I fell in love with these little buggers right away.  They are a dream come true and already have such sweet personalities.  Come mid June we will get the rest of the chickens to fill our coop but, for now, these two cuties have me completely starry-eyed.

Meet Boo (black/Easter Egger) and Happy (yellow/Cinnamon Queen).  These two were named after a couple of Maisy’s two favorite things; she loves her music (which she calls “happy”) and she loves to play peek-a-boo right now.  Some moms write such things down in a baby book, this mom names her chickens that way in order to cherish that cuteness forever.  The baby in my belly will have to wait until we need to get any other new animal some day for a stake in the naming game I guess 😉

I chose these chicks because they are both friendly and sociable breeds, I like their coloring and they are labeled “excellent” egg producers.  Boo will give us lots of blue/green eggs and Happy with give us lots of brown eggs.

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Why get chicks?  Well, long ago now we committed to buying only free range eggs.  Not cage free, not vegetarian, and certainly not the $.89 eggs.  We committed to these “happy eggs,” as we call them, because we believe the way the animals are treated in the industry is shameful and far from how God wants us to be treating His creation.  We chose to pay $3+/dozen to honor God with our money and to not “vote” for the bad companies with our dollars – to be good stewards of the creation we’ve been given to care for.  In turn, we have healthier eggs to eat (the happier the chickens are the tastier and more packed with good protein and other goodness the eggs are).  That leads into why I want chickens.

For starters, I should note that I’ve always loved animals.  My parents were gracious enough to let me take home EVERY class pet.  We had dogs, bunnies, cray fish, lots of other fish, hamsters, and lizards.  I loved it!

In college, I jetted off to Africa for 5 months and my whole world was shaken and torn apart in every way you can imagine, for the good and the bad.  When I came home I found myself floundering in a land consumed with consumerism.  I couldn’t have named it then but Africa is where God started stirring me to recognize my role in stewardship and take a stance with my lifestyle and my money.

A year or so later I took a trip to visit my dear friend Nicole, another study abroad student whom I became eternally bonded to on my Africa stay.  During my stay she had to attend some classes so I had some time to myself during the day in her apartment.  One of these days I plucked The Better World Shopping Guide #5: Every Dollar Makes a Difference off her bookshelf.  How was I ever to guess that a simple trip to visit my best friend could revolutionize my world.  Upon reading this book I promptly purchased my own and started straight away. I was so excited to have a practical way to simplify my life and support only the best companies with my dollar.

The final crux in turning my attention towards stewardship and changing the remaining corners of my life was watching Food, Inc.  In December 2011 Josh randomly proposes we try being vegetarian.  For me, it stuck.  Especially because shortly thereafter we watched Food, Inc.  I was mortified to learn and see how animals were treated, only to be slaughtered and sent off to grocery stores.

Because of my convictions a new dream started taking deep root in my heart, a dream to homestead – gardening, urban chickens, goats, compost, fruit tree, berry plants and the like.  The closer the produce and goods are to my backyard the better it is for me and my family but the better it is for our environment too.  No harmful gases are emitted into our air from shipping, no packaging needed, I’m creating less waste by creating and using compost… just to mention a few.

These chickens will take a couple of years to pay for themselves (well mostly just for the coop) but it’s worth every penny.  The birds themselves make my heart so happy, their poop fertilizes my garden, the kids love them, they will give me lots and lots of eggs, they eat all the bad bugs out of my garden, and the pine shavings I have to change out every now and again make for a great “mulch” in my garden or compost fodder.  Oh, and they are the easiest pets I’ve ever owned!

If you want to turn a corner and learn about how to be a good steward you too can choose only the free range eggs at the store (or possibly have your own coop!) and/or pick up the book The Better World Shopping Guide #5: Every Dollar Makes a Difference and/or watch Food, Inc.  Open up your life and let God change you in a new, amazing way!

