"If we're chickens..."

"Then you must be married to a rooster" says Michael the other day. We had just visited the farm and apparently that inspired the above comment. Thus ensued a vigorous conversation about who in the family was a chicken and who was a rooster. It was riveting, let me tell ya.

But I must admit, I'm a weird mom. I call my children chickens. It's true. I also call them variations of turkey-head, monkey-butt, turkey-lurkey and any other possible combination of the above words. I get looks from people whose children are 'sweetheart' and 'darling', but I know they secretly want to join me in calling their children chicken-butt. Because sometimes, they are just chicken-butts!

Since I've admitted my weirdness, I'll confess another. I do weird things with my children. I sing them perverted versions of several songs, I make weird noises at them and with them, I dance goofy. Yeah, I'm just weird. The worst is when I forget not to be weird in public. I figure I just give people a good laugh, but still, sometimes I embarrass myself.

The other day I had Odessa with me at the grocery store. That in and of itself is a trying experience. I was attempting to entertain her so she wouldn't do the whole climb out of the cart thing, so I start spitting. I know, not very lady-like, but she loves it. So we spit at each other for a minute and then I growled at her and she giggled. (At least I call it a growl, it was really more like a possessed person's growl followed by same person's strange laugh.) I look up and see an old man with a look on his face that read something like, "Lady, you are one strange mamma."

I was mildly embarrassed but just ignored him. And although I refrained from anymore weird growling, I did continue to spit with my daughter. I know, I'm weird. But honestly, sometimes a little embarrassment is worth it if it keeps the baby in the cart!