what i've been reading

I decided to try something new for the blog today, and I'm joining my first ever Show Us Your Books link-up with Stephanie and Jana to share the books I read in June!

Party Girl, by Rachel Hollis:  A few weeks ago I logged into my Amazon account, only to realize that I'd been the beneficiary of $17.00 in credit thanks to a class action lawsuit I didn't even know I was a part of.  I decided to download Rachel Hollis' series since I am a big fan of her website, The Chic Site, and had been dying to read her books for quite some time.  Party Girl is the first book in the series, and I read it in a few long porch sitting sessions over the course of a weekend.  The book is based on the author's life, and how she got her start as a Hollywood party planner.  I was rooting for the main character the whole time, and the book was fun, light, and made me laugh.  Which is something we could all probably use these days.

The Good Girl, by Mary Kubica: I've heard that this is similar to Gone Girl, but I didn't read that so I can't speak to the similarities.  It was about a young woman who disappears, and the chapters are each written from the point of view of a handful of characters related to her.  Each chapter is written from the particular narrator's perspective either before, during, or after the disappearance.  This was a little bit confusing, and a few times I had to flip back to the chapter title to see the time period, but overall it was an effective way to tell the story.  The story itself was gripping.  I couldn't put it down and just when I thought I had the plot figured out there was a major twist.  In one chapter I'd find myself liking a character I felt like I should hate, and hating one I felt like I should like, and then in the next chapter I'd change my mind completely.  Five stars.

The Shop on Blossom Street, by Debbie Macomber:  I read this in a few hours while I sat on the beach, and it was a perfect beach read because I didn't have to concentrate too hard on it.  I could read a few pages, people watch, read a few pages, people watch.  It was totally predictable from the first chapter, but it made me want to move to a tiny town and open my very own yarn shop.

And I don't even knit.

The Bright Forever, by Lee Martin:  Well, I think I've met or exceeded my annual quota for books about people who disappear.  This one was about a little girl who rode her bike to the library, and never came home.  The book details the investigation and I felt like I was watching an episode of Law and Order: SVU.  It was sad and to be honest, the end got weird.  I work in the child welfare field, so reading a book about a missing child and the people she should've been able to trust but who didn't protect her when it mattered wasn't enjoyable for me.  I'm glad I finished the book, but I wouldn't recommend it, and it made me want to pick up lighthearted Party Girl again.

This weekend I finally joined our local library, so I feel like I have the literary world at my fingertips.  I got three books this weekend, and two audio books.

And none of them are about mysterious disappearances!

Any suggestions for me?

he literally looks like a million bucks

A few weeks ago Matt started watching a show called Justified.  After the first episode he said, "I can tell I'm going to love this show.  It has all of my favorite things - cowboys, cops, and crime-solving."

I figured he'd love the show and start looking for a job and real estate in the eastern Kentucky mountains, where the show is set.  What I didn't count on what getting this notification from Amazon on Thursday morning.

First of all, can I just say THANK GOODNESS for Amazon Prime, because how would we ever survive waiting more than 24 hours for this sophisticated Stetson to land on our doorstep?

When Matt got home from work on Thursday night we talked about the purchase and I asked if it was really worth the money, since he works in a fancy office in Philadelphia and is not an actual cowboy, and also what in the world did he plan to wear it with?  And he said, with a completely straight face, "I'm going to wear it with my cowboy clothes."

I worked from home on Friday, and the mail truck came by and deposited the Stetson around 2:00.

When Matt got home from work I was chatting on the phone with my friend Stacy, but he walked into the living room and tipped his hat to me and said, "Good evening, miss."

My family always jokes that I love nothing more than a reflective surface so I can look at myself.  Which is admittedly true.  I even glance at myself in the microwave every time I walk by it.  Well once Matt donned that hat last night he kept walking by the mirrors in the living room and remarking on his good looks.

He's been working on a big project at work and had to finish a few things this morning, and I saw this when I walked by the office.

The hat may have been many, MANY times our annual hat budget (which happens to be zero dollars), but he does look handsome.