We have chicks!  These chicks are the cutest, sweetest little buggers.  So happy to have them and excited to enjoy their blue and brown eggs sometime around 5 months from now.  We have an Easter Egger (black) and a Cinnamon Queen (yellow).  The black one immediately became my favorite.  The minute these two arrived home I picked her up, she snuggled in, and promptly fell asleep.  Yellow is my favorite color but how can you compete with a fluffy little snuggler!

I have a fun little challenge for you!  We have two chicks and they’ve been with us for one week as of today and we still don’t have names for them.  Anyone have any awesome ideas?  If your names win I’ll just have to give you some eggs!

Meet, our chicks!

Easter Egger was a proud little poser.

But Cinnamon Queen would not be still unless her buddy was in the picture with her.

And then some of my home chick, of course!

Being a mom is truthfully my favorite job in the world.  Maisy fills my life with joy, wonder, and life.  She has given me purpose – if I can’t manage to do anything else fruitful with my day at least I know I’m building in to the life of a future Jesus lover and life changer.

Some days here are nearly perfect when all the kids are getting along splendidly – including each other in their worlds of make believe and sharing toys.  Other days I find myself weeping at my desk because I’ve already spent all my words for the day on disciplining and it’s only 9am.  Other days I find myself fishing in my head for any means of escape from my screaming toddler so I can clear my mind, practice some deep breathing, and reset in order get a grip and love on Maisy the way she so vehemently demands to be.  Other days I, again, find myself weeping at my desk when I spend the day watching the other day care kids exclude Maisy all day long while she follows them around, seemingly unfazed, trying so hard to get in on the fun – it’s one thing to find out your kid has no friends at school, another thing completely to play witness to it.  And other days I dwell in a state of utter disappointment at the way my daughter treats her friends as I cycle through the ways to teach her the right way.

On days such as the “other days” I find myself uttering the same two things “oh God how can I fix this” and “oh God please move in my heart to make this better.”

In this season I take comfort in the old testament.  If I think about Jesus and what he would do I’m appalled at my feelings and behavior.  I think to myself, “Jesus would never behave the way I just did.”   But by looking into the Old Testament at the Father I feel God’s fury and pain when he’s simultaneously forced and compelled to discipline the people he so longs to have a good relationship with.  I take comfort in His words, feeling like my fury and pain is a Holy anger in a way.  I can feel so remorseful at losing my temper and then I read His words and feel like I’m home.  Like I’m not alone.  Like God so understands.  Like God has already forgiven me. Like the things I do in anger are also forgiven by my daughter and that we have another moment just around the corner where we can make things right so long as we cling to the prayers that will lead us to a better state of heart.  I’m no fool.  I’m completely aware, especially within the art of child-rearing, that I am completely inept on my own to do a good job raising my kids.  And I’m so thankful.  I’m so thankful God steps into my heart multiple times a day to flood my heart with his love and joy while removing the yuck and the fire that rapidly takes over when my daughter’s attitude pushes all the wrong buttons at once.  God steps in because I ask Him to.

For several weeks now I have taken comfort in my bedtime prayers with Maisy.  After we read our books I turn out the lights and we both snuggle in and close our eyes while I pray.  I pray as I hold my hands over our hearts, “dear God, I pray you fill Maisy’s heart with Your gentleness, goodness, and kindness.  And Father, I pray you fill my heart with Your gentleness, goodness, and kindness.”  Oh man does the Lord honor that prayer!  I’m so thankful for his loving kindness and providing me with such wonderful gifts to get through my day!  After we started praying this prayer Maisy’s general behavior made a 180 and my heart of joy, patience, and kindness stretches so much farther than I could have hoped for!  Yes, this means I still snap and that Maisy still turns into… well a nasty toddler, but the change astounds me every day.  Needless to say, I don’t foresee a day within the days of the rest of my life that I stop praying that prayer, though I’m also fully aware of the tendency for the human heart to forget it’s need for a Savior and we too quickly turn back inward.  I pray now that even when that day comes I quickly turn back around and offer my heart back up promptly.

We walked and we walked and we walked.  It was glorious!  The sky was blue, it was 80 something degrees, the water shone bright cerulean, and the sand was perfect.  At our Cayman Islands port stop on the KLOVE cruise we chose to wing it, so we got dropped off at the public beach and walked the 4.5 miles back to the cruise ship.

