All roads lead to...

Rome Il Duomo.

Hey big girl.

My husband is 50% Italian as am I. It is only fitting we go to Italy for our 10 year anniversary. So we decided to leave the 3 kids behind for 10 days with the Nonni and flee. One night before we left, I wrote each child a letter just in case the plane went down over the Atlantic and we'd never see each other again. I woke up to my 6 year old the next morning in my face crying saying. "I had a dream you and daddy died." To assume I may have been a little apprehensive about leaving the country after that would be a correct assumption.

 On the day we left, the same kid who cried over our death, came running into our room and exclaimed "I'm so excited! You are going to Italy today... Can you leave?" You can imagine his disappointment when I told him our flight wasn't until the evening. Our 4 year old on the other hand doesn't grasp time yet and was asking us to relay the information to his grandparents on what restaurant he wanted to eat at for his birthday. His birthday was in 5 months and he didn't think we'd be back in time. The 20 month old child didn't have a clue anything was up, she's always too self absorbed or busy doing her beauty treatments.

I will say once in Italy, they didn't really cross my mind until 5 days into the trip. So, we called on the 5th day to check in, not because we really wanted to, more so out of obligation so my parents wouldn't think we were dead beat parents. The kids didn't want to talk to us either. Needless to say we were two young lovers having the most ridiculous, gluttonous and self indulgent time, savoring every second and fortunately documenting every detail with 1,577 pictures to show for it, which gives me a panic attack when I think of making an album.

In preparation for our trip we had to set some rules and guidelines. We love food and coffee. Obsessed. I love to cook and I love to eat. Starting June 1st we were to abstain from coffee or pizza until we landed in Rome July 18th. No big deal for some, but for us this was cruel and unusual punishment.

We left Charlotte on Friday at 6 pm and landed in Rome Saturday around 9:30am which was really 3:30am for us. Fortunately I had some Xanax and a beer on the plane to help me get a couple hours of sleep for the night, otherwise this insomniac would have never nodded off. We went straight to the Waldorf Astoria Roma Cavalliri to drop off our stuff and headed straight back out for our tour of the Vatican. We had some cappuccinos and pizzas to break our fast right before the tour started. Right then and there with the celebration going on in my mouth, I knew this was going to be an amazing trip. As I was thinking these thoughts I looked up to see our waiters face as Julius was in the midst of offending him. Julius was speaking Italian to him but was not saying the right thing which made Julius come across as totally rude. With a little guilt and a lot of laughter we headed to meet our Vatican tour group.

The tour was good. If I had feelings towards Michelangelo before, which I'm not sure that I did, they sure did change, for the much better and slightly worse. All the artists were brilliant. The sculptures and statues and paintings and detail on everything was insanity. I did have a bit of strong emotion at St. Peter's Basilica  grasping that Peter was buried underneath. This disciple, someone who knew Jesus personally, walked with Him, lived his life to bring glory to His name, who chose to be crucified upside down because he felt unworthy to have the same death as his Savior. If Peter could do this to me, I don't think I would be able to hold myself together if I took a trip to the Holy Land.

Moving forward we made a rule that every statue we saw we had to say who they resembled of someone we knew, it helped keep our minds stimulated when the jet lag wanted to sneak in. The main thing I was paying attention to was the accent our tour guide had. I studied it with all my heart. She was an Italian woman speaking English and I think I had an intuition that later on in the trip in Florence I would be playing a "foreigner" and needed to get an accent down. We went back to the Waldorf afterwards and have never been so obsessed with a pool. Whatever temperature it was, I am pretty sure they don't have it in America.

Arrivederci Roma! Off to Florence...

We took one of those fast trains to Florence. We hauled our luggage from the train station through the cobblestone streets until we arrived at our apartment where Antonina our 70 somethingish landlady was waiting for us. The staircase was not for the faint of heart, even without luggage. We hiked up several steep, concrete, sketchy, narrow flights of stairs until we made it to the top, the 5th floor. There we were faced with the Italian angel waiting for us with a bottle of wine and a tour of our apartment. We were a couple blocks from Il Duomo and were able to walk everywhere. No matter where we went in the city we could see that big beautiful voluptuous cathedral. All the roads lead to it, so we always knew where we were. And by we, I mean my husband. I shut my brain off for the trip and didn't know my right from left.

