Thursday, April 28, 2011

Here chickie chickie

I want these.  Bart does not.
The boys are obsessed.  We've been to 4 stores in the last 3 weeks to look and hold chickies.  

Every time it takes all my self control and a healthy dose of fear of divorce to keep me from buying one and trying to smuggle it into our house to live in my closet.  

Two year olds and chickies are not a good mix.  Better for the chickies if Owen watches from a far... (Owen adds ie to most everything...  His name is Owie (not Owen), sock-ies, shoe-ies, chickies...)

The boys have started pleading their case to their dad on a daily basis.  
A few nights ago our car ride went like this: 

All Three Boys:   "Dad?  Can we get chickies?"

Bart:  "Nope.  Chickens are pains in the neck."

Jackson:  "No Dad!  Chickies aren't pains in the neck, they are fun in the neck. 
Only mom's are pains in the neck."

Jackson Backpedaling as fast as possible:  "I mean, only mom chickens are pains in the neck, not like Kellie mom's.  They're not pains in the neck.  Just chicken moms.  But really Dad Chickies are fun in the neck. "
(Nice save Jackson, not a dumb kid, he knows who's buying his birthday presents.)

Needless to say the fun in the neck argument hasn't gotten us chickies yet.  

But we will be victorious eventually. Bart is outnumbered.  4 to 1.  

I've called him probably 4 times (besides all the craigslist adds I show him daily) trying to talk him into all kinds of animals (goats, pigs, cats, dogs, rabbits, chickies)   He'll either give in for the love of his children (hint hint) or because he'll get sick of me asking. 

I already warned him that if he doesn't let us get something fun soon, he'll just come home to a goat named Mike Wyzowski in our front yard. 

Battle Chickies Continues.
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