But I'm not going to be as easily sold on a move to Kentucky.

hindsight is 20/20

Last week was my annual eye exam.  As soon as I scheduled it, memories drifted back into my mind of of last year when I attended my appointment and ordered all manner of optical accouterments and paid for the whole shebang out of pocket because I was under the impression that I did not have vision insurance.

As it turns out, I did.

Whoops.

So this year I had every intention of printing my vision insurance info out at work, but I completely forget so I stopped at my parents' house before the appointment to use their printer.  Unfortunately, in order to log into the insurance website you have to log into 47 other places first, and I could remember exactly zero passwords.

After half an hour of unsuccessful log ins, my dad suggested I just go to the office and see if they could find my insurance in the system.

I use the word "office" because it sounds more sophisticated than where I was actually going, which was the vision department of my local Sam's Club.

The vision assistant, Bevin, found my insurance right away and told me that my exam would be covered and I had a $50.00 credit towards materials.

Well, hot dog.

Things went downhill from there.  I had to take my contacts out and then sit for ten minutes in the "waiting room" aka a metal bench in the toothpaste aisle of a big box store, until the doc was ready.  And in those ten minutes I became incredibly nauseated from watching blurry figures wander about with carts filled with what I could only imagine was all manner of giant bags of pierogies and lifetime supplies of Ziploc baggies.

I wanted to blindly feel my way to the Dramamine aisle because I was in a STATE.

Finally the doc called me back, and after I read a few lines on the screen, he pulled the giant lens contraption away and said, "Hmm.  Let me just wipe off these lenses to make sure they're not smudged or something."

They weren't smudged.

My eyes have just evidently had a rough year and I will now be sporting driving glasses on top of my contacts.

Part of me was bummed, but the other part of me was psyched to be able to use my $50.00 material credit to return my aging eyes to their youthful glory.

And now I'm wondering how far I could take this vision insurance thing.

Maybe I should make an appointment to see about an eye lift.

Pun intended.

it's like christmas in july

Well, we're having the most gorgeous July weather here and I tried to write this blog post on the patio, but for some reason the neighborhood ice cream truck plays only Christmas carols, and it has already driven around our block 647 times with a steady loop of Joy to the World, O Come All Ye Faithful, and Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.

I suppose the driver didn't get the message that it's July 4th weekend and American the Beautiful would be more fitting.  I feel like I should clue him in to some more seasonally appropriate songs, since I consider myself an expert on holiday music and even hummed My Country, 'Tis of Thee while I cooked dinner tonight and warned Matt to get ready for a weekend of song because I have lots of patriotic numbers in my repertoire.

I use the word repertoire like I regularly sing someplace more sophisticated than our stall shower and the occasional elevator with good acoustics.

Anyway, we kicked off the holiday weekend yesterday afternoon.  Matt and I had dinner reservations at Ruth's Chris Steakhouse at 7:00, but my office closed early for the holiday so I took the train downtown a few hours early.

Matt met me at the train station and showed me his office, but unfortunately he was in the midst of a major work deadline so I hung out at the Starbucks down the street until he was finished working.

And let me tell you, I could write a book about what I witnessed during my ninety minutes in that Philadelphia Starbucks.

The only seat available was at a high top table, quite unfortunately located right next to the bathroom, but the alternative was sitting on a bench in the rain outside next to the people with ACLU shirts handing out flyers, so I took the table.

About five minutes into my visit I learned that the code to the bathroom was 1776, which I'm sure would make our Founding Fathers so proud.

I became the unofficial keeper of the code, and whenever someone would try to open the bathroom door and realize there was a code, I would just say, "It's 1776."

God Bless America.

I brought a book with me, but I was so preoccupied people watching that I only read 23 pages. 

There were two women sitting at the counter against the window with bare feet and no visible shoes. 

They were sitting next to a man with a sleeveless shirt and a paper number from a run safety-pinned to the back of his shirt.  Interestingly enough, he'd paired the running number/shirt with jeans and  pair of sensible loafers.  