The summary of Florence was exploring our hearts out. We ate and ate and ate some more but were always starving an hour later because of all the walking, which made us happy because it would mean it was time to choose a place to eat again. I wouldn't consider myself a shopper but we shopped until we dropped. We had not a care in the world, which is not like me. I even welcomed all the smug and disapproving looks I got from the older Italian women who worked in the public market because of my short running shorts. I suppose I left the stick that's usually up my butt at the Charlotte Douglas International airport.

One night at dinner, we were sat with a family from Spain. After they left, they sat a mother and daughter duo at our table, Barb and Annie from Kansas city. We hit it off with them. I got up to go to the bathroom and remembered we were almost out of toilet paper at our apartment. Because it was so late at night I had no idea where to even buy it. I took a small wad and discreetly put it in my pocket just to last me until morning. So we continued chatting it up with the Americans and the subject of 'where does one buy toilet paper in this city because we are out' came up. Unbenownst to Barb, she completely jokingly said "Is that why you have toilet paper stuffed in your purse?" I then  had to shamefully pull a wad from out of my pocket and say, "Yes". Your sins will find you out. All to say we followed Il Duoma to find our way back to our place and then I ended up finding a package of toilet paper in the cabinet.

I am in awe of you, you big beauty.

Before this trip I rarely consumed any alcohol. The past 7 years I have either been pregnant or breastfeeding or dealing with some sort of hormonal imbalances making me anxious, crazy, insomniatic or sad that I didn't have any desire to go near a drink unless there was cause for a celebration of some sort. On occasion I would have a glass of wine but usually would have a headache the next day. One night we were sat with some lovely Norwegians at an outdoor trattoria. We ate a delicious meal and drank a bottle of wine. Shortly after dinner we walked around some more and decided we wanted a pizza and tirimisu. So we found a quaint restaurant and got more food and decided to try grappa. Grappa is made from the leftover grape after it's been pressed for wine. According to my father it's what the poor people in Italy used to drink. So one grappa led to another and another. Soon we found ourselves at a bar that we randomly walked by. It was a cute bar on the corner and inside we found drunk American college girls all gathered around the one male Italian bar tender. Never have I been more embarrassed for people's behavior as I was then and there watching typical American drunk college girls act like typical American drunk college girls around this Italian. I know he was in heaven. While Julius and I stood at the bar watching the scene we were only conversing in Italian/Spanish and broken English with each other. My grappa was making me feel overly confident so I decided to approach this group of girls. I put on my heavy thick accent that I learned from my tour guide at the Vatican and asked them if they wanted me to take a picture of them and their bartender boyfriend. Well wouldn't you know, these Americans love someone with an accent and soon they were gathered around me and I was all the rage. I introduced them to my husband who also had a killer accent and we made up an entire story of our life in Spain. Several times I had to pinch him under the bar to come up with an answer because I was drawing blanks on cities in Spain and the names of my 3 Spanish children. One of the girls lived in North Carolina and another one from Orange County, CA, two of the places we have lived. So of course we talked about several places there, making them excited because these Spaniards actually knew about unpopular places and knew directions on how to get from point A to point B. I told them my husband was a geography major, which they bought, and that's why he knew of all these places in the states. They begged us to go to the Lions Den which was a totally touristy American bar full of college kids. So we went, because when drunk American college girls invite you to party with them and you are parents of 3 filled with liquid courage turning you in to con artists, you accept the invitation. We told our female bartender before we left that we were really Americans, because she also bought that we were from somewhere other than America. She looked like she needed some comedic relief since she had to carry the extra load of her bartending partner who was swarmed by inebriated girls. We went to the Lions Den which was also full of drunk male and female college students studying abroad, definitely no locals. There was a boy wearing a Chapel Hill shirt so Julius started telling him players that the typical common folk from Spain wouldn't know, and of course once again, every drunk goes crazy when a foreigner knows something about their homeland. The boy was extremely excited, however not as excited as when I took it upon myself to tell him  "You looka like, how you say, Leonardo Dicaprio" winking and walking away. Being foreign, that is the only American actor I knew. And yes, he was a red head and looked nothing like him. He immediately told his friend and they clinked beer glasses. Julius and I eventually stumbled home arm in arm laughing hysterically like a bunch of school girls back to our place. Fortunately we could see Il Duomo and found our way but obviously stopping for a slice of pizza first. It was late and we had to get up in a few hours to ride vespas around Tuscany. I was laughing so hard in bed to myself and could not stop that I had to take a double dose of xanax to relax and fall asleep. Do as I say not as I do, but when in Rome Florence...

