She talks. And talks.

One of the big things that happened while I was "away" was that Abby started talking. I mean really talking. Before, she had been a master of communication, but used almost no real words. She was able to use grunts and sounds to make us understand what she wanted to say. With amazing accuracy. To outsiders, it looked like a mystery. Like Lassie telling the folks that Timmy fell down the well.

She still isn't always clear in how she says things, but she is getting better by the day and adding new words at an alarming rate. The funny thing is that Josh is really not very far behind her. I, though, am enjoying her new-found freedom in words.

The other day, we had this conversation occur about whether or not she could join us in a game.

Abby: "Abby play too?"
Meagan: "No, Abby. You are too little."
Abby: "I'm 3! And I'm tall!"
Meagan: "Yes, you are 3 and you are tall, but you are still too little for this game."
Abby, after a moment's reflection: "I need get heavy?"

Not exactly what I meant...

The kids and I were talking over our plans for the pigs during breakfast. In less than a month, they will be moving to a 2-acre plot out on our pasture, with the intention of having them plow it up and get it ready to plant a small crop of feed corn next year. They will be enclosed in an electric fence. But, given their past successful attempts at getting out, we were wondering about what would happen if they escaped into the pasture at large. There had been a weak spot in the fence that the cows found last year, so we were wondering if they pigs would find more.

The conversation went like this...

Caleb: Did that spot get fixed?
Me: I don't know. We'll have to go out and ride the fences.
Meagan: Ow.

Fancy Scratch Grains

We've been eating a lot of oatmeal this winter because we are unable to get eggs (the farm we were getting them from doesn't sell them in the winter due to low production and our hens aren't laying yet) and I have to pay too much for milk right now to make yogurt. We will occasionally eat a breakfast of fruit and toast or pancakes or waffles, but these don't fill us up like oatmeal. Anyway, it is our first real brush with eating seasonally and though I enjoy it, it does present a challenge. How does one make meals interesting when your choices are limited?

Well, I attempted to meet that challenge by incorporating other grains into the oatmeal. Since I have a grain mill and crack my own oats (my version of steel-cut), I can easily throw in another grain. My first experiment was adding some barley. No one even noticed. Which in some ways is good...at least they didn't reject it! I decided, however, that I was going to make them notice next time. So, my next experiment was to add spelt, kamut, barley, millet, and flax seeds to the oats. This, they noticed. In fact, Caleb said it looked just like the fancy scratch grains we feed the chickens.

Grandpa

Grandpa is our first named chicken. He's a rooster. We aren't positive which breed he is. We thought he might be a Delaware, but he could be a Silver Penciled Rock. His coloring is about in between the two...his underbelly isn't quite a dark as our picture of the Silver Penciled Rock, but it isn't as white as the Delaware either. Someday, maybe we'll figure it out.
Doesn't he just look like a Grandpa? Graying with a look in his eye that seems like the wisdom of age. Of course, he's the same age as every other bird we have, but he just looks like he's been around the block a few times.

The other day, we were in the car and Meagan pipes up from the backseat. She says, "I guess I do like Grandpa." This came out of nowhere, so nobody knew that she was talking about poultry. We were all a little shocked and said, "Meagan, don't you love Grandpa?" She looked puzzled and asked why she needed to love him. I, even more puzzled, said, "Well, because he's your Grandpa, that's why!" When she said, "He's not my Grandpa," well, that's when I started to connect the dots. Maybe we should've given him a different name. The chicken, not the man, that is.

I'm changing my name to Gigantor.

I'm starting to feel a little self-conscious. See if you detect a trend here.

Yesterday, Meagan and I were doing her "100 Easy Lessons" (reading) and she likes to come up with a sentence to fit the word she just read. For example, she may say "SAD...I cry when I am sad." Well, then she read fat. Her exact words were "FAT...My mommy is fat." Said as she affectionately rubs my belly.

Another thing the kids like to do it assign parts in a movie. For instance, "You be Nemo, I'll be Nemo's dad & you be Dory." Or "You can be Westley & I'll be Buttercup." Well, today, we are driving in the car & I have my feet up on the dashboard (Don was driving, don't worry!) and out of the clear blue, Meagan says, "Mom, you can be Gollum because you have enormous feet!" Umm...thanks, dear.

And then, just about 15 minutes later, she says "Mom, remember those HUGE panties you have???" Ok, ok... now WAIT JUST A MINUTE HERE! I am NOT fat, I do NOT have enormous feet and my panties are NOT huge!!! Yes, yes, I've put on a few pounds, but for crying out loud, I'm just pregnant! Boy, is she gonna be sorry someday when I repeat these fine words to her when she's pregnant with swollen feet and wearing maternity underwear. Just you wait, Meagan, my darling.

Now, please excuse me while I find a necklace to hang my wedding ring from, as my fingers are starting to look like sausages.

My old man

An excerpt from a conversation at breakfast this morning:

Caleb: ...and then live forever and have great, great, great, great, great-grandchildren.

Meagan: Ya! And you'd be like 31!

Me: [laughing] 31???

Don: Meagan, do you know that Mama is 31?

Meagan: She is?

Don: Yes. Does that seem old?

Meagan: Yes!

Don: Meagan, do you know how old I am?

Meagan: 110?

Compliments to the chef!

Meagan was "helping" me get dinner ready this evening. You know, dumping ingredients in & doing some wiggle motion with the spoon she called "stirring". After a quiet moment of contemplation, she says, "It looks like you are making dog food!" Why, thank you very much. Maybe I need a new recipe.

Oh, what will we do???

I've been sick as a dog for a few days now, but Saturday was the worst. Every single nerve/muscle in my body was in so much pain and I was running a high fever along with it. I pretty much spent the entire day in bed (moaning!), only getting up to use the restroom. Meagan, laying in bed with me, trying to make me feel better, says, "Oh, mommy, I wish you felt better! There's no one to cook for us!" Don, sitting right there, was a teeny bit offended, but we all had to laugh. After all, she calls 'em as she sees 'em!

One of "those" conversations

In the car...

Meagan: (crying alligator tears)

Me: *****, why are you crying?

Meagan: Because I don't like being sloppy.

Me: What do you mean?

Meagan: I don't like being sloppy with all these tears!

Me: You mean you're crying because you are sloppy with tears?

Meagan: Yes.

Me: You're crying because you're crying?

Meagan: Yes.

Me: Oooo Kay. (shaking head in disbelief)