A half hour into my visit, a woman with an accent and a handful of maps asked if she could sit at the other stool at my table for a minute.  I said yes because she looked like a tired tourist who could use a little rest while she waited for her drink.  But then she proceeded to change the numerous band aids covering the blisters on her feet.  

A lady came in with quite a large dog who had a menacing bark.  I would know because he barked for five solid minutes.

There was also the woman sitting right next to the door who asked every patron what they'd ordered before they left.

"What did you get?"

"A skinny venti iced caramel macchiato."

"How about you?"

"A flat white."

"What's that drink?"

"It's the new Youthberry White Tea Granita."

Eventually I decided to wander to the Macy's down the street because I wanted to make sure my hair and makeup were on point for date night, and all I had at my disposal was the teeny tiny mirror on the end of my chapstick, and the mirror in the 1776 bathroom that I wouldn't enter for a million bucks after I watched the parade of characters going in and out over the last hour.

Matt met me at Macy's, and then we wandered around the city for a bit and then headed to dinner.  We had two Ruth's Chris gift cards so we went ALL. OUT.  I didn't even eat again until about 2:00 this afternoon, and even then I had a few bites of my leftovers and was full again.

But now that I'm thinking about it, I could go for a sweet treat.

I just need to follow the Christmas carols to the ice cream truck.

this is a lot of traveling for a homebody

Last Thursday I went down the shore.  

I was there until Sunday, when I stopped at home to unpack and repack my suitcase for a work trip on Monday morning.  The work trip took me to the Pocono Mountains, and I took advantage of some beautiful hiking trails before and after my seminars.

  The scenery was quite the juxtaposition from the conference, which was at an African themed resort.

I got home on Friday night, and tomorrow morning I leave for a girls trip to Washington D.C. with my mom and sister.  We get back on Thursday and then I round out the month of travel with one more long weekend down the shore.

And then I will come home and never leave again because I am a girl who likes to be home, and after this month, I've almost forgotten my address.

Although I'll admit these trips have been pretty fun, and I've covered all the bases.  Beach, mountains, city, and African safari.  

If only I could arrange to have these views and that gorilla statue at my house.

i've learned my lesson

Due to a surplus of vacation days that have to be used by the end of the month, I had off on Thursday and Friday, so I took advantage of the long weekend and my in-laws' empty beach house and took off Thursday morning for a few days down the shore. 

It was glorious.  I read five books, took a million walks, and ate cheese and crackers for every meal.  

The beach was so breezy that I wore my sweatshirt three out of four days, and on Saturday I even traded in my shorts for a pair of capris.

And that's where I went wrong.

Like a total beach novice, I did not put sunscreen on my lower legs, ankles, and feet because I foolishly figured since 80% of them were covered, I'd be fine.

I was not fine.

After I finished my book, I took a little snooze, and when I woke up my lower legs were burning with the heat of a thousand suns.

I could almost see the heat emanating from them.

I am not kidding when I say I think you could've cracked an egg on my shin and fried it.

When I got back to the house I put on a generous application of aloe and some cold compresses, which is a routine I've repeated regularly over the last 24 hours.  The pain is decreasing but I still can't really get a shoe on, so that's going to make my fancy work conference tomorrow very interesting.

My sister has a twitter account where she posts songs that correspond to her current situation.  

They always make me laugh, so I figured I'd give it a try for my current situation.

Maybe Rod could send me some aloe.

at least my hair looks fantastic

After a full weekend, I went to bed at 11:00 on Sunday night and slept the sleep of angels until I was awakened by an unbelievable noise at 1:14 a.m.  My startled brain obviously jumped to the worst conclusion.  My eyes blinked wide open and I laid there in complete fear for three seconds before I said to Matt, “Did you hear that?”

“Yes, I did,” he said.

Since he’s never one to volunteer any extra information or thoughts, even in the face of a middle-of-the-night terror, I pressed him, “Well, what do you think it sounded like?”

“I think it sounded like someone breaking into our house,” he said very matter of factly.