So a few hours later we awoke and hopped in a van and rode to Tuscany. "But Carey," you say "didn't you feel crummy after a night like that and only getting a few hours of sleep?"  Thank you for your concern and to answer your question, No. The quality of everything is actually quality, unlike we have here. In Estados Unidos I can't eat bread without feeling like I need to take a nap or it giving me an uneasy pit in my stomach. There I ate bread and pizza and drank wine to my hearts content without ever feeling bad, but that is not what I am here to talk about. Back to the rolling hills. We drove our vespas all over the country side and then went back to a Castle winery and did a wine tour and tasting. After that we went to Piazza Michelangelo back in Florence and hiked back down to our apartment to get ready for dinner. Our whole trip everyone kept asking us if we were on our honeymoon. Everyone was shocked when we told them it was our 10 year anniversary because we "look so young." They clearly didn't get close enough to see the crows feet and years of sun damage.  We decided to up it a notch and start telling people when they asked if this was our honeymoom that it was really our 20 year anniversary and that we got married when we were 12 and slept in bunkbeds for the first 6 years of marriage.

Oh Florence, you have a piece of my heart.

The next day we took a train and headed to the coast. We got dropped off in Vernazza, the fourth of the 5 towns in Cinque Terre. We ate lunch on the water and then went swimming because it was blimmin hot and I felt like I was going to pass out during lunch. Everything is outside and Italy was having a crazy heat wave. We climbed on rocks and jumped off cliffs. The first time I jumped I needed coaching because as I got to the ledge I would get panicked. And by needing coaching I mean I was getting coached by my better half but really wanted him to leave me alone because I didn't need a pep talk. I just wanted to jump when I wanted to jump. Anyway we had dinner in the square and met a couple from the Netherlands to which we hit it off with. Wednesday night they have live music so we danced the night away in the square and it felt like a dream.

My cousin Isolda who I hadn't seen since I was in Costa Rica 12 years prior, was now living back in Italy and on her holiday in the same region as us. Her and her boyfriend Luca took a train to Vernazza and we spent the day together eating, drinking, swimming and climbing to the top of the castle. T'was so good to see her and meet him. After they left. Julius and I wanted to paddle board. Unfortunately it was too choppy so we had to take out a kayak. This was lovely, that is of course before I felt like I was going to throw up as the water got choppier. The older I get the easier I get nauseated and dizzy. Can I get a witness? Anywho, we ate dinner and walked around a little bit more and found an alley stairway we wanted to explore. Who did we run in to in the alley but Barb and Annie from our restaurant in Florence. It was so exciting. Just when we were about to call it a night, a turn of events had us at a little bar conversing with our favorite Americans.

Here one may look upon our pink apartment and also upon the yellow kayaks in the water which had me nearly puking my brains out. The castle in the top right was used to keep a lookout for Turkish pirates, back in the day. Everyone would flee to the hills.

One day we hiked from Vernazza to the next town over, Monterossa. The hike was incredibly beautiful. On the trail we found an old man who was squeezing oranges and selling fresh squeezed OJ. Another man had a table set up selling jewlery. I am pretty sure both those men were set up illegally on the trail, but my jewelry I wear daily holds near and dear to my heart and I will thank the men for breaking laws. We came back and went swimming. That night we ate at a restaurant right off a cliff, it was pretty crazy amazing. After we got in for the night there was an incredible thunderstorm. Our windows were open and since our apartment was in the middle of the square every time the lightning struck you would hear the old Italian men hootin' and hollering. It was very moving to watch all the people working together to help each other bring in all the boats and shut down the places and take cover. The next morning it continued to rain and the setting seemed like a completely different place. We walked to the train station in the pouring rain and hopped on the train back to Rome. It was a good day to leave Cinque Terre.

