Shannon Phillips

Genevieve, perched on the side of her brooder:

I know it’s Genevieve because Robin told me so. You can see she’s looking a bit ratty, as her chick fluff is being steadily replaced by adult feathers, but I think her adult coloring is gorgeous too. Genny’s the biggest of the chicks, and the one most interested in getting up to perch on the side of the box. I take them out to the coop most days, now, and they all really like the time outdoors. But they also still seem to appreciate the warmth of the heat lamp at night. It’s probably going to be at least another week before I can move them out full-time.

Today Robin’s school held a neat fund-raiser: called the “Big Wheel-a-Thon,” it was structured as a race with the kids doing laps on their Big Wheel bikes. The idea was that you’d sponsor your kid, pledge a dollar a lap or whatever, but in practice nobody was keeping track of how many laps they actually completed. It was more a “donate what you feel like” kind of event: and the race had only winners.

Here’s Robin coming around the bend:

Unlike most of the other boys, he’s perfectly happy to ride on a pink bike. I, um, may have told him that the pink ones go faster.

Here’s a close-up of our little athlete:

Davy wanted to get in on the action too, but he was confined to the lower playground:

They also had face-painting, games, food, art projects, and lots of fun stuff. And Robin’s Nanita was in town to cheer him on, so that made it extra special. Robin’s been spoiled for grandparents lately: he was thrilled to see his Pappy and Nonna last weekend, and we even drove down to Pleasanton on Mother’s Day so the boys could spend a little time with his great-grandparents. (The “awww” moment during that visit was Davy, toddling straight up to his great-grandfather with his arms raised high: Pick me up, Grandpa Wayne!) These kids, they love their extended family so. much.

Though I have to say, that boy bullies his Nanita mercilessly. After we got home from the park, it was all: “Mom, I want to play Angry Birds on your computer!”

“No, not right now,” I said. Next thing I know? My mom has pulled out her Kindle, downloaded the app, and Robin is curled in her lap happily playing Angry Birds: Space.

“I love you, Nanita,” he said contentedly.

“Will you always love me?” she said.

“Yes,” he said, emphatically.

I don’t think it’s that his heart is easily bought. I think he just knows love pretty well, being surrounded by it and all. He recognizes it quickly, returns it easily, takes it for granted but renews it inexhaustibly. Him and his brother both: they’re sweet little boys. They know a good grandparent when they see one.

If you ever have cause to ask yourself, “What did I just step in?”—then you have already lost.

It’s super warm today. And the girls seemed restless, flapping around in their brooder box and fighting over their own poop. (It’s pretty frequent that one chick will spy something dark and bug-sized hidden in the pine shavings, and start scratching and pecking at it to see if it is a bug, and then her sisters will come over to see what she’s got and whether they can take it from her, and that’s how you end up with three chicks fighting over their own poop. They are extremely cute, but their beauty is matched neither by their cleanliness nor by their intelligence.)

So, I decided to take them out to the coop for the first time. I only planned to have them stay out for a couple hours, but they seem to be having such a grand time in there, roaming all around and scratching in the dirt, that I guess I’ll let them enjoy it as long as it’s still warm. The coop is predator-safe, and I figure it will do them good to have actual bugs to fight over.

UPDATE: No, actually, after having been exposed to real bugs, they’re now going after their poops with twice the vigor. Sheesh, girls.

And a funny chick joke:

I’ve been told that the important thing is to make sure you’re holding their wings to their sides, and supporting them from underneath.

I think my girls have probably doubled in size this past week. They’re starting to, quite literally, stretch their wings, and even hop/fly up to perch on the side of their box. This probably means they need a bigger box.

Starting next week, if the weather stays as warm as it has been, I’ll be able to take them outside to their coop for a few hours at a time. I’m sure they’ll have fun exploring the big henhouse and scratching in the grass of their enclosed run, even though they can’t yet be allowed to roam freely in the yard. They are still little babies. Just not quite so little as they used to be.

Last week Robin’s school took a field trip to a park, where they staged a “bunny hunt.” It wasn’t my work day so I’m not entirely sure what-all they got up to, except that one of the other parents sent me this completely adorable picture:

Robin came home with his face painted like a rabbit, and a bag of chocolate and small stuffed toys, and a propensity to hop around the house shrieking “I’m a bunny! I’m a bunny!” So I think it was a good day.

I just wanted to wish my grandmother a happy birthday today. She’s 88 and in great health. Hope you have a wonderful day, Grandmama! You’re an inspiration.

So, caring for chicks isn’t nearly as intense as bringing home a baby, but there are some parallels. Last night Sam said he dreamed the heat lamp had gone out and the chicks were freezing to death. Meanwhile I got up four times in the night to check on them. I totally remember that—both the anxiety dreams, and the obsessive need to see the little bodies breathing—from when Robin and Davy were newborns.

The chicks are doing fine. They’re eating, drinking, and pooping—sleeping a lot, just like they’re supposed to—and exploring all around their little home during the times they’re awake. They make the most adorable little twittering sounds. They’re really gorgeous, with beautiful patterning and sweet fluffy little bodies. I try not to handle them too much, but this morning I scooped one up just to cuddle her. She was alarmed at first but settled in when I tucked her under my bathrobe, next to my skin. They are my girls, and I love them.

So, day before yesterday, I got a sudden e-mail from the chicken lady: the eggs had hatched! We could come get our chicks any time.

So we scrambled around, and brought our little flock home today. These Welsummer girls are only little babies, and they’ll have to live inside for the next several weeks. At six weeks or so, they’ll be hardy enough to transition to the backyard coop.

Their names are Henrietta, Penelope, and Genevieve—or Henny, Penny, and Jenny when they’re at home. We can’t tell them apart, but that’s fine, as I have not yet had any need to address them individually.

Right now I’m keeping a careful eye on them to make sure that their living space is the right temperature, and that their food and water don’t get fouled up. They have the most adorable habit of just all deciding to suddenly take a nap, at the same time, wherever they are. They just kind of…nod off, for a few minutes, often faceplanting right in the pine shavings. Then one of them wakes up, and they go off to explore for a little bit. They are like tiny, fluffy narcoleptics.

Robin is hovering over the brooder, giving the chicks encouragement and advice. “Don’t fight, baby chicks! You could be friendly. They are saying, okay, we could be friendly. Wow, those baby chicks is three. One, two, three. Three baby chicks. Like Davy, he’s a baby. Those are baby chicks. A baby chick is a kind of chicken that looks like a duck. And they could fly away in the sky. What about a rooster could reach the top of the barn? Whoa, that chick flies. Like that! Those chicks fly up in the sky. What the chicks are saying? Wheeeee! And they fly into their new home. They’re nice baby chicks at the house.”