Directing Hen's Poop As Needed

On Thanksgiving, Daniel, as expected, hooked up Carolina's computer and TV, crawling through the ceiling and making certain everything was on cable or wireless, returning a few days later to help more. I take him for granted, yes I express my appreciation, but probably not enough. Besides being extremely dependable, Grandpa calls on him often as well; Daniel is loving, kind, funny and intelligent and I do know how very fortunate I am to be his mother.

He reads my blogs on campus through his Iphone and he's probably snorting at my words right now. OK son and I'm blowing a kiss through the Iphone as well.

Jonathan melted down this morning. "Get your shoes on," I'd hollered after he'd eaten a bowl of oatmeal.

"I can't find them," he wailed.

"Find them right now or lose computer this afternoon."

"Then I'm not going to school."

"OK, now you'll lose computer for a week."

"I don't care."

"Fine."

So he did.

But it's gonna cost him and someday he'll put two and two together and not come up with three each time.

Today he can do the math and haul woodchips.

It's going to be beautiful outside so I'm gonna work and ease my mind by the sunshine therapy that gardening donates to me. My ugly greenhouse has a hen busy scratching up the soil for me, chowing down on bugs and pooping her brains out, adding nitrogen as needed.

My 2008 seed catalogs will arrive next month and I'm mapping everything out in my overloaded brain, I need more garden beds but don't have time, I've saved thousands of seeds, I could plant an acre of watermelons alone and dadgummit, maybe I will.

So there, Jonathan. My agile hen has more reasoning abilities than this son of mine.