 We trained it back to Rome and had a night time Colosseum tour set up, but we missed it because our hotel shuttle was running behind. It was ok though, I think by this time we were worn out. We enjoyed walking around that part of Rome, saw the Colosseum but did not endure a 3 hour tour. Besides, we were going home and out of time to mimic anyones accent again on the trip. The next day we said sadly goodbye to the Motherland. The last time I was in Italy I was a child who was attention starved and all I cared about was putting on a performance for my Italian relatives. This time, when I first arrived all I had cared about was the food. As I left, I was even more obsessed with food and craving to know the crap out of  history. I was in such awe of every beautiful thing I saw and I was not satisfied just looking at it, I wanted to know who built what and for what reason and the story behind everything. Maybe I am not as shallow as I presumed myself to be.

If I am going to be vain and put skank bathing suit pictures up, then expect to see ugly sleeping pics as well. Also, we may have kissed our way across Italy but I am also happy to report that we did have one major knock down drag out fight at the end. I should expect nothing less, we are Italians and it's what we do.

Once landing, reality quickly set in. We had envisioned our children running up to us as we walked down the arrival international ramp. We got nothing from them, except fighting over who was going to help push the luggage, which led to screaming. I was used to quiet and calm the previous 10 days that I literally couldn't take it. I needed one child introduced at a time. The drive home I told my parents I needed a vacation and contemplated jumping out of the moving vehicle.

Julius and I fought depression over the next week because it seemed like we had just lived a dream. Living so lavishly and selfishly was easy. We could not except reality, I could not pick up my purse even to just move it onto a chair without my daughter screaming thinking I was leaving her again. But alas, as with everything, time heals all wounds. I was drawn to anyone with an accent and wanted all new friends who were not from the states. I followed some Russian women around Costco trying to befriend them because they weren't speaking English. I loved my dad even more because of his Italian accent and wanted my mom to only speak to me in Italian. I respected our Danish friends here even more. Eventually though, we were back in the groove and so thankful  to have had the opportunity to have gotten away in this busy stage of life. Literally I saw the entire trip as a gift from the Lord. We were blessed with this amazing experience and totally undeserving. So many things could have gone wrong but the trip went so absolutely smooth. My parents sacrificing their life and time is also something I feel overwhelmed with.

Anyway I wanted to write some tidbits from this trip because I have had many a friend and neighbor ask me about it and it's been too overwhelming to talk about that I want to change the subject. But honestly, I have an issue even posting this. There is so much poverty and tragedy and evil and sadness in our world that I feel like a spoiled rotten brat talking about some stupid vacation as if it has any importance. I know this world is not my permanent residence and I don't want to ever hold my grip too tight. True joy only comes from the Father in heaven. Hallelujah this world is not our final destination.

Even so, come Lord Jesus come.

Arrivederci Roma...

If you are in Charlotte and want a pizza as close to one from Italy as possible, we have found that the Margherita pizza from TRUE crafted pizza gets it. For that I love and support them.

Boys will be boys and girls will be... boys

While both my boys are all boy, they are also polar opposites on many a thing, but poop and toots bond them and this whole family tightly together. Like the other night, my 3rd grader nephew was over and asking his Uncle Julius to quiz him on division. Julius asked him a few math problems before I could hold it in no longer when I busted out with, "What is poop divided by pee?" Julius stopped dead in his tracks and very sternly said "Carey. Carey. Carey." For a slight second I thought my immature division problem may have gotten me in trouble, but then he said "Those exact words were literally coming out of my mouth next! I wanted to say them earlier but thought you'd think I was immature if I didn't say real division problems first!" I'd like to say that kind of talk is rare around here but I would be telling a bold face lie.