Near the end of our trip I started feeling a little woozy. Nothing major, and nothing abnormal.  See, I get a little woozy not infrequently.  I’ve always supposed I’m sensitive to low blood sugar.  So I really didn’t think anything of my lightheadedness.  Even nearer the end of our walk I fell something wet pass into my panties.  Again, didn’t think much of it as pregnancy tends to lend itself to more discharge than usual in my personal experience.

We arrive on the ship to freshen up.  I pull off my swim suit and find blood.  Not a lot, but not a little.  I start crying while I’m telling Josh it could mean nothing… but it could mean something.

Duty calls so Josh is off to a sound check while I sob, alone, all the way down to the medical center.  I walk in and the doctor tells me to leave and come back when they’re open at 4:00pm. It was something close to 3:00pm.  The sign on the door that I walked into said “opening hours 14:00-16:00.”  So I stayed and explained myself despite his dismissal.  He tried to dismiss me again.  I said bluntly “it could be a sign of miscarriage.”  As if breaking from a trans his eyes dart up to meet mine and glue to me intensely as he informs me I have to go to shore immediately to visit the emergency room.  I start backpedalling because that sounds dramatic and risky with the ship scheduled to leave only 2 hours later – last tender was scheduled to leave from shore to ship at 5:00pm.  But, alas, I said the magic words to get his attention and I’m rewarded with the most stressful and lonely journey I’ve taken to date.

They stick me in a room, I lay on a bed, and I just cry.  I cry ugly tears.  I’m alone and crying for the life that may or may not still be alive inside me.

Next thing I know I’m getting on a tender boat.  Ashamedly crying the whole way from medical center to shore.  I’m crying for fear of being left behind and completely alone without a way to communicate with my family (no cell service nor wifi the entirety of the cruise) as I miscarry our child in some third world medical center with dirty tools and poor resources, then having to stay in some room all by myself without so much as the clothes on my back as I try to figure out how to fly home… all the while missing my daughter, my husband, and the rest of our cruise vacation.

A nice man brings me to another nice man who delivers me to the emergency room.  It’s nothing much to speak of, but, to my relief, it looks promising; it looks like the people know what they are doing, it looks clean, and it even looks friendly.  I see the nurse in triage shortly and talk her through the happenings of my body.  She tells me I have to drink water until “I feel very full” so I can get an ultrasound.  So I do, I down one full bottle, then another, then a little more slowly pass a third bottle of water down my esophagus on into my sloshing stomach.  Then I wait, while sipping on a fourth bottle of water until I think I might have to pee.  It’s a strange thing, waiting to pee.  I watch the minutes disappear on my watch and pray for pee.  Finally, some 25 minutes later, I feel like I have to pee.  I’m not certain but I really have to get back on the ship so I go for it.

The triage nurse leads me back to the ultrasound area and I’m seated to wait.  It’s 4:00pm.  It’s 4:15pm and I’m tapping my feet nervously to the sound of the minutes ticking away on my watch as I focus very hard on not peeing my pants.  Yup, I had to pee.  I had to pee bad. It’s 4:25 and the ultrasound technician finally comes for me.  I pull my pants over my hips so she can get the lowest part of my belly for the ultrasound.  She leaves for warmer ultrasound gel even though I don’t care and would rather get on with it and comes back what seems like an eternity later with gel that’s actually no warmer.  She sticks the device on my belly and immediately says, “this bladder is too full.”  I laugh, thinking she’s trying to make light of how I commented about having to pee so bad.  “This bladder is much too full, I’m going to have you use the restroom and come back.  When you’re done we will do a vaginal ultrasound.”  In my head… “You’ve got to be kidding me!  Couldn’t we have started there!  I’d be on the ship by now!  Instead, it’s 4:45 and I haven’t even seen a doctor yet!”  Out loud, “Ok.”

I pee long and slow, like my pee tubes are squished by all the pee pushing on them.

