BOGO Chicks

For as much as Seth calls the chickens "your chickens," they really our ours now. He buys them treats (mealworms and "fancy scratch grains"), likes to collect the eggs, and makes sure their coop is secure. He also likes the variety of egg colors we currently have (greenish and various shades of light brown) and has been wanting to add a few more chooks to the flock that would bring more variety to those colors. In March, he set out to look for new hens and ordered three Black Copper Marans, which lay dark chocolate-colored brown eggs. Because they are in such high demand, the earliest date they would be hatched and shipped was mid-June. (Note: I just read that Martha Stewart ordered Marans this year and when I told Seth, he said, "So, you're saying we need to send them back?") 

So we've been waiting since March for our new chicks to arrive. On Wednesday, I got an email notifying me they had been shipped (having hatched at 5am that morning) and on Friday, I got a call from the post office saying they had arrived and I needed to come pick them up. 

We pulled out the little coop Seth made a few years ago and got it all set up with food, pine chips, and water. And then we went to pick up the chicks. 

When we opened the box, there were three brownish chicks in the box, which I thought was a bit odd since we had ordered black chickens. I expected the chicks to be black, too. 

And I wondered why they were in such a confined space -- just that small area between the outer box and the inner box. 

We put those in the coop and then I opened the inner box to see if there was anything else we needed. And was surprised to find three more -- black -- chickens! 

That box had a small heating pack attached to the outside back of it and a bit of green food-type thing in. So . . . instead of three chicks, we now have six. I texted Seth and asked him how many he'd ordered and then I checked the original order -- sure enough, we had requested three. Not six.

I called the hatchery and apparently they send an extra chick or two with the order just in case one of the ones you order doesn't make it. We got three extra chicks. BOGO, I guess. They weren't able to tell me the breed of the extras they sent so we'll see what they turn out to be. My guess is Rhode Island Red.


Cael did the math ("Mom, what's 8 plus 3 plus 3?") and we now have 14 chickens. That's a lot more than I ever figured we'd have when we first started this chicken thing many years ago, but thanks to Seth's (and BIL Nate's) hard work over the years in expanding the coop, we have the space to keep that many.

Four of our current chickens are over two years old and have gone through their first molt, which means their egg production will start to drop soon (each chicken is born with a certain number of eggs they will produce and once they deplete that number, they are finished laying). The other four are just over a year old and have awhile to go before they are finished. So, these new six will pick up the egg-laying slack in a few months.

(As an aside, I'm not sure what we'll do when the older hens stop laying -- we've actually never had that problem before since all our previous chickens have always died in some form or fashion before they reached the end of their egg-producing capacity. I don't like the idea of keeping free-loaders around but I also don't like the idea of dispatching them myself . . . .)

Elizabeth and Cael have enjoyed holding the chickies, while Kieran will only pet them when someone else holds them.

We are moving ever onward with our little chicken farm. 

An Ode to Chiggers

Apparently, as of a few nights ago, the chiggers are back.

I broke my two cardinal summer rules:

1. Always wear bug spray when you go outside (we use Evada-Bug (note: this is not a paid advertisement for any product mentioned in this post--I share this out of the kindness of my heart)), and

2. Always rinse off after you come in from outside.

I didn't do either the night I was helping Seth put the water tanks on the back of the truck. And I am now suffering the chiggery consequences.

When I ordered 6 bottles of Evada-Bug last summer, the company sent me the Hot Rex Skin Smoothing oil and the Cool Rex Skin Soothing oil as freebies to try. I used both on the chigger bites and they seemed to help calm the itching until it wore off (I also added some prescription steroid cream for good measure).

But until they started working, thanks to Olivia Newton John, I sang this as I sat there scratching:

Maybe I hang around inside
A little more than I should
We both know I don't go outside
You lie in wait to pounce on me
And make me itch and scratch
So I believe you really ought to know

I hate you
I honestly hate you

You don't have to answer
I feel it in your bite
And in every welt you leave behind
You are mean and nasty
And you must realize
That it's coming from my heart and the rest of the places you bite

I hate you
I honestly hate you

I'm just trying to make you feel uncomfortable
So that you'll go away and leave me alone
But this feeling doesn't come along everyday
Just when you jump on me
So I take the chance to say

I hate you
I honestly hate you

If I could see you
I'd totally squash you flat
This moment might be ending in your demise
But you're invisible to me
And I'm a target to you
So I guess we'll just be leaving it at this

I hate you
I honestly hate you
I honestly hate you
I hate you, chiggers . . . . 

Cael turns 5

Cael finally celebrated his fifth birthday a few weeks ago. I say finally because he's been planning for it since his last birthday. The countdown was on for the next 364 days. 

