Sunday

It’s a cold, wet Sunday afternoon and I’ve got pots bubbling away on the stove for dinners during the week.  We have a fire burning in the fireplace and the smells of marinara and stroganoff are battling for dominance.  The marinara will win, because marinara always wins by default of having to cook longer.   All in all, it’s pretty cozy.

Today has been all about the chores.  Sometimes I blow off the weekend chores because I just don’t want to do them *whine* and then I end up running out of clean underwear and I have to wear my running socks because I ran out of everyday socks.  I hate that.  More than I hate chores.

Even the dog is all sparkly clean this afternoon, but that’s more because she and I had to go on an easter egg hunt and she was covered in, well it’s better if I don’t mention that out loud.   We have one batshit chicken who has decided eating eggs is better than laying, but we can’t figure out exactly which one it is.  So the other chickens have started getting creative about hiding their eggs from her and Sasha’s beagle nose found a stash under a pile of boards.   A stash of eighteen eggs.  Yeah, thank God it wasn’t summer or we all would have found them a lot sooner!

Sasha was content to play fetch the egg, give Momma the egg for about eight of the eighteen eggs before she lost interest in tunneling under the pile to get another egg.  So I had the joy of laying on the wet ground and reaching all the way back under the pile to fish out eggs covered in chicken crap and feathers and who knows what else.  In the rain.  And the cold.  At this point I’m wondering where we got such creative goddamn chickens and how many I can fit in a pot at once.  Those chickens may be wily but I am mean.  And I have a big pot.

I have no idea why I felt the need to write about crazy chickens and pots of marinara.  I guess because it’s Sunday afternoon and there is nothing I have to do right now.  And that’s the part that’s pretty awesome.