Exciting things are happening around the chickie babe homestead this week! First let me ask you… Have I mentioned math is not my thing?
Like… Not even a little bit. Especially mental math. In fact, mention “mental math” around my big(gest) sister and she will vividly recreate the scene of an evening some 15 years ago involving me, my mom, a simple 5th grade math assignment, and some terrible adolescent coping skills…
Picture this, if you will… Nine-year-old me, toe-headed and freckle-faced. Probably wearing my favorite pink sweatshirt with a picture of a basset hound lying in a hammock that said “lazy days.” I was trying desperately to do my homework for Ms. Kinch’s class, which consisted of simple addition and subtraction math problems (WITHOUT USING MY FINGERS TO COUNT). This is because we were supposed to be practicing “mental math.”
I couldn’t do it.
After several attempts at this whole “mental math” thing, I was overwhelmed. I was quite the spectacle as I cried that typical overly dramatic, pre-pubescent cry. The theatrics peaked as I repeatedly said through snot and tears, “I CAN’T DO MENTAL MATH!” (Fifth grade was hard, guys.) Meanwhile, my big(gest) sister (I think she was 25 at the time) was in her bedroom, (un)conveniently located right off of the living room. Much to her dismay, mental math was (not) happening and it was causing a ruckus just one room away. She was most likely trying to avoid any type of human interaction, especially with a pitiful, blubbering little sister. She was not impressed with my crybaby antics and essentially told me to SUCK IT UP (and quit your crying). To this day, she likes to mock my most famous line to date… “I CAN’T DO MENTAL MATH!”
So now I’ll bring it full circle and introduce you to a little thing called “chicken math.” Chicken math is this strange phenomenon that happens in the world of chicken motherhood and it happened to me this year. Chicken math, simply put, is the complete lack of math skills when counting your chickens. Unlike 5th grade mental math, chicken math is desirable, and it’s something I am surprisingly good at! The concept is quite simple: You just keep buying more and more chickie babes thinking you have a rough ballpark estimate of how many you may have, will have, hope to have, forgot you had, might one day have… but never actually have a solid cut-off point for when you are no longer allowed to bring home more chickie babes. Before you know it, you’re rolling 30 chicks deep and you’re wondering if you need to drop out of grad school and quit your job so you can be a full-time chickie mom. (It’s quite tempting).
What I’m really trying to say is, I ORDERED MORE CHICKS! They are set to arrive to our chickie babe homestead this week!
So where am I going to put all of my chickie babes?! (Since the bathtub is out of the question, hubby says no). I am very fortunate to have a hubby that builds me things! He is converting one of our barns into my chickie babe palace! He told me he knows “exactly” how I want the coop so I am going to put my trust in his carpentry skills. (Right after I send him an entire Pinterest album worth of coop pictures… but I swear I totally trust him). The coop will accommodate *insert chicken math amount* more chickens and will allow me to expand their chicken run. I will be keeping the OG coop and run intact just as they are.
I will update all of you chickie babe followers on the new chicks and our progress on the coop later this week! I am so excited to expand my flock with hopes of providing many of you with fresh, colorful eggs (or should I say butt fruit) from the chickie babe flock later this year!