 If you've ever watched Parenthood, our boys are Adam and Crosby Braverman. Our oldest one being an uptight rule follower and our middle child being a free spirited rule breaker. Jet even dances like a white dad in his mid 40's. Jet has told me on many occasions that he is not a fan of tattoos and absolutely does not want to ever have any. Benny on the other hand is already planning the design for his tat when he turns 18, in 13 years. I am hoping he picks something totally original like maybe a heart with "Mom" in the middle, or perhaps Tweety bird on his right butt cheek. Yep, that would make me proud. So, I picked Jet up from school yesterday. Driving home he told me he received a bookmark for his 7th birthday which was over Christmas break, he was getting recognition from his class now that school was back in session. When it's someones birthday in his class and the parent brings in some type of sugary toxic snack for the class to enjoy, the kid goes to the front of the class and gets the happy birthday song sung to them. The teacher then pretends to give them however many whacks on the rear as the age they are turning. She stops an inch or so away from actually hitting the child. I witnessed it once, it was pretty cute and funny. I asked Jet if he wanted me to bring in cupcakes or donuts this week so he could get the birthday song and spanks. He kindly, respectfully and honestly replied back, "No, not this year. I'll wait until next. I'm afraid I might toot." His brother was sitting next to him and responded so excitedly "Jet! At the exact same time as you said 'toot', I did an air toot!" Known to the rest of the world as SBD.

My 2 year old daughter says "Eeeeeewwww" whenever she hears a toot, real or fake. It's good to have a little girl around who knows what is couth and uncouth. Perhaps she can teach the rest of us. Anywhosies, we are having sausage and lentil soup for dinner tonight, it's going to be a musical night in the Milani home.

Thank heaven for little girls!

PS. Italy stories coming soon...

It's A Wonderful Life

Tonight my 9 year old nephew was over. He is pretty much an only child and not used to the "madness" as he tells me my house is full of. He experiences this twice a year when he visits. Yes, our house is loud and full of nudity and screaming, but it also is a place where we love each other, no matter how annoying someone is. We love each other when 

Perfectly good crust gets thrown in the toilet.

When we sleep on the floor in the face down fetal position even though we have a bed two feet away.

When mommy doesn't have the willpower to carve pumpkins until December  and doesn't want to let her children down so suggests a Christmas tree to keep it festive.

When goggles are argued mandatory for dinner.

Tonight was no exception to the rule. Hazel spent the evening butt naked because she wanted to sit on her potty that was placed in the middle of the kitchen. I don't potty train my kids. I don't encourage it. I don't have time for it but at home if they want to pretend like they are potty training themselves, then have it. She didn't start off completely nude but with a pair of her brother's underwear on because I haven't gotten her any of her own yet, note to self: buy some princess panties. I walked in to the boys room where the 3 boys were playing and found my nephew covering his eyes asking me to please put some clothes on her because he didn't want to see her private parts. He then proceeded to tell me that Benjamin "pulled out his thing". My sweet Benny sitting next to him on the bunk bed looked at me with the biggest smile and nodded in agreement and very proudly said, "Yep, Penis." So we had another talk about flashing people and how nobody wants to see that and all the reasons why you don't show anyone your wang. Out of respect for my nephew I agreed to clothe my daughter but since I had one out of 3 nude already I would just throw them all in the shower together. As they were all marching in the shower Hazel stopped and stood like her brothers do with her hands on her hips and peed right outside of the shower on the floor. This left me completely unfazed. They got out and as I was trying to get Hazel dressed she ran away and I didn't have the energy to go after her and was soon distracted doing the dishes that I completely forgot I had an uncomfortable house guest. A few minutes later Hazel is trying to wipe chocolate off her hands into the trashcan that was right next to me at the sink. "Oh" I thought to myself, "The wee one must have somehow reached up and gotten into the chocolates my neighbor has just delivered". I figured I would take care of that after I was done with the dishes. She couldn't get all the chocolate off her hands so she wiped the rest off onto my white kitchen cabinets. I can't stand stuff on my cabinets so I wiped it off with my knee and onto my pants that I'd be washing anyway. After I was done cleaning the kitchen I thought I'd better find my child and clean the chocolate off her hands. I then saw my nephew with a disgusted look on his face as he was exiting the boys bedroom looking like he was going to puke. I got closer and smelled the fresh poop. It hit me that my freshly cleaned Hazel was wiping poop into the trash can and not chocolate, that now I had poop on my knee and freshly showered Benny was hopping on one foot as he had a smashed log stuck on the bottom of his foot. To be honest I'd like to say that was an accident on his part but you never know with that child. After much clean up all was well and everyone was clothed. Hindsight I would have put up with the fight from my 2 year old child and gotten her pj's on right after her shower, but that would have made the outcome of my night easier and why would I want to be off the hook? Anyway, the night ended with reading, singing, hugging, kissing, praying and threats of the wooden spoon if anyone came out of their room. It's quiet now and I look forward to tomorrow and what the day presents. I don't take those babies for granted. I also don't take time away and alone with my husband for granted either.

