don't you worry folks, i'll come back swinging. it'll try to break me, but you see, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger....

bwahahahaha