My boys love to hunt. They love to hunt for anything. And hunting for chicken eggs is the best they can do sometimes. So off to the “poopy coopy” they go. Yup, that’s what we call the chicken coop around here.
It still creeps me out to eat eggs that very recently came out of a chickens behind. I mean, I know that the eggs from the store came out of a chickens behind too. But it just seems different. Maybe in my mind I have convinced myself that at a real chicken farm they actually wipe the eggs off better than my boys do. Please don’t tell me otherwise. I love eggs and want to keep it that way.
Since I started this blog I have also started taking LOTS more pictures. The boys are starting to get used to it. Payson is always telling me you should take a picture of me and blog about it. In this picture he must be fantasizing about bacon and eggs for breakfast or something.
Look at that chubby little face and tell me you don’t want some more of that little egg hunter. And by the way, I have been trying to get Carson to zip up his pants for approximately eight years now. He began that bad habit when I was pregnant with Branson and couldn’t button my pants up. Carson wanted to be cool like me and started not zipping his pants up. (By the way it’s not cool to have such a big belly that you can’t zip and button your pants up. I mean, it’s worth it and all. Just not that cool.” Besides I button my pants up now, so he’s not trying to be cool like me anymore. Dang.
Just look at those facial expressions. We have mister cool guy, mister no expression and mister goof ball.
See why we never attempt to take family pictures. They all turn out just like this. Minus the eggs and dirty shirts. And the motorcycle gloves turned egg gathering gloves. (My friend gave those to Branson and told him they were reading gloves. And if he wore them when he read that he would be able to read really fast. He tried it out and they worked great. Then he decided to see if they made him ride his motorcycle really fast. Thanks Rochelle!! It worked for awhile and every little bit of reading help is helpful.)
See, Branson loves those gloves. I do not know what Payson is doing. I think his zipper is down too. And he has never seen me pregnant with my pants unbuttoned. So I’m saying this one is all Carson’s fault.
Now he thinks he’s Miss America or something. Even though they are terrible at family pictures I love these egg hunters. Thank goodness there is never a boring moment at my house.