God rest ye merry gentlemen and a Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night. Go in Peace.

Circle of Life

        "Oh no! Oh no!" I heard from Julius's mouth as we were pulling up to our house after church on Sunday. I looked up expecting to see our house on fire. Three weeks prior pulling down our street after church we saw our neighbors house on fire. That day I immediately called 911 and Julius ran out back and pulled a boy out of the burning building. By that I mean he went to the back of the house, beat on the door and made him get out. So I guess you could say there was no real physical contact but it makes for a better story. The lad's family was gone and he had no idea the front of his house was burning. When I think back to that day I am embarrassed thinking about the message I must have left on his dads voicemail with adrenaline pumping through me but trying not to scare him while telling him his house was on fire but that we had his son and help was on the way. After that day I decided to go get some type of training/certification for a help and rescue first responder type job. My dream was shot down by my better half as soon as it spewed out of my mouth. Semi-long story made short but you get the gist of it. This day though we drove up to see a massive hawk eating one of our beloved chickens. It was a gory scene. My 6 year old son and I started crying immediately.
   
      A few years ago we had chickens as well. All 10 at different times were slaughtered by raccoons. The first slaughtering massacre was the most frightening to me. Julius was out of town and I went down in the morning to feed them. It looked like the work of a psychopath. It was during my dark days of PPD and I was unstable and everything was a bigger deal than it really was, but I thought it was done by a human stalker who was trying to send me a message and would soon kill me. Maybe I had consumed too many Dexter and Criminal Minds episodes. Needless to say it wasn't, it was raccoons. We set up a raccoon trap. The only thing we ever caught was our neighbors cat. May he rest in peace. I'm kidding, it didn't kill him, just scared the crap out of him. And fur.

      I didn't really care about our poultry flock back then. Now though, I love our stupid birds. And actually they are quite smart. I think I like them because we have 3 kids who love them and they really feel like part of our family, like a beloved pet. They are actually excited to see me when I step outside. They run up to me like a loyal comrade, they all have different personalities , they perch on the window sill to check up on us inside, none of my food ever goes wasted because they'll eat it,  my boys will hang out with them for hours, they help teach my kids where their food comes from, the eggs yolks are orange from eating worms and bugs and things nature intended for them,  they'll follow the car as I drive away to wish me farewell and the list could go on. My oldest son one day told me not to tell his little sister because it would hurt her feelings but that he thought the chickens were cuter than her.

A doting Father to say the least.

So things are different this time you could say. Which brings me back to the scene of the murder. The four of us stayed in the car as Julius went to investigate. Slowly we all exited the car. The next question we all wanted answered was "Who was it?". When we found out it was Julius' chicken Eagle Bones Falcon Hawk, Jet stopped crying a little relieved it was his not his "little girl" as he calls her, Lucy. Our next mission was to find the others. We went and found 3 up in their coop scared out of their minds. What we didn't find was Lucy. Did she run away? Did she get carried off by a large predator? We had questions and no answers.

Where we lock our children when they misbehave. 

Joking, that would not be punishment for them.

We went in shifts searching the grounds for our lost chicken. For a while Jet stared out the window at the remains of our dear friend trying to hold back his tears but not always being successful. He came and sat next to me and cried and told me through tears and quivering lips that he wants that Hawk, who was now circling above waiting for clearance to come back down, to land so he could take a sword and stab in through the belly. "Trust me buddy, Daddy would shoot it with a cross bow if it were not illegal." Which really means if this scene didn't have to take place in the front yard in front of a potential passerby, this might happen. As our family was all gathered together in silence, I took the opportunity to pray aloud asking God to bring Lucy back to us if she was still alive. If you ask my husband he'll tell you that's one of the only things I am good at, stopping to ask God for guidance and direction on finding something, no matter how insignificant it may seem. This though, this was my son's little girl and we needed to find her.

