[su_heading size=”18″]Getting Chicken Eggs From a Neighbor [/su_heading]
Tonight at dinner I asked my family to take note that I was actually wearing a short sleeved shirt without a sweater on. It probably was the first time since the last warm day in the Fall that I was not wearing my old three ply cashmere sweater and my hat and gloves at the dinner table. My boys, including Wade, looked at me as if I were crazy, shook their heads and continued their conversation about 360’s, ramps, jumps and music.
The head shaking by Wade is a very common reaction to me, his wife, and now the boys are following suit. Yesterday morning I woke him up to tell him that I had to run out to get eggs to finish making the pancakes. I rattled off the list of things that needed to get done before my return, none of which registered, and ran out in my pajamas to get some hand picked eggs from our neighbors. Raw milk and fresh eggs all in our backyard, what more could one ask for.
I entered the door to the breezeway of the house, which did not quite fit with the directions I received from the sleepy man on the phone but it was early morning and my mind was not yet fully awake. When I continued on into the garage and saw that there was no fridge I knew that I had indeed just entered the wrong house. I scared myself when I saw my reflection in the garage window. My hair was breaking out of the big pile I had lumped on top of my head and I looked like some insane mother on the make, in her pajamas. It was like a bizarre Pink Panther film.