Let me pause and say I don’t know why someone would break into a house where the owner has an NRA – LIFETIME MEMBER bumper sticker on his F-150 in the driveway, but I don't pretend to understand the thoughts of a burglar.

With that, Matt slid out of bed and prepared to canvas the house, while naturally I stayed under the covers with the numbers 9-1-1 typed into my phone so I could hit the call button immediately if I heard a ruckus.

Matt tiptoed around the second floor, and then I heard the stairs creak as he went downstairs.

He returned a few minutes later and said, “Well, I didn’t see anything.”

“Nothing?!” I said.  “You checked all the doors and windows?  You’re sure?  I can’t just go back to sleep now.  Something made that noise and I have to know what it was.”

“I really don’t know what it could’ve been,” Matt said, “Unless it was your shower thing again.”

He opened the bathroom door, and lo and behold, it was the indeed my shower thing again. 

On the positive side, at least I know Matt is man who doesn’t balk in fear at checking on things that go bump in the night.

However, the heavy duty shower shelf I bought after the April "incident" apparently isn't all that heavy duty after all.  I either need to find some industrial suction cups or an alternate plan to contain my beauty products, because if I don't, that shower caddy is going to get even heavier when I add the hair dye I'm going to need to cover the grays I'm getting from all of these imagined break ins!

keep up the good work, june

Well, the only thing that could've made this weekend better is if it was three days.

Oh wait, thanks to an excess of vacation days that have to be used by the end of the month, it was.

On Friday my sister, my aunt, my cousin, and her baby came over for lunch.  After lunch my sister and I got pedicures and then wandered Target.  I got home just in time to find Matt in the kitchen making homemade pizza, so all in all Saturday and Sunday had a tough act to follow.

On Saturday morning I drank my coffee on the back porch and then we spent the day doing chores and running errands.  Then Matt and I settled in to enjoy the gorgeous evening on the back patio and ended up sitting there for SIX HOURS.  We sat down at 5:00 and didn't come in until 11, and I am not kidding when I say I came incredibly close to bringing my pillow outside and sleeping there.

However, we'd spent the better part of the day finishing our backyard chicken coop and moving a fake hawk statue around the yard to keep the bunnies away from eating the plants in our gardens and I didn't want the neighbors to think we'd completely lost our minds.

Sunday was rainy, but I got to visit Annabelle and made it back home before the worst of the storms arrived.

We sat on the back porch (are you sensing a theme here?) and watched the rain.  There's something you have to love about a summer thunderstorm, and the skies cleared up just in time for a Sunday night walk.

June, so far, so good.

time to buy stock in centrum silver

Matt leaves for the office every morning at 6:30 and typically gets home around 6:00 in the evening. He walks in that door at 6:00 looking every bit as spiffy and pressed and put together as he did when he walked out eleven and a half hours earlier.

I, on the other hand, leave for the office around 8 and by 11:30 my hair is flat, my makeup doesn't look nearly as good as I thought it did when I applied it three hours earlier, and I've gotten a run in my stockings.

I'm very conflicted about the issue of stockings because I know they're so 1993, but I cannot bring myself to put my bare feet in my high heels.

However, when Matt came home from work on Thursday night he didn't look like his normal spiffy self and I could immediately tell that something was wrong.

He walked into the kitchen and solemnly announced his hardship.

He had a stiff neck.

Dinner was just about ready so he VERY GINGERLY took his seat at the table.  He went to great lengths to bring fork all the way up his mouth so as to not bend his neck even a tiny bit, and even had to drink out of a straw.  Halfway through his pork chop there was a noise in the backyard and he turned slowly at his waist and looked off into the yard and said, "What's all that ruckus out there?"

And just like that I felt like my life fast forward about 60 years.

I was sympathetic to Matt's neck pain but when he started dramatically singing an original piece entitled "The Pain, The Suffering, The Agony" his histrionics made me laugh and even he could not keep a straight face.  He threw in a few musical terms and then we started talking about our musical pasts.

He played the saxophone for a few years and I was in the grade school choir.

