counting lessons

Everyone has heard the expression "Never count your eggs before they hatch." I can add one to that from personal experience "Never count your hens till they start crowing." Okay, so that might seem a little backwards, but it's how it worked out. So here is a couple of things that I have learned not to count before the proper times.

First, I'll explain never counting hens till they start crowing. You remember the group photo of Porky, Li'l Red, Big Red (the rooster), and Brownie. Well, apparently BR isn't the only rooster. Yesterday morning we heard a very startling crowing. It definitely wasn't the sad little warbling that BR has been screeching out for the last three weeks. This was a robust, loud, and quite clear crowing, that was repeated three times.

Now, Honeybear said, "That's Brownie." I, of course, argued. No way would my beautiful hen be crowing!! Then another robust crow came from the yard. This time it was Martin who attested that it was Brownie. His proof? Brownie was stretching out her neck. Still I argued. NO NO NO. Not my beautiful Brownie, her beautiful black feathers with metallic undertones was going to be my best broody. Yet another robust crow sounds as we near the pen. I am still saying no way. Right up until I see the kung fu rooster launch Brownie is doing to BR. Okay, I guess I should know better than to deny thrice before the cock crows. But lesson learned.

Another thing never to count to early? A healthy child in the middle of sick siblings. For the last week, we have been battling the weather change colds. I made this mistake twice. Friday Bella had been ill. I tallied it up to sudden weather change and her allergies. So Saturday I prepared to go to church. Why not Bella was better? Right up until we arrived at the old church house. We got in and sat down, only to see Martin start holding his stomach. Yep, you got it. Pretty soon he was doubled over. I started to gather up the brood, yet he insisted he could make it through church.

So I had him lay down. That lasted a while. If you call twenty minutes a while. As we started to sing, Martin started trying to say something to me. I leaned in closer only to hear, "I think I'm going throw up, Mama." Okay, church is over for us. I gather the brood, and we head home. As we are walking to the front door...Martin's stomach rebels. Close call.

So for the next couple of days we have played the sick tango. One kids well, the next kid is sick. I was sure that Degan's very mild case Sunday was all he was going to get. He is such a tough little cookie. We start preparing to go to the revival (hallelujah!) Only to be told twenty minutes before we were preparing to leave, "Mommy, I don't feel good. My tummy hurts." I pull him close and kiss his forehead. Yep, time for him to go to bed. So much for counting a healthy kid amongst the sick. *sigh

I'm off to fight the ongoing epic battle every mom faces-lysoling every surface I can that anyone might have touched.