Sergio is outside making a pen for our baby chickens. The first batch are almost big enough to get out of their container and mine are not as big but there are more of them and they smell. I'm ready for them to live outdoors now. Rosalind is in her room, which now has a door(!), and I'm pretty sure I hear her talking to herself even though she is supposed to be taking a nap. She took a goofy 20 minute nap this morning in the car and seems to believe that should be it for the day. I disagree with her assessment. I am sitting in the living room on the computer when I should be mopping the kitchen or cleaning the bathroom or hanging pictures or vacuuming the floor. I am using the excuse that I don't want to wake Rosalind. Clever, no?
They aren't this little anymore. These are Sergio's last week. Now they all have feathers on their wings and tiny combs.
I have found myself saying strange things in response to Rosalind's behavior this past week. Things that in my wildest imagination I had not prepared for. I don't think I will bother giving you any context for these statements as I don't think it would help shed any light on them.
"Eliot is NOT a wheelbarrow!"
"We do NOT throw the dishwasher! Say you're sorry for throwing the dishwasher."
"Yes, that is Rolo's oink."