Like a tidal wave
Lately, my life has been dictated by lists. Dozens of them, strewn throughout four or five notebooks and a couple Word documents. Even my lists have sub-lists; my To-Do notebook has been divided into Nursery, Baby Registry, stockpiling, currently needed grocery items, and Big Projects to Tackle Before Baby Comes and Takes Over. Each day begins like a tidal wave. I sit bleary-eyed at my computer, half-heartedly researching baby stuff while sipping my one allotted cup of joe. When the air has warmed enough to open all the windows, I begin to surge. Notebooks are gathered, priorities are determined, supplies are inventoried. By midday I cross off a few things, feel super accomplished, and then begin to rapidly fall. The energy that had sustained my whirlwind of activity, that had taken all night to build up, fades so startlingly fast it’s as though it never even existed. My oomph ebbs and I retreat to the silent, solitary world of Napping. Hello, my name is Amanda, and I’m eight months pregnant.
|Some baby…groundhogs?…in our backyard.|
Life around here has been simultaneously hectic and slow. With Baby arriving in about six weeks, we’ve been contending with baby showers, the manual assembly of various baby things, organizing and reorganizing (though that may just be early onset Nesting), and the voracious reading of books, books, and more books. My time in the kitchen is sporadic. A few weeks ago, I tackled my post-baby freezer cooking: double batch leek confit (for pasta, eggs, toast, etc), 2 quarts cream of asparagus soup, 3 bags granola, an herb pork roast with parsley sauce (raw), a southwest spiced pork roast (raw), 2 pounds barbeque pulled pork, big batch of chili, a tub of beef stew, a stack of tortillas, salted almond butter cookies, and mocha breakfast muffins. Perhaps I’ve been recovering ever since, as we’ve been subsisting on eggs, chicken breast sandwiches, soup and pasta. Quick and easy has never been a stipulation of cooking for me before, but then again, I amcurrently growing a human.
|Our new run, given to us by the best father-in-law ever! (You can see our old plywood one behind it.)|
Our chickens are doing well; the ladies give us five or six eggs a day. There have been a few episodes of jerkery, though, towards our runtish barred Plymouth rock, Laverne. She sustained pretty gruesome wounds at one point, forcing us to remove her and her sister, Shirley, who was also being picked on. They lived in their own little coop for a few weeks, until their wounds healed. (Chickens are drawn to the blood, and simply cannot resist pecking at it. It’s in their nature; they aren’t necessarily being cruel.) Since returning to the main coop, they’ve mostly been left alone, though poor Laverne stills gets pecked a bit. Oh, as an FYI for you chicken owners out there- before removing Laverne and Shirley, we did make them little aprons, which is supposed to both hide the wounds and make it more difficult for them to be pecked. Actually, they’re technically saddles, intended to protect the hen’s back from a mounting rooster. But reputable sources claimed it works for wounds, too. Well, it didn’t work. At all. Shirley kept trying to tear hers off, and Laverne’s didn’t seem to fool anybody. Perhaps it works for some chickens, but we didn’t have any luck with them. They did look super cute, though.
|Super colossal giant egg meets random tiny egg|
This post is getting a bit long, so I will conclude it here. Patrick is beckoning me to join him in a game of League of Legends, the newest obsession ‘round these geeky parts. Stayed tuned for a recipe for homemade hot fudge sauce!