Mighty Ed the Chicken -- the same bird who lands on my forearm each morning in the apparent belief that she is descended from hawks-- surprised us Monday. When we bought her, we were promised that she was an Easter Egger, and would therefor lay green eggs. When the new birds started laying around New Year's, we checked and re-checked the nesting boxes for the promised green eggs. No such luck. We did start getting a regular supply of petite, well-shaped, dark brown eggs and we figured that either Red was an outstanding layer, or that the man who sold us two deformed chicks (and some moldy feed) and then went out of business might not have been a reliable source of information. Imagine my surprise when the kids came flying out of the chicken coop Monday brandishing our first green egg.
The kids were not all that came flying out of the coop, though. The shock of finding the green egg made all three of them take leave of their senses and they forgot to latch the door to the coop. When we left the house 20 minutes later for violin lessons, half a dozen birds had busted out and were enjoying the fine spring weather. It took us 55 minutes and a whole heap of strawberry hulls to lure them out of the bushes, where we could corner them near the coop and pounce on them (usually). Not one of my dim bulbs (the birds, not the children) seems to remember the gruesome fate of the last two flock members who escaped. They have redoubled their efforts to break out of the coop and I had to slam the door in their little beaky faces the other day when they ganged up and began marching on me, a la the dodos in Ice Age (doom on you . . . doom on you).*
*The clip is in french, for which I apologize. Use your imagination. Or better yet, watch the film.
Spring fever has hit the boys as well. On the first warm Wednesday after a LOT of spring rain, we went to see Emma play softball. The moment we stepped off the parking lot pavement, we were ankle deep in the muddy water of a runoff ditch. Matty, who was wearing socks and flip flops, screamed in disgust. He must have gotten over the shock pretty quickly, though, because a few minutes later he and Nate looked like this:
Bored with the official game, they had decided that a little mudball was in order. They spent the rest of the afternoon getting in touch with their inner piggies, rolling, sliding and wallowing in the mud. The other parents looked on, thoroughly enjoying the sight of someone else's children looking so wet and dirty. I had to strip them (the children, not the other parents, the smug buggers) before I could let them in the car, and even the shoes had to be run through the washing machine.
The knitting continues, though not with any speed. The Sweater That Ate My Needles is done, finished on the plane ride home from Florida. The manufacturer did replace both broken needles (well, one broken circular, and one broken cable from my interchangeable set), but not before I tracked down a Florida yarn shop where I bought a nice Addi Turbo circular, which I have since come to love beyond reason. Buttons for this deceptively innocent looking cardi are on their way from TessaAnn, and the hardest part was choosing among all of the insanely cute options. I bought more than one set, though, because I have a full skein of this pumpkin colored yarn left over and I have started a second baby cardigan for a totally different baby.
Below are my Hearts Abound Socks, which should really be called the "I Knit Like a Twit" socks. After blowing through the heels on two pair of socks that were knit just a bit short in the foot, I overcompensated on this pair and have knit socks that are a good half inch longer than my feet. One sock is also longer than the other, which is very insulting. And I can only assume that I bought this yarn on sale, because otherwise I can't account for the choice of purple tweed for color. The only thing(s) I can say in favor of these poor misguided foot coverings is that I have enjoyed the whole patterned lace sock experience, and I have learned that I do like having both socks in progress at the same time as long as they are not both on the same set of needles. If you know of anyone with one size 9 foot, one size 10 foot, and a deep and abiding love for the color purple, please have them contact me. I have the just socks they have been looking for.
I'm including some random zoo pictures to close the post. Below are the worlds most boring penguins. Except for the unnatural stillness of the five year old who is watching them, the picture below could be a movie accurately depicting our prize penguins engaged in their perpetual job of doing nothing. We take their inactivity as a challenge, and we visit them every time we go to the zoo because we keep hoping that some day we'll catch them doing something.
Last is the World's Worst Photo of an Armadillo. I love how it (the armadillo, please, not the photo) folds up into a perfect little package like some dusty origami. Its little armored head even fits right in to its designated spot. When the zoo keeper set the armadillo down, it unfolded and waddled around the class room. I didn't get any pictures of that, though, because I was busy trying to get Matty to understand how totally cool it was to have an armadillo on your (well, someone else's really; there's no guaranteeing armadillo potty habits) floor.
And that's about it for today. Time to make the coffee and get on with the work.