My poor husband January 31, 2012
Every day, just like the rest of you, we go to the back yard to visit our chickens. We let them out in to the run; we collect eggs; we feed the girls treats and dole out a little love — or in the case of our two little girls — a LOT of love. At night, we close them in.
Just yesterday, I realized it’s been three weeks since I’ve been out to the coop.
Because it’s cold and mucky out. I’m a major wimp when it comes to the cold. And I know my husband will go if I don’t.
I’m a terrible person.
What’s worse is that my justification centers around how busy I am. I AM busy, of course. What mother of young kids isn’t? But my husband is, too. And I find the time in the summer. Oh, I find the time at LEAST twice a day when the weather’s good. I have to run out the kitchen scraps to chickens as soon as they’re made — go to the nest box to see if I got another chocolate or green egg — bring my kids out to distract them from killing each other — find out why the flock’s skwawking, etc. I find the time.
My dear husband, that you uncomplainingly trudge out to the coop all winter long, when I’m “too busy,” is just one of about ten thousand reasons I love you.