She sticks the probe up my wahoo and starts the process of looking around and taking pictures.  I don’t know what anything I’m seeing is but feel comforted by the pictures she’s taking.  Finally, she tells me what she sees and I can finally breath.  She says the tiny flickering I see on the monitor is my living tiny baby.  She says a darker swirly mass outside the baby’s sack is the blood I’m seeing in my pants.  She says it appears everything will be fine as the blood is coming from a feeding tube of sorts having a rough go at attaching to my uterine wall but that the blood should pass by the child and that’ll be the last of it.  But she does say there’s a risk the blood could push the child out if it gets higher in volume.

I put my pants back on and wait for a doctor to come see me.  It’s 4:55pm.  It’s amazing how the fear of being left alone on a strange island can completely occupy your brain and make you tap your feet and pace like a mental person.  I contemplate just leaving the hospital without talking to the doctor, but find myself stuck behind the threshold of the door, not compelled by duty or physical barrier but by the need for the whole story and how to keep my baby safe.  He arrives at 5:00 and I’m exploding on the inside.  I hear lots of words and some of them stick.  Complete bed rest.  Can bathe.  Can get up to eat.  Need to have a follow up appointment ASAP.  Can get back on the ship.

He walks me to the front, one more stop to pay $500 something for my painfully long and drawn out visit, then I’m on my way – half convinced the ship left me even though the ship’s ground man is present and waiting to bring me to the terminal.

Finally, I see the last tender still awaits my arrival as do a handful of crew members and two random cruise ship passengers.  We speed on over to the ship as I chat, somewhat mindlessly after my severely emotionally damaging afternoon, with a nice man and his son.  Jack Storm was his name, how cool is that?  Anyways, Jack Storm singlehandedly plucks me out off my emotional hurricane and sets me on solid land with his kind nature.  He was probably a real person, but I think he was an angel.

The tender boat latches on to the slowly departing ship and we get off without a hitch.  I dutifully march behind a small parade of cruise folk as they lead me back to the medical office to get all of my results on file.  A nice lady named Amee (a Premier cruise artist liaison of sorts) asks me if there’s anything she can do.  The only two things on my mind anymore are getting word to Josh that I’m safely on the ship and that I need dinner.  Amee marches off to inform Josh, who at that moment was singing songs about Jesus for the cruise ship masses, and another nice lady takes my room service dinner order, free of charge.

I sit in my room and wait.  I wait for 6:30 to roll around because I know that’s when Josh is scheduled for a dinner break and I will see him appear in the doorway to check on me.  It’s 6:40, no husband, so I ignore my bed rest rules after a mere hour and set out to find him.  Largely, I’m desperate to hold the child I can hold.  Secondly, I’m desperate to see my kid and my husband.

I find the high class dining room the band is scheduled to dine in and a waiter marches me through the entirety of it.  Embarrassed, I keep my head down, staring at my body clad in sweatpants… all too aware how my hair looks exactly like a birds nest.  We arrive at a private dining niche and I launch some words untactfully at Josh, “Why haven’t you come to see me?” Everyone probably heard me, but I hope they didn’t.  My only defense is I’d been through trauma and apparently my tactful filter was malfunctioning. Sorry Josh.

He pulls me over to talk privately.  Ever the tactful one.  I find he was misinformed and was told not to bother me as I was ordered on bed rest and was certainly sleeping.  I tell him the bed rest part is true but instead of sleeping I was anxiously watching the clock and the door, waiting for his inevitable worrisome face to appear.

I then go hug my daughter, hard.  Then sit down at the dinner table because I don’t know what else to do.

Sometimes life dishes your rotten lemons.  My lemonade?  Well I found some good parts out of those lemons, squeezed them hard, and got a little tablespoon of lemonade to quench my dehydrated throat.  Bed rest means full days of largely solely snuggling with your toddler.  That is, when you have the mommy attached toddler I do!  It was perfect, Maisy developed a 103 fever the next day and with a mom ordered to do literally nothing she had all my cuddles all day that day, and every day that followed for a week as we waited for her fever to normalize and my bed rest to be over.