I've never been a particularly religious person but I'm thinking I'll spend this week in confession, fasting and possibly create a shrine or two for good measure. I'm feeling a little like Karma's Plaything. I know that bad luck is simply bad luck but DAMN I'm feeling the downward spiral starting to strangle me. Not pleasant. Was I getting cocky, Fate? Because I'm the first to admit that LIFE IS GOOD. But I'll apologize if that is not the general consensus.
The downhill slide began on Thursday morning when I went outside to feed my chickens some leftover banana and found that two of them had been some animal's midnight snack. And one lonely chicken was left. My flock was reduced by two-thirds in one crushing blow. I hid this fact from the kids because it was time to go to school and I knew I would never get them going if they had some high melodrama to engage in that might just derail a day of education. After drop off was Body Removal which is definitely a profession I would like to avoid and I feel qualified to speak from experience. And now I've got A chicken. One. One really is the loneliest number. And she probably has Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after watching her coop-mates devoured. But I'm ill-equipped to deal with a chicken with issues. So I spoke lovingly to her as I cleaned up the carcasses. Isn't that enough? And I thought about what I would tell the kids. Actually, that's not true. I knew what I would tell the kids, but I just thought about how each of us would react. One of the reasons I wanted chickens is so the kids could learn about responsibility and the food chain and all that jazz. Not that I could say something like I know you are sad about grandma's death but remember how the chickens died and it was okay? It's not exactly like that but it's a start. I knew I'd tell them the truth but I was bracing myself for some heavy duty chicken grieving. I don't mean to sound cold. I was sad. I was mostly sad that whatever animal came to hunt took my favorite chicken. Yes. I have a favorite chicken. Kind of like all parents have a favorite child. . .You know.
When school was out, I told the kids and then immediately swooped them over to find new chickens. Nothing like racing through the grieving process in fast forward. On the way over to the farm store, they had ample time to grieve, bargain, deny, be angry and accept all before we parked. And they happily picked out new chicks. This new acquisition brings our family up to 2 parents, 2 kids, 1 neurotic dog, 1 chicken suffering from PTSD and some massive survivor's guilt, 1 angry fish and 3 new baby chicks. Come Memorial Day weekend, the hubby and I will be leaving the whole menagerie (that's kids and all) to go to Mexico. I hadn't planned on leaving my mom with baby birds but Circle of Life and all. And I'm sadly coming to realize that at this moment in time, Flannery is the SANEST of the entire bunch. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
Now let's skip ahead to Sunday when I realize that my wallet is missing. Emerson has a soccer game, both kids have a play date and the whole family has an indoor soccer game which means in between all those stops, I have to retrace my tracks from Saturday. Ever try to think about where you left something? I replayed all of Saturday in my head and kept announcing where the wallet could be but it was nowhere to be found. It's crushing to know that you did exactly what you warn against all the time. And I had to admit that I was a girl with no identity and I thought about running away to join the circus. I had to give up the wild goose chase and just go with the flow. I was like a man without a country except it was more the girl without her debit card. I'll also admit that a certain huge part of me was upset that I had lost the pizza card that needed one more slice before one was free. Oh, the humanity!
Sunday night ended in a trip to the Urgent Care for Emerson after he took a soccer ball to the face. Yes. Our last stop of the weekend could not possibly be a fun family get together where we all get to play soccer. A friend kicked the ball (which, by the way, is a tad bit weighted compared to a regular soccer ball) and hit Emerson smack on the right side of his face. I was pretty sure I would roll him over and find a bloody nosed mess but instead he was pale and blue lipped. After he finally got some air in him and his sobs wouldn't subside, we decided it was time to take him in. He said he couldn't bite all the way down on his teeth. I braced myself to find out that he'd broken some bone in his beautiful face but it turned out to be more an inflamed TMJ and a mild concussion. It's almost a disappointment when it's not as bad as you think. Well, not entirely. I have to admit that when Flannery fell and cut her gums on the bucket during this summer's river rafting trip, we were hoping it made her a little less adorable. But with Emerson, I was definitely thinking that someone had ruined my boy's pretty face and I was going to have to seek my revenge. Different kids warrant different reactions.
So I'm sorry Buddha, Shiva, Jesus, Yahweh, Allah, Fairies of the Mist, Odin, Zeus, the Lady of the Lake and Ganesh. Please stop kicking the ever living crap out of me. I am, by the way, fully aware that these issues all fall under the heading First World Problems and that I'm mostly just annoyed that a raccoon got the best of my favorite chicken, I am now forced to spend time at the DMV getting a new license which will require a new and possibly hideous picture and that my 8 year old son is going to expect me to entertain him for the week while he's forbidden from doing anything that might cause him to hit his head again which for his age group is pretty much a game within itself.
Awesome. Don't be surprised if you see me this week and I'm wearing full body armor. I just want to be prepared.