Normal People...

When normal people use the last of the mayonnaise they make a mental or physical note of the outage and continue on their merry way. When not so normal people, ie: me, run out of mayonnaise they begin scouring cookbooks for that recipe they know they saw. Confident in their abilities, being that they have made said product, once upon a time and it's simply not that hard. There's what? Three ingredients? Seriously, how hard can this be? First question...How many eggs does it take to make a recipe that only calls for 1 egg? That's easy! Recipe calls for 1 so 1. Um, no. It apparently takes 5. Sure it calls for 1 but that doesn't make much and being so easy that Elijah could turn out a batch, I should probably double the recipe. OK, 2 to start. Hmmmm, seems a food processor is not the best equipment, I broke the mayo. Read to pull it back, transfer to a bowl with whisk attachment, start with another egg (that would be 3) and whip in. Still. Not. Coming. Back. Together... Dump everything in garbage. Begin again. OK. Let's do 1 egg. Now up to 4. Slooooowly add oil. Looking good. Add a bit more...and blech. Oily, globby, mess being flung all over me by my #$%@# hand mixer. Dump in garbage. Grab bowl, balloon whisk, 1.more.egg (we're up to 5!!!) put in bowl, commence right bicep workout. And Voila!!! 5 eggs later I have 1 egg mayonnaise. Just one example of the lengths I go to, as to NOT take 3 kids to the store.

I'm still saying girl. Chick's are doing great. They're going to be a flighty bunch. The last ones we hand raised till about 6-7 weeks these guys were on their own outside at 1 week! Hopefully that means they will be more hesitant to be near the dog and save their own necks shall we say. Even the kids are leaving them alone. I'm sure the recent heat wave has something to do with that. I realize we moved here from Arizona but it doesn't take long to get acclimated to a cooler climate. Anything over 100 sends us all running for the comfort of air conditioning and a bowl of homemade ice cream. Cooking seems to be my hobby of choice as of late, using up the plethora of zucchini, beans and pickles. Unfortunately, I'm not the master of healthy options, classically trained I still hold a place in my heart for real butter and lots of cream. The french definitely got cooking right. We're at the tail end of the early corn, one more meal is about all I can expect. The shoepeg is tasseling out now and a few ears are on so hopefully not much lag. The only thing I really fear are the tomatoes. Countless numbers of orbs, large, small, oblong and minuscule. All starting to turn varying shades of red, yellow and orange. A trip to Portland Nursery planned to buy my winter garden already. Crazy to think of winter while it's 103 outside, but a necessary evil if we're to be eating fresh veggies for Thanksgiving. We plan summer in January and Winter in July, it all works out in the end. I hear the frozen, chocolate goodness calling my name now, next up hazelnut gelato and few more batches of pickles. Ahhhhh, summer.

Pearls.

I was reading my email this morning and a particular article has resonated through out the day. The writer was talking about pearls. Pearls are formed when a piece of grit, sand or shell get trapped inside an oyster. It protects itself from irritation by secreting a nacreous liquid around the particle which eventually builds into a pearl. The gist of the article being how something so irritating can turn out so beautiful and drawing the parallels in real life situations. Moments later I was reading another email filled with loss. A note to keep me abreast of a life I once inhabited, one that if I was still a part would've left me and my family devastated. I haven't thought twice about how we left things back in Tucson. Did the decisions we make really need to happen at the speed they did? If we had stayed another 6 months could we have sold our house ourselves? Would my pay have turned around instead of doing a nose dive into the empty pool? I don't think so. It would have and did get worse, it would have been too late. Jumping when we did, making some decisions that will ultimately effect us for years, were meant to happen. Stress on every branch of the family tree but nothing compared to what could've been. The loss of money, the loss of friends, our home, our lifestyle. It did all hurt. It was hard and pride admittedly rears it's head, causing me to not own up to walking away. But when I look at where we are, emotionally, spiritually, I would do it again in a heart beat. Life is good. We're celebrating 11 years of marriage this week. The kids are all completely different beings from where they were, confident, independent, extroverts. Most days I'm not a frantic, anxious, mess. Most days. Beauty does exist in life's irritations. As I tell Ethan, patience young grasshopper, patience.

Isaiah 45:3, I will give you the treasures of darkness and hidden riches of secret places, that you may know that I, the LORD, Who call you by your name, Am the God of Israel.

Just don't name them...

Meet 'Chipmunk'. So named for obvious reasons. A one day old Araucana that flew in under powers not her own, yesterday. Waiting all morning for the call to come get our peeping package. The post office had been notified and numbers left earlier in the week. The company had been gently reminded to make sure our number was on the outside of the package (which upon receipt was noted that it was). And yet... at 10 am I receive a phone call (and 2 emails) from Texas that the local post office can't get a hold of me??? Inefficiency of our government offices aside, we raced downtown.