The day we brought Lucy home

When all hope was almost lost and preparations were being made for the funeral ceremony and burial I wanted to take a walk outside to gather my thoughts for the eulogy. I felt a tug on my heart to leave our yard and go walking into a wooded area beyond the fence of my yard. I thought this was pointless as we had already looked everywhere. I left and looked where I thought I was being led to look. I found nothing, until that is I stepped back into my yard and found Lucy right at my feet. I thought at first I was hallucinating. For once, I wasn't. Lucy was reunited with her sisters and her "dad" and a bit of the days sorrow was replaced with joy.

 So I can't help but bring up some Scripture here. Luke 15:4-6 says "Which one of you, if he has a hundred sheep and loses one of them, would not leave the ninety nine in the open pasture and go look for the one that is lost until he finds it? Then when he has found it, he places it on his shoulders rejoicing. Returning home, he calls his friends and neighbors, telling them, 'Rejoice with me, because I have found my sheep that was lost'. I think maybe that's why I wrote this post. Not only because I had too much caffeine this morning and I had to put my excess energy to use, but also because I can't help but rejoice in our prodigal son/lost sheep  green egg laying Ameraucana chicken returning. It's a reminder to me of the celebration in heaven over one sinner who repents, keep reading in Luke 15.


We gathered round for the procession and laid that bird in the ground thanking her for the nourishment from her eggs, entertainment, company and sacrifice, that she died so that the other hens could have an escape route and live. She was named after a character on a horribly obnoxious children's show but how fitting that her name included "hawk", for one day that is what would take her out. I sang "Danny Boy" but changed the lyrics a bit to fit the scenario as the boys filled the hole she was laid in with dirt. It was a sweet time for our family and a chance to share with our kids that even though we may have sorrow, God in the end will always give us joy and hope. Lucy's return was the hope those kiddos needed that day and the wink I could feel from above. Also to let them know that death is real and that if they keep running around the house with marbles in their mouth they also may experience it soon.

       

Would this be a good time to promote our free range organic eggs for sale? Maybe not? You can at least sing the 'Circle of Life' lyrics as you are on your way, from your favorite 1994 animated movie as you scroll for a few last pics.

Eagle bones falcon hawk as a wee one

Welcoming the girls to their new home

                              

How the hen Benny is holding in the 2 above pics from hatch until now never got brain damage is beyond me. She has become the alpha and the most friendliest. She has chosen not to be a product of her circumstances

Chicken watching would help me could cook in peace

Hottie McHottie doing his thing

The night the hens moved into their permanent residence

The day their outside home addition was finished and they could finally live outdoors. 

The last documentation of our sacrificial hen, front row left. I've had to stop the boys many a time from lassoing them while free ranging

Jet holding Madea next to our metal rooster MacGyver

And now the aftermath of the event. Until the sting is over we are keeping them from roaming free for awhile. They are dying to roam the open land

Disclaimer: I haven't written in almost 2 years but for someone who doesn't like animals my last 2 posts have been about my pets. Forgive me. Now go in peace and may the force be with you now and always.

   

The Cats in the Cradle

I fondly dislike animals. Ok fine, I don't dislike them, I hate them. Ok kidding. I just don’t want to be responsible for them. And besides, there are way too many people who put animals before the sanctity of human life so I try and rage against the machine every now and again and act like I care nothing for them. However, whenever I would have a random cat in my yard, I'd gather up the children, make some popcorn and we'd watch it from the window like it was something we'd never seen before. So, with a pit in my stomach, I got myself a cat so I could put it outside and watch it in awe from the window.

My father informed me a few days before Christmas that there was a free cat in the lobby of his pet's vet. I took a drive, saw this gray 12 month old cat, felt no attachment and said I’d be back on Christmas Eve to pick it up. I thought the one good thing he had going for him was that he was an amputee. Someone had dropped him off at the vet with a damaged tail. Nothing that a little snippy snip of the tail couldn’t fix. He was tailless from henceforth. I thought at least he stood a better chance at my house with an almost 2 and 4 year old boy for there would be nothing for them to step on or pull.

