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Monday, January 30, 2017

Once upon a time there was a chicken


Once upon a time there was a boy. Girl liked boy. Boy liked girl. 

Girl and boy went for long rides and shared stories of their lives. 

Once upon a time girl introduced boy to a chicken. A chicken named BeyoncĂ© that was bought by a fellow blogger instead of a purchase of bathroom towels her husband didn't agree with. Girl already loved that big metal chicken. Boy fell in love too. 

A metal chicken love story was born. 


Confused? See the original Beyoncé the metal chicken/cluck, cluck mother f'er story here:


http://thebloggess.com/2011/06/21/and-thats-why-you-should-learn-to-pick-your-battles/


Girl never gave up hope that one day she'd own a big metal, rusty chicken. She dreamed of that fabulous, sharp, weapon like structure to place carefully in her yard. She'd often hear the door bell ring and just pray she'd answer it to a 'knock, knock mother clucker'  of her very own. 


Yet girl could only hope and dream. 


But remember, girl met boy and boy liked girl and boy wanted to make girl happy.... 


So along comes their first Christmas. Full of whimsy, and fun. Tinsel hung on the real tree they so carefully picked, cut down, and hauled home. 'Our first Christmas' ornament hung front and center. Gifts unwrapped and paper and boxes thrown out the back door onto the fresh Pennsylvania mud (you can't expect snow in this story). 


Then came a knock at the front door. Kids all pause in confusion as the electric sex leg lamp from Christmas story has already arrived therefore what other 'fra-gil-e' package could it be? Boy simply smiles and waits. 


Now normal girls would think it's a magical proposal scheme or company...both of which she would be pissed because she's still in her pajamas with her hair all over her head from night before. But not this girl....this girl was all 'could it be?!' 


Girl creeps to door gracefully like an angel in her adorable matching nightgown and robe....kidding! Girls trips and stumbles through boxes and wrapping paper yelling, 'who the hell comes to the front door' while in her old Christmas pj's that have ham juice spilled on them from throwing it in the oven.  


Girl opens and pauses. 


And like a light from heaven shown down at that very moment. There sat a 4 ft. 11 inch metal, rusty chicken. With its tail feathers shaped like a shiv and it's beak promising to cause stitches and a need for a tetanus shot. Girl flung open the door, hugged that chicken, as tears fell from her eyes. Girl dragged that chicken in the family room. No chicken of hers will withstand the Pennsylvania season of mud and cold rains. No metal chicken of hers will be exposed to the harsh conditions of 60 degrees one day, 10 degrees the next. 


Metal chicken has graced girl's life like a long lost love. Girl has named said chicken Bocephus. No country chicken of hers will carry a pop singers name.  Bocephus has been the new love of her life. She has danced with him and kissed him on New Years. She's gently dusted him weekly. She thought of making an alter for the chicken and leaving presents for him and lighting candles around him but girl feared people would not understand. 


Now boy sits and wonders to himself if he lost girls true love forever to a rusty metal object that she stares so aw-struck at daily. Boy sees glisten in her eye as she talks to the chicken. 


A country chicken love story has developed. Where it goes from here one can only imagine....let's just hope girl comes to her senses soon and agrees to put the chicken outside in the spring. 


Boy loves girl but boy will not tolerate the rusty metal chicken sitting between them on the couch! 




Tuesday, January 24, 2017

I used to be......

I used to be...... 


I used to be a blogger. I liked blogging. It was my thoughts and feelings. 


I used to be a kick ass mom. Now I'm just a mom getting by with kick ass kids that sometimes parent themselves. 


I used to be a chicken farmer....now those chickens just are there and are slacking in egg productivity. I used to spend hours with them and stress over egg production. 


I used to be a wife. I think I was a good wife. I did my best even on bad days. 


I used to be a social worker. I think I was good at social working, now I just need my own therapist. 


I used to be a daughter in law and sister in law. That ended too unfortunately. 


I used to be a school volunteer. Now all those kiddos get on my nerves. 


I used to be a painter. Now my bathroom has needed to be finished painting and furniture has long been destroyed. 


I used to be a runner. Now I can't usually find two tennis shoes to match. 


I used to be a Girl Scout leader. Now I can't even remember the days Girl Scouts is. 


I used to be.....  

I used to be......


While many, many things have changed in my life, I continue to be me. I have feelings and emotions, even as much as I try to deny them. 

I don't think I can get back to who I was ever, but I'll evolve and change. I will not quit. I will change and be better than ever. I'm letting who I was go.....I'm me and I won't stress over the 'who I used to be'. I will just restart with 'I am'.