Captain America T-shirt courtesy
of his cousins

Super graduation cape courtesy
of his teacher, Mrs. Karla

He's continued with his interest in superheroes and continually asks which superhero is the strongest, why Hulk doesn't have self-control, where Thor came from, what made Spiderman Spiderman, who is stronger Hulk or Superman, what would happen to a toilet if Hulk sat on it, how big Ironman is, who my favorite superhero is, which one Daddy likes best, and why he
still can't fly. I caught him jumping on a large pillow the other day and when I asked him what we was doing, he said, "I'm trying to fly. . . . Maybe if I jump up . . . ."

Spiderman gardening tools courtesy of Grandma

This was a conversation we had one day:

Cael: Who is your favorite superhero?

Me: Wonder Woman

Cael: What does she do? Does she wander around?

Superman jacket courtesy
of his parents

Astronaut cape courtesy
of Mrs. Roberta

Captain America cape courtesy
of Aunt Kenda

 Captain America has been his recent favorite so that was the theme for his party.

He also enjoyed discovering superlatives this year -- the largest animal is the blue whale, the largest living land animal is the elephant (except that dinosaurs were larger), the giraffe is currently the tallest (except that dinosaurs were taller), the fastest is the cheetah -- and asking questions about them in case their superlative status changed or he could figure out something else that was tallest/fastest/largest. (Thankfully, I'm still his best mommy.)

As I looked back through is previous birthday posts, I realized that talking has been a thing of his for most of his life. And this year is no different -- he still wakes up with words to say, eats while saying words, plays with words coming out of his mouth, and falls asleep with something to say. There isn't a lot that he doesn't have an opinion on or something to share about. Seth has tried to encourage him to use his "inner monologue" to no avail. 

He enjoys being with his family and helping out wherever he can. The other day he mopped the floor for me and the following day, after it had rained and we had brought a bit of mud into the kitchen on our shoes, he put his hands on his hips and said, "WHO tracked mud all over my clean floor?!"

Although he originally had claims to omniscience, he recently redacted them to, "I know everything that I know."

He surely brings us joy and laughter and questions. We're thankful for the blessing he is and continue to pray the Lord would draw him to Himself and shape him into the image of Christ as he grows. Happy birthday, Cael!

Previous birthday posts:
4th Birthday
3rd Birthday
2nd Birthday
1st Birthday
Birthday

The Didgeridoo

This past Christmas, one of the gifts my parents gave to the boys was a subscription to Little Passports. They love getting mail (especially Cael) so the monthly deliveries are something for them to look forward to and there's a bit of learning involved, as well. Each month features a different aspect of world travel and one of the themes was music. Individuals with Williams syndrome (the genetic disorder Kieran was born with) have a special affinity for music and Kieran is no exception, so that particular month was of particular interest to him. One of the instruments highlighted in the materials that came was the didgeridoo, one of the oldest wind instruments developed by Australian Aborigines.

My mom and I went to Australia in 2001 (shortly before I met and married Seth) on a tour with a few friends. We got to see a demonstration of a didgeridoo and my friend Dan tried it out. So I pulled out my pictures for the boys, showed them Dan playing the instrument, and then we watched a few YouTube videos of people playing them so that Kieran could hear what they sound like.

A few months later, Kieran asked his speech therapist if she knew what a "hullabaloo" was. It took me a few days to realize that he really meant a didgeridoo. Since then, didgeridoos have been a chosen topic of conversation. So much so that our AV/guitar/musician guy at church, whom Kieran had apparently been chatting with, brought in a didgeridoo his family had given him and let him play it. (Just as a side note -- we are so blessed by our church family who are so gracious and loving toward Kieran and all his quirks.)

Kieran was thrilled. Of course, that increased his perseveration on the topic. Although we've gotten quite a few instruments for Kieran over the years (a piano, recorder, guitar, violin, rhythm instruments, harmonica . . .), I figured this was one we would need to forego. I couldn't imagine finding an authentic didge and then having it shipped without a lot of expense. Seth, however, told him he would make a didgeridoo for him out of PVC pipe. So he did. He put a few pieces of connectors on the top and bottom at first.

But then decided that to make it an "authentic" didge, he would need to flare the bottom. So he did. With a heat gun. And then he got some type of coupling for the top mouthpiece and painted it brown.

And Kieran now has his very own "didgeridoo" to play.


It's been a bit surprising to see Seth take an interest in playing it, too. He's never had much interest in playing instruments or even singing, so it's been fun to see him find an instrument that he and Kieran can enjoy together. They've watched a few how-to videos and have started practicing their newfound didge skills.



Is there a place for the didgeridoo on the worship team at church? As a bass for the recorders in fourth grade? As a way to make a living? Who knows. For now, they're content to enjoy the didgeridoo they made together.