Two Things (Email Classics)

Written August 6, 2009

First, let me begin by saying that Mike is one of the smartest men I know - he can spout history, natural world/ science facts like nobody's business. He can troubleshoot any electrical issue, build or fix anything. Makes me feel like an intellectual twit at times, because I don't remember squat. And I can't hammer a nail in straight.

That said.....


WHEN METAPHORS DON'T WORK
I dropped Tanner off at the Junior High this morning, the girls at Hulet Elementary School and Adam at the High School (for day one of his SENIOR YEAR), then promptly called Mike as I was driving down Buffalo Street, "All the chickens have left the nest!" I announced.

Dead silence from his end. Then he asks in a somber, confounded voice, "They're all dead?"

Color me perplexed. Then it hits me: when you actually have chickens, and their population has been dwindling because of a conniving invisible coyote, the whole "chickens leaving the nest" metaphor doesn't quite work.

I'm noodling a replacement.

ACTIVE LISTENING
Meanwhile, last night Mike and I are laying in bed after tucking all the kids into their beds, full of anticipation for their first day of school. Mike asks, "So, what are you going to do tomorrow?"

I groan and respond, "Oh, don't even ask - I'll have to do all of the farm chores because I'm not going to get the kids up early for that, have to get them all ready and their lunches packed, take them to school, come back and water the garden since the pump wouldn't work while the electricity was off this afternoon, then can the green chilis. I need to get some work done on our taxes, too, and keep the laundry going. I'm not sure how I'm going to get it all done."

As I was trailing off on that last sentence he responds in an upbeat voice - but in all seriousness - "Yeah, but are you looking forward to having the day to yourself?"

I actually laid there and sputtered. It may have been the first time in my life I have been reduced to sputtering.

All I can say is, just for today, it's a darn good thing he's pretty.

Love from the farm,
Teri