And believe it or not I remembered quite a few songs from those grade school years, including but not limited to "One Small Step" and "Turn the Lights On!" COMPLETE WITH HAND MOTIONS.

I also remembered every word to a Latin song we sang in second grade at First Holy Communion, which is amazing to me because for the life of my I can't remember to buy milk at the store or the password to my email account, but I know every word to Jubilate Deo Omnis Terra Servite Domino in Laetitia from 20 years ago.

I performed a few grade school choir classics as we loaded the dishwasher.  The motions to One Small Step involved some foot stomping, and I think I stomped a bit too enthusiastically because I'm sorry to say my left foot has not been the same since Thursday night.

On the upside, my internal stockings conflict may be resolved because I think there might be an orthopedic boot in my future.

this is for the birds

Well, last weekend we visited Hell, but on Friday we felt like we were actually living there because it was a zillion degrees in our house.

It's one thing to buy a house in December and say, "No air conditioning? No problem!  We love the fresh air!" and it's quite another to try to sleep on May 27th when it was 94 degrees all day with 74% humidity and your bedroom will not cool down past 86 degrees.

I was yearning for the days of yore when we were dealing with the opposite problem of dry heat and subarctic temperatures.

Our house has one air conditioning wall unit in the family room and a very old one in the kitchen.  And by very old I mean it was manufactured during the first Regan administration.  

And it has wood paneling on the front.

However, it still works like a charm so obviously the GE engineers of 1984 were doing something right even if the decor and style were questionable.

Matt and I went to Wal Mart on Saturday to buy an air conditioner for our bedroom because we are weak and high maintenance and I'm a bear if I don't get 8 hours of solid sleep, but they only had one model left and it cost $400.00.  That's a high price to pay for a cool bedroom.

A Wal Mart employee told us that they restocked 260 air conditioners on Friday night and all but 4 were gone by Saturday morning.

We went next door to Lowe's and they had a plethora of appropriately priced air conditioners.  We bought one and also breezed through the lumber department for some more chicken coop supplies.

When we bought our chickens someone told us that our first dozen eggs will cost us a thousand dollars, and she was right.  This chicken coop is quickly approaching the short but prestigious list of valuable items we own, including my pearl necklace and our wedding rings.  I think we need to add a line item in our will for this chicken coop.

Luckily it's almost finished, because the girls are still in a box in the garage, but they're getting big. 

 

We came home from running errands a few weeks ago and Daisy was standing outside her Rubbermaid container looking in.  

She had literally flown the coop.

I bet she was too hot and looking for the land of air conditioning.

michigan part 2

We drove our Nissan Rogue back to the hotel on Friday night.  Also, if we had a dollar for every time someone said, "You're driving a Nissan in GM country?"  we could have afforded to buy the nicest GM vehicle in Pinckney.

Matt and I woke up bright and early on Saturday because apparently when you turn 27 you can't sleep in anymore, and decided to go for a walk in the hopes of finding some picturesque Michigan scenery.

This was the best we could do.

However, we did find a Dunkin' Donuts where I ordered an iced caramel coffee, so all was not lost.

We got back to the hotel and prepared for the main event.  Let me just tell you, there was no humility in that hotel room.  Matt and I kept walking back and forth past the mirror and complimented ourselves every single time.  We did one last mirror check before we left and Matt sighed and said, "It's just a real bummer I couldn't dress like a Secret Service agent."

Yes, because that's an appropriate getup for a casual backyard wedding.

We arrived to the wedding a whopping 45 minutes early, but thanks to the google we were able to discover that in just 5 minutes, we could go to hell.

Hell, Michigan.

And so we did.

And now I can officially say I've been to hell and back.  And hell consists of a gift shop, a saloon, a a surly biker gang.

I'm not kidding.  We left the car running while we literally ran out and took this picture because those bikers didn't look thrilled to have a car full of out of towners descending on their space.

The wedding itself was lovely.  The weather couldn't have been more perfect and it was small and simple.  Once the sun went down we sat around the fire and had s'mores.

