T is for Toodle-oo, Tom!

So.  My husband, in the spirit of my husband, found a smokin' deal on Craigslist last week and got an entire flock of chickens for free.  The deal was, however, that he had to take the guy's turkeys, too.  And since that fateful night, we have been dealing with the terror that is Tom.   Tom is not nice . . .  not a "kindred spirit," if you will.  He is a terrifying and ferocious beast with an odd, blue head.  And I like him not.

On Friday, the girls came into the house and happily announced that Tom (the turkey of course . . . please, try to keep up) had turned a new leaf.

Sweet Pea: Mom!  He didn't even yell at us!  He just sat there and let us get the eggs!

Me:  Huh?  Maybe he just needed time to get used to us?

So, we were full of warm fuzzies for our new-found friend, Tom.  Although, to be fair, if someone were to call from The Craigslist, I would have made them quite the deal right then and there.

Over our camping trip, the girls shared this exciting news with my parents.

Me:  David!  Did I tell you?  The turkey was nice today!

David:  Yeah.  I think his legs are broken.

Me and the girls:  *gasp!*  Oh, no!

Because, remember?  He was our new friend.  For five minutes.

Well, folks.  Tom was fat.  He was a certain type of turkey that was bred for his large-ness.  Turns out they are so heavy, they can no longer reproduce naturally and the only way to get babies is to take them to a vet for a little "artificial insemination."

And who has time for that nonsense?

But, anyways.  Tom's girth ended up being his demise and his legs could no longer handle it.

Ok, even though I loathed Tom, isn't that kind of sad?  Poor Tom.  So, my husband left the camp site and, allow me to put this delicately, "took care of Tom."

I'm still getting used to the idea that I'm married to someone who "takes care of things."  Oh, to live in the city.

Tom is in our freezer, now adding turkey to the list of foods I cannot stomach to eat any longer.

Folks, country life is killing me.  I can't hardly eat meat anymore.  I was a fan of chicken, but now I have chickens.  And they are so . . . winged.

I was ok with eggs.  But, oh the poo-poo on the eggs.

David was making a joke about getting a cow.

Me:  A beef cow or a dairy cow?

David:  Beef.

Me:  Oh, good.  I'm not ready to give up milk yet.  It's my only source of protein these days.

Oh!  And my main man is taking all the rabbit poop and dumping it in the garden site because, apparently, rabbit poop makes your vegetables sing.

So, now I can't eat stuff out of my garden.

I'm just going to live off of Cheetos or something.

***

Camping.

Camping was fun and lovely.  We totally don't "rough it," so please don't feel too badly for me.  We went to a site where we could just plug our trailers in.  Plus, while David went home to "take care of Tom" (shudder), the rest of us went to a nearby town to do a little shopping!

Camping shopping!  Try it!  It's all the rage!

We even popped some corn and watched a DVD in my parents' trailer.  So, yeah.  Not so rough.

Here are some pictures of our trip.  You know.  To delight you.   Sweet Pea and my mother.

  David, Daisy Mae, and Little Dude.

Me:  David.  Could you please try and attempt to look like you somewhat enjoy your life?

  Is anyone else surprised that I actually got him to look somewhat pleasant?

  Daisy Mae and I

  My parents.

  One of our many attempts to get a decent family photo.

As you can see, it was a gorgeous weekend.

***

And, finally, I would like to leave you with the following convo between my mother and I.  My purpose in sharing this with you is to show you my roots and to give you a better understanding as to why I sometimes have a hard time with the country life and all the glory it entails.

Me:  I want to get rid of our rooster.

Mom:  Why?

Me:  I'm a bit weirded out by the whole fertilized eggs thing.

Mom:  That makes no sense to me.

Me:  Well, since there is a rooster, the eggs are fertilized.

Mom:  Don't get it.

So, now I get to try and explain the birds and bees to mother.  Which is an odd turn of events, don't you think?  Plus, I have four children running around, so I need to put things "delicately."

Me:  Well, mom . . . the rooster . . . he's the boy . . . ?

Mom:   Ok?

Me:  So, if we let a hen sit on that egg for awhile it will turn into a baby.

Mom:  And wouldn't that always happen?

Me:  No.  You need the rooster . . .

Mom:  Are you telling me that hens lay eggs no matter what?!

Me:  Yes!  They will lay an egg with or without a rooster.

Mom:  I did not know that!

Me:  So, if you don't have a rooster, you won't get a baby chicken.

Mom:  Huh!?

And there you have it.  A little glimpse into why I am that way that I am.

Happy Monday!