*please note I hesitantly use the term 'downtown' as it is comprised of a smattering of tasting rooms and a few shops most locals can't afford to frequent.*

The confusion of the kids becomes obvious when we pull up,

'um, this is not where we get chickens!'

Oh yes it is!

The elderly farmer in line behind us took on the same look of wonderment as the kids, when our chirping parcel was placed on the counter for inspection.

'How did you get chicks in the mail?!? The Internet?!?'

after I explained how it was less expensive to over night them from Texas then to buy locally, I magically transformed from highbrow poultry purchaser, to thrifty mom. To my own surprise he then inquired if I had checked 'Craigslist', which I told him I had and they were still more expensive at the time we ordered. Which brings us back to our brown, white and tan fluff ball. She is not alone by any means and the other 9 are equally adorable and aptly named, but 'Chipmunk' has been claimed as my own and therefore will be chronicled here, for my own personal amusement. We had a relatively good success rate with raising chicks, even after Elaina tried 'teaching one to fly' last year, a night in a private room/ICU, left her fully recovered. I have few worries that she won't make it to laying age (about 20 weeks) and beyond. Where will she be in the literal pecking order? When will she first lay? What color will it be? (Araucana's lay multiple shades of blue/green eggs) Will she be a nut case like our adult Araucana (Marsala)? Or will hand raising leave her calm and tame? (not likely)

I know you're as intrigued as I, and so begins the adventures of Chipmunk.

*please note for any chicken breed nazi's out there, I'm referring to her as an araucana because that is what my invoice says, I do realize she is more then likely an easter egger. Those non-nazi's have no clue what I'm talking about and this is for the best.

SSSSHHHHHHHHHH....

Silence. Well, not exactly. I can hear the air conditioner trying to stave off the heat of the day. The gurgling of the fish tank and my MP3 playing in the kitchen. What I don't hear are the squeals of joy, cries of injustice or pleas for attention from the brood. He has taken them. He being dad, his first day off in 2 weeks and they are in search of a new dryer, scratchy towels be damned, I will fluff you again momentarily. He has taken them to let the silence fill the house and my own thoughts to over flow the void. Brain running rampant being my cue to write, I can empty it here and then resume reading the next book on my summer list. Silence. I don't know if moms can take it. We're so programed to work through the chaos that the calm is actually crawling with anxiety. I twitch. I fidget. I have to be productive. I have not mastered the art of being able to be. My husband would nap. My girlfriends would say nap, but would not themselves. It's not what we do. I think of all that needs to be done. Clothes that can be organized, drawers to be cleaned out, closets to be purged. There is bread to knead, a potential for pie in the fridge and a vacuum to be emptied. This is when I'm supposed to be cleaning up me. Organizing my thoughts, dusting off my cob webbed ego. Polishing my sight as to refocus on what matters. Call it summer vacation, I feel I've lost my focus. I've had more anxiety the last few weeks then in the entire past year, and why? Loss of focus. How easily we steer away only to find the wheel too difficult to pull back straight. Take your foot off the gas and spin in a circle. It takes effort to drive forward, avoiding holes, slowing for curves. At least for me, putting a name to it helps the process. Refocus, refresh, rejuvenate, release, letting go, giving in, giving over. Silence, lets it all come to the front. Listening allows me to hear and acknowledge what I am to do. Focus.

Vacations...

When you walk into urgent care on vacation and they ask if you've been in before, you should never be able to say yes. You should not be in the computer system anywhere but your home town, unless of course you're one of my kids. Actually, make that just Elaina. The last time we vacationed in Portland we ended up getting 3 stitches for running into a wall. This time she's on antibiotics for a week for presumably hugging the neighborhood cat Bubba and getting bit on the nose. A couple days of relaxation turned upside down. She's of course no worse for wear and should make out with nary a scar as a reminder. The memories that will hold tight will be the ones filled with screeches of glee from her cousins and candy overload from her grandparents. The purpose of moving 1500 miles last year was to be closer to family. Seeing their cousins once a year was not adequate. Talking on the phone to grandparents no longer placated the cries. I know the kids love Eric and I. But they LOOOOOOOOVE their extended family. Grandfathers are idolized to rock star status, grandmothers know all the best songs and cousins are the sisters they've longed for. Summer is the time to travel, school is just around the corner and getting away will soon be more complicated. Throwing stuff in a bag and hitting the road is still a feasible option, destination reached in less then 4 hours. Summer presses on and so do we. Gardens need pruning, laundry needs hanging and eggs are still to be collected. But for a few days every couple months what needs the most tending are the imaginations, hearts and souls of three little pixies.