Christmas Eve I drove to the vet. My kids were eating tortellini in brodo when I returned. For my non Italians, this is tortellini in broth. My recommendation for when you make this is to throw in a splash of red wine right before you top it with the parmesan cheese. You will be in peasant food heaven. So I brought the cat inside in a crate, covered it with some wrapping paper and had my offspring unwrap it. This is one time we didn’t need to be videotaping. They weren’t in tears full of gratefulness thanking us for this kind act. They were all, “Ok, that's pretty tricked out Mom, I’m gonna go finish eating now.” “But my dear boys, what shall we name him?” I lovingly questioned. My oldest responded with “Tortellini.” And while I was never uber fond of that, I suppose that's his name. 

The cat hid behind the washer and dryer almost the entire day. When he did come out, he had the worst gas you have ever inhaled. I mean the worst staunch I’ve ever experienced.  When he did make an appearance, you wished he was still hiding behind the washer and dryer. Anywhosies, every Christmas Eve night we go to my in-laws. When we got home that night we put the boys to bed and were about to cozy up to a classic when this cat had major diarrhea with the same staunch as the toots, all over my bedroom carpet and bed. As I was dry heaving and beyond pissed to clean it all up, the stench would not remove itself. Needless to say, we hated the cat and decided to return it to the vet the day after Christmas and were forced to sleep in the office that night.

Well the day after Christmas came and went. He never was returned to the vet. I'd like to say I was showing the cat grace but really both little boys had birthdays that week and our house was crazy full of out of town family and friends. We had 4 parties that week and that cat walked around acting like he had been living at our house for years. He wasn't pulling the skittish cat act that hides when strangers come around. My anger against the cat and its disgustingness started to diminish as I was starting to admire his confidence.

Weeks went by and my oldest who was now 4 was learning responsibility from this feline. He'd wake up every morning and feed the cat and against my wishes would clean the litter box with much gust. The 2 year old was constantly entertained by him and soon this stupid cat became a part of the family.

And you guessed right. My dream has come true. I started letting the cat outside. I can watch him from every window of the house being the crackest cat on the block. When you step outside he follows you wherever you go, sits by your side when you garden, accompanies you to the mailbox, runs laps with you around the yard. He fetches a ball, climbs trees, catches mice and is friends with the other hood animals. Strangers know him by name; other cats fear him, love him and equally respect him. Sometimes he jumps in the car when I am off to pick someone up at preschool just for the ride and to keep me company.

Don't get me wrong, this cat still annoys the living crap out of me. He is like another child except I can verbally abuse him. I realized I needed to tone down my harsh talking whenever the cat would start to muster out a meow and my 2 year old would cut him off and say “Shup cat”. My 4 year old would say “Get out of my face” to the cat who would be sitting minding his own business. I suppose they thought this what you say to the family pet for merely existing. While Tortellini is his name, he still hasn’t been called anything but “Cat.”

                                          

               Bad Cat

There was an episode of MacGyver where he took some kids camping in the wilderness. One escaped from the group and found himself face to face with a mountain lion. When Mac found the teen his advice was to not make eye contact with this wild cat or it would attack. I have tried this with my cat, no matter how much eye contact I make, it still won’t attack.

One afternoon I couldn’t find Jet, so I started calling out his name. I then heard him shouting from the bathroom, “I’m in here giving the cat a haircut.” I busted open the door expecting to find a pile of fur. What I found instead was an empty unused tampon applicator filled with cat food that he was trying to stuff in the cat’s mouth and feed him through like a syringe.

Anyway, at the end of every day, I am shocked that the cat returns home. Daily he gets laid on, French kissed, what tail he has gets pulled, trapped in upside down laundry baskets, dressed up, thrown in the creek, sprayed with the hose, and all done out of love from the wee ones. He usually is purring during the torment. The thing I don't get is that he doesn’t run when he sees them but actually approaches them. He will get in bed with them like he has no recollection of how terribly horrible they were that day. When I lay on the couch at night or sit at my desk I can rest assured that he will be on my lap and that I will lose feeling in my lower extremities. Julius has suggested making him a prosthetic tale. Who knows, maybe a movie will be made after him. I hope not, that would be terribly awful. Even more awful than me taking time to write about my pet cat.