We headed home on Sunday, and everything was going swimmingly until the TSA agent flagged me because my driver's license had my maiden name, but my boarding pass had my married name.  I have the license update card that reflects my name change, but the agent said anyone can make a piece of paper with a different name and they had to verify my identify.

And let me tell you.  That process took every bit of 45 minutes and by the end of it I was questioning my own identity.  A supervisor came over and called some phone number and I had to answer crazy  questions about myself for the person on the other line.  I don't know who the heck was on the other end of that phone call but they sure had an awful lot of intel about me.

If it hadn't been a rather serious situation I would have asked if they'd called my mom.

After the phone call, I had to go through a private screening, got the major pat down, and then they went through every single item I had with a fine tooth comb.  They even turned every single page of the books I had with me.  My only regret is that I forgot Matt had thrown his diabetes supplies in my purse, because it doesn't exactly look good when you assure the TSA agent you don't have anything sharp in your purse and she pulls out a bag of needles.

Whoops.

I have to say that every TSA person that screened me and my belongings was super nice, but super not messing around.  Luckily I was finally cleared and we headed home to Philadelphia.

I just bet the whole screening process would've been a lot faster if only Matt had been wearing his secret service agent outfit.

Next time.

hello detroit

One of Matt's close college friends, Ron, got married in Michigan this weekend, and we made the trip out for the occasion.

We left bright and early on Friday morning, and were through security and eating breakfast  sandwiches and drinking Dunkin' iced coffee by 8:30.  We were traveling with two other friends, and our flight was on the prestigious and luxurious Spirit Airlines.  The seats were tight, but the plane was nice enough and I resisted the urge to ask the pilot the date of the last major engine inspection and if he was prepared to respond appropriately in the event of a bird strike.

I wouldn't say I hate the whole flying experience, because once we are at cruising altitude and the plane is level, I'm a happy camper.  But getting up there?  I cry REAL TEARS.  It is completely ridiculous but I cannot help my terrified self.

I've never liked roller coasters or amusement park rides for the very same reason.  The descent isn't the bad part, it's getting to the top that does me in.  The last time I rode the log flume I almost climbed out of my log halfway up.  I hate it.

Anyway, we survived the flight (no bird strikes!) and we landed in Detroit around 1:00.  We took a shuttle to the airport Enterprise location and as we pulled in, our shuttle bus driver proudly announced, "Welcome to Detroit! To thank you for coming to our wonderful city we are offering all Enterprise customers complimentary, one of a kind, Detroit hot dogs!" 

And she was right.  They were grilling right there in the parking lot.

I'm sure all that jet fuel and car exhaust gave the hot dogs some extra flavor, but we passed.

Instead we stopped at the CVS across from our hotel to pick up some snacks, but what to our wondering, Pennsylvania eyes should appear but liquor! And beer! And a whole aisle of wine ON SALE.

In Pennsylvania you can only buy alcohol at a state store, so seeing it in a CVS was like seeing a unicorn and obviously we indulged.

The bride and groom invited us to their house for pizza and wings on Friday night.  They have a beautiful piece of property in an itsy bitsy, teeny tiny town called Pinckney, Michigan.  It was about 40 minutes from the hotel, and for the first 35 minutes of our drive, we saw nothing.

Literally, nothing.

 No grocery store.  No gas station.  No police station.  No Target.

Just flat land and trees.

And the four of us pretty much talked about "Where does Ron buy food?  Where does Ron get gas? How does Ron get cold things home from the nearest grocery store?  What happens if Ron forgets a dinner ingredient? Do they even have police where Ron lives?"  By the time we got off the exit we were almost ready to stage an intervention and bring Ron back to civilization/suburban Philadelphia, but at that moment we drove past a Kroger, a gas station, a McDonald's, and a chiropractor, and what more could someone really need?

The wedding was happening AT THEIR HOUSE the next afternoon, so we ate our pizza and wings in the tent they had set up in the backyard.  I'll tell you what I wouldn't want to do at my house where I would be throwing my own wedding the next day.

