It should come as no surprised that I have chickens.
What? You’re surprised? Did you not look at my picture?
The kids and I have three backyard chickens: Miss Clucks, Henrietta, and Cutie. They are the queens of egg laying, averaging an egg a day seven days a week which, if my math is correct, equals 21 eggs a week on average.
That’s a lot of eggs.
Sadly, at the moment, we’re not getting an egg a day from each girl. You see, I decided to use the “time out” method of child raising to help train my chickens and prevent them from eating my garden. And yes, chickens can be trained. Unfortunately, all I’ve gotten is ruffled feathers.
And all they’ve gotten is cooped up.
The kids think it’s hilarious that I’m trying to teach my chickens the difference between eating weeds (good) and eating my baby bell pepper plants (bad) in the raised bed behind the supposedly chicken proof fencing.. But that doesn’t mean they haven’t jumped into the fray. At any given moment, I can find Elizabeth lecturing the chickens that they need to stop eating the lettuce right now or else she’s telling mama. Or I can find Joseph herding them back to their coop, telling them sternly they’re going in time out.
And, while writing this, it occurs to me the kids and I may be expecting too much from our hens. Just like, sometimes, I expect too much from my kids.
Now there’s food for thought.
Do you ever suspect you’re expecting too much from your children?