NOT ON THE LIST.

Nope, this one was NOT on the list.

I double checked twice.
There is absolutely no mention of  No. 62: Raise baby chicks.
None.
(Click here for the real list.)

Peep peep peep.

There is a mention of entering something into the county fair.  That's No. 41.  But I really had jalapeño jelly in mind. Or maybe a quilt. Not laying hens. 

A quilt with Baby Clara wrapped inside: Yes.

Chickens: No.

And No. 39 is Grow a vegetable from scratch.
Not Grow a chicken from scratch.

But yesterday Bunny came home late from school with a big bucket, a waterer, a warming lamp, feed, fluff and not one but FOUR baby chicks.
Four of them.

Adorable. Peep.

Peep peep peep.

They are adorable.
They are upstairs in Bunny's room.
They are not my responsibility.
I keep repeating that to myself.

Adorable. Peep peep.

Peep peep peep.

There is some precedent for chicks in the house, I hate to say.
When I was little my brothers and I got baby chicks at Easter.
One of the chicks got eaten by the dog next door.
One followed my mother into the garage and she shut the door, not realizing he was behind her.
But mine….mine grew up!
And he was a rooster.
A rooster that crowed every morning on the backyard fence.
This was in Alamo Heights in San Antonio.
Not out in the country.
After the neighbors complained my father found "Chickie" a new home at the "chicken farm".
For a solid year after that ( maybe longer) my brothers delighted in exclaiming "O! It's Chickie" every time we had chicken for dinner.
Talk about traumatic.

Peep peep peep.

Anyway, there are chicks in the house.
Bunny assures me that she has some friends that will take them when they get to be teenagers.
She just wanted to enjoy the baby stage.
(Isn't that how everyone ends up with babies???)

Adorable.

And I'm trying to keep a sense of humor.
While I traumatize her.

Peep peep peep.