Host a bunch of out-of-towners for pizza.

But the bride and groom were so laid back and we had so much fun and I mostly just laughed the whole time because there's not much funnier than a bunch of guys telling college stories.  I learned that Matt's buddies didn't believe that I existed at first.  They thought Matt made me up to impress them.  I also learned he scored a 42 on a Music Listening exam once and may or may not have illegally transported a construction barricade in the backseat of his 1996 Chevy Prism.

We left around 9 so we could navigate back through the Michigan wilderness to the hotel before it got too late.  We made it back safely even though the GPS was giving directions like, "In .2 miles, turn left on Plant Trucks."

Michigan is strange.

I'm going to continue this in a part 2, because evidently I have a lot to say about Michigan.

anyone have a good quiche recipe?

Well, tonight I'm coming to you live from Noah's Ark.

I am not kidding.  My laundry room is flooded and there are three chickens in my garage.

Let me back up.

From the beginning of time, Matt has been talking about how he wants to get some chickens to raise in the backyard for a hobby and eggs.  My long-standing counter argument was that we don't really eat eggs, but several months ago he launched a strong chicken campaign and started eating egg salad for lunch and making me eggs for breakfast on the weekends.  He has not let up on his egg consumption for MONTHS.  

In addition to eating eggs like crazy, he's been researching backyard chickens and even has a few books.  Last Saturday we went to a party at his aunt and uncle's house, and they just so happen to have some chickens.  

And on Wednesday I was driving to Moyer's Hatchery to pick up our very own chicks.  They are the prestigious (sarcasm) breed known as Brown Egg Layers and cost a whopping $2.70 a piece.  I know an elephant at any price isn't a bargain, but I'd say a Brown Egg Layer for two bucks MOST CERTAINLY IS.   

Since the chicks were only going to be one day old, I brought a nice basket, a towel, and some hand warmers to keep the delicate little things toasty warm on the drive home.  And then I walked into Moyer's Hatchery and was handed a brown paper bag with three chickens inside and sent on my way.

  

Either I'm high maintenance or this was going to be easier than I thought.

Once I got home I got the chickens all set up in their bed, or if you want to use the technical farm term, their "brooder." Which is actually a bright pink Rubbermaid container.  They settled right in and mostly cheep and eat and sleep, but they seem happy, as far as chickens go.  

We cleaned out their bed on Saturday and put them in a cardboard box temporarily.  I stayed in the garage with them and made sure they didn't fly away while Matt washed out their food and water dishes.

And then on Sunday evening I ran a load of laundry, and when I went to switch it to the dryer I walked into a pond of water on the laundry room floor.

Matt immediately jumped to the worst conclusion, and while he fiddled with hoses and pipes and started hypothetically comparing repair costs versus buying a new washer, I stood off to the side by the wash tub sharing positive sentiments like "It could be worse!  It doesn't seem to be leaking ALL the time!" and "Hey, at least I got that last load of undies done!"  

And it was then that I noticed that the drain of the wash tub was filled which pine shavings from the chickens' bed, and that the newspaper that was wrapped around the red maple tree sapling that has taken up residence in our washtub (don't ask) was completely soaked, leading me to believe that the pine shavings clogged the drain, causing the wash tub to fill up and overflow when the washing machine drained into it.

I ran my hypothesis past repairman Matt, and we did a little test run, and that's exactly what happened.        

Luckily it was an easy fix, and I've done two more loads since Sunday with no problems, but I'm here to tell you I won't be sad when the chickens graduate to their outdoor coop.

When I was at Penn State, there was an upperclassman called  "The Chicken Man" who wore a chicken costume every day.  He'd walk around campus and into classes with his pet chicken named Henderson and leave an egg for the professor, all without saying a word.

It was totally bizarre but he was famous on campus until he unfortunately received a disorderly conduct citation for bringing a farm animal into an academic building, and had to retire the Chicken Man persona.  

But now it's like I have my very own chicken man.

Or, Noah.

Now I just need an ark.