When little girls ask mom to come play Barbies with them, and mom discovers that most of the shoes have no matches, a shoe hunt becomes necessary.  Thankfully (shoes being essential to Barbie happiness) we were able to find a good assortment.   Made for a grand shoe store.

Hairstyling at the Owlhaven Hair Salon was also in order. The kids, of course, are cuter than the Barbies.

Later in the day walking past the front closet I was momentarily disturbed by this sight. I was relieved to notice that the doll was actually hanging by a shoulder strap. Perhaps her frock needed a drip dry.

Or maybe she’d been hijacked by a brother.
Silly boys– unimpressed by fashion and frou-frou—they tend to move on to playing pirate with fair maidens.

Makes a sister wanna go ‘arghhh!’

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One day last week when I had just two kids at home, I stopped with them at Panda Express for dinner.  Our five year old, not known for her appetite, declared that she was having orange chicken and nothing else. I scanned the menu and saw that a single serving of orange chicken was less than $2.  Dandy.

Two minutes later she was in possession of a tiny takeout box containing only chicken.  She ate half, and informed me she’d just take the rest home.  Fine again.

At home, as Dad was tucking her in bed, she told him proudly that she’d stashed her little box of leftover chicken in the fridge.  “Daddy, if you need any orange chicken– ”   — at this point I was inwardly cheering her sweet generosity.

But then she went on. “If you need any orange chicken, Daddy,  don’t take mine.”

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Related link:  Panda-Style Orange Chicken

…you may find that she dozes from time to time…

…but it is best to cover her eyes during the scary parts.

After all, you don’t want her to have scary dreams.

After running errands with my girls this morning, we grabbed deli chicken to bring home to the family for lunch. My 5 year old dug into her piece, tearing off the skin to eat it with gusto. “I just love chicken peels!” she said happily.

… and my 7 year old daughter just came in and said, “Wow, usually when I see something that looks this good, it’s not in our house.”

I think that’s a compliment…?  As well as a dis of the entire rest of the house.

You might remember that this spring we got 18 chickens with the plan of having a flock of egg-layers. The feed store only had straight run chicks, so we figured we’d just make chicken dinner out of whatever roosters we happened to get.

Well, roosters we had in abundance. Loud ones. And for those of you who are not familiar with roosters and think that they only crow in the mornings, that is a fallacy, pure and simple. Ours crow about every 37 seconds all day long.

After listening to the din of 8 — yes, eight — roosters for the last month or so, my husband decided that today was the day that seven of them would meet their…ummm…freezer compartment. It was either that or be run out of the quarter-section by the neighbors.

The 4 youngest girls became aware of dad’s foul plan only when the first 3 roosters were delivered to the kitchen, headless and neatly skinned. (Yes, among many other talents, my hubby is a tidy chicken-skinner.) The 13 year old was horrified initially– a puzzling reaction since she’s seen chickens, sheep, and goats being butchered many times in Ethiopia. However she and most of the other kids quickly recovered from the shock, and raced outside to watch Dad.

The 4 year old wasn’t disturbed in the least by the sight of the roosters, and was perturbed when she was told she could not go watch. The 7 year old’s upset lasted longer, and she wisely chose to stay indoors where she did not have to witness any unpleasantness. “How could Daddy do this?” she wailed. “And on the day right before Sunday!”

“What’s wrong with doing it the day before Sunday?” I asked, curious.

“Mom! Now when people at church ask him what he did yesterday, he can’t lie. He’ll have to tell them what he did!”

Apparently she is of the opinion that only those with unstained hands should gather before the Lord on a Sunday.

The other morning John went outside to see if the irrigation water had arrived yet. Since it is getting to be that time of year, he sprayed himself with mosquito spray. When he came back inside, the four year old looked up and sniffed.

“Daddy!” she said, “You smell like mosquito bites!”

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Stay tuned this week for updates from Korea.

When storytime turns unexpectedly into naptime, it’s good to have a comfy sister to sleep on.