I wish I wasn’t writing this post. I wish I was writing to tell you about all of the fluffy baby chicks we now have in our barn. I wish I was writing about what a wonderful Mama Chloe turned out to be. I wish I was telling you this, but I’m not going to.
But brace yourself … it’s not going to be pretty.
I mean it.
If you are eating – STOP reading this.
If you have a weak stomach – STOP reading this.
If you are reading this with your kids – STOP reading this.
If I were you, and could go back and un-know what I now know, I would – so maybe just STOP reading this.
To my own Mama and Gigi — ask Sammy what happened – and STOP reading this.
Okay, then. If you are sure …
(Last chance to close this down)
Here is the truth: Chloe ate her babies …
I KNOW!!! GAH! Terrible-horrible-you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-that-is-the most-dreadful-thing-that-could-have-happened!!!!!!!!!!
I will spare you the details (please trust me this time, you DON’T want to know!!)
But since I know many of you were sharing this journey with your kids, I am sure you are now asking, “what do I tell my kids?!”
Let me tell you what I did.
The day I discovered the truth I was in the barn alone with my Farmer-neighbor as I was asking his advice on what had happened (you see, I was in denial).
He laid it out for me as a Farmer would. Truthfully, factually, and without even wincing.
I handled it as a wannabe-farmer. Tearfully, nauseously, and with a ton of wincing.
Then … just then … my five year old walked in. He could no longer hold back his excitement, he just had to come in to find out if we had found Chloe’s babies. (You see, I had told them – and fully believed – that somehow the babies were just misplaced)
I looked at the Farmer, who’s face was set – the answer clear – just tell him.
Then I looked at my Sammy. Those big hopeful brown eyes, those tiny hands clasping his Fisher Price camera hoping to get a picture of the tiny babes.
And I knew what I had to do.
I lied my face off.
I was spewing out lies left, right, and center. I was elaborating, and going into great detail. I was talking and talking, not really sure where I was heading, but knew I just couldn’t let my sweet little peanuts find out the truth.
The farmer smiled and walked home.
And I continued my lies.
The story that ended up being told was something along these lines:
“You see, it is kind of a funny story! It turns out the eggs Chloe were sitting on for 21 days were not fertilized at all! They were just normal, eating eggs. No baby chicks were forming. Chloe didn’t know this, and neither did we! But on Day 21 when the babies were suppose to hatch, they didn’t! Mama Chloe was a little concerned, so she tried to help them out of their shells. She pecked the first egg a little and found out it was just a normal eating egg. So she pecked the next – same thing! She pecked them all and found out none of her eggs turned into babies! Poor Chloe – and poor us! It’s awfully disappointing, isn’t it? But don’t worry – next time we will use the incubator so we know the eggs are fertilized and we will have more baby chicks.”
By the time I was done, my little guy was just fine. He ran off to spread my lie to his siblings and Daddy. Disappointed, but not traumatized.
So I lied … perhaps I am not the best Mama because I lied to my kids, but hey — at least I didn’t eat them (no, that was too soon.)
And now friends, let us NEVER speak of this again. YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-AWFUL-HORRIBLE-NEVER-AGAIN!!!
And as a side note, I am not sure I want to be a Farmer anymore. This is worse than the unnamed-animal-in-my-house situations.
Please bring me wine.