Let’s walk, shall we

It was just yesterday that I walked into my oncologist office for a visit. I'll take you with me, not because you've never been to a doctor appt, but because going to see "this" doctor brings about different feelings than any other doctor I see. 

Typically, my monthly oncologists visit would include lab draws and a possible treatment of some sort (phlebotomy or iron infusion) and then every 3 months I will actually see my oncologist to review how "my numbers" are looking. So as I typically do, I walk into the office, check in with the same-always-there receptionist and have a seat in the main waiting room. I look around and begin to pretend what the other patients are there for. I think, I bet she's a new patient. I keep glancing the room and think, I bet they are here for a treatment, maybe chemo. Still glancing around, I wonder if he's here for a follow up visit? I'm making up other people's lives for them as I sit there and wonder if they wonder what I'm there for. And I secretly hope they think 'she doesn't belong here'. But likely what they are thinking, is that they too, should not have to belong here. 

It doesn’t take long before my name is called and I step through the held-open door for me, but this time it was different. I was escorted left instead of right. Odd. I was being called into the business office first this time. This is new. It felt just like going to the principal's office. Little did I know that I had a balance of $792.36 remaining from some treatments I had back in April of this year. Turns out insurance didn’t pay and it was time for me to pay. It’s a little surprising to be told this, but what was more surprising is that I never got a bill nor did they ever send me a bill, according to the billing lady behind the desk. As I sat in the principals office, she begin to review with me the details of this said balance due and was trying to figure it out herself as she went. Let's see she started, what was charged, what insurance paid, and how much I would owe today all while her fingers are flying on her calculator. She asked if I had already paid this and the blank stare on my face said I had no idea. I mean, this was back in April and who knows what happened this past April because 2021 has actually been 3 years rolled up in one. I was watching her from just-above my own self as if looking down on us sitting in this little room talking about 700 and something dollars for a treatment that is trying to help me extend my life . It doesn’t seem like that much money for something that can help save your life. Yet, even as this is a regular thing for me (just trying to extend my life a little over here) and insurance isn’t really all about paying it so this one'll be on me. As the little white room with the door shut seemed so insincere, I wasn’t really thinking about the money, or how the lady was telling me this information very coldly, but I was actually thinking about all the other cancer patients. How much are their treatment(s)? Do they have insurance? Are they all escorted in to the same little office with white walls, a small fake-wood children's sized desk, sitting in an chair whereby my knees hit the front of the desk listening to someone tell you that you must basically pay before you can be seen that day. It makes sense, as those charges have been incurred and should be paid. It just isn’t always the way you want to start a doctor visit that isn't going to be telling you some news good anyway. And do other patient's think that same thing when they are called to go left and not right? Are they able to pay these bills and what if they can’t? I still cannot figure out why I had never gotten a bill or for that matter never sent me a bill, but she did not know why the "the system" did not generate one for me. I realize in that moment that this surprise-visit of being called to the back and going down the hall to the left instead of the hall to the right where I know what’s going to happen, has me thrown off me a bit now. After the billing employee finished with me and I was paid in full, I was then directed to proceed to the lab. Usually, that’s the first thing I always do when I see my oncologist: They call me back to have my labs drawn so the doctor will be able to see "my numbers". My numbers determine my life. My numbers determine my treatment. And my numbers are always the topic of conversation in my visit with my oncologist. Since I had come down the hall from the left instead of from where I would normally travel from, the lab lady was a little confused to see me, and asked me to have a seat and wait a minute.  I did so as asked, as I already felt like I was in trouble. And before long she called me back into the lab room and proceeded to draw all my labs as instructed by the doctor on her computer. This is what she does all day long and she does it very well. They are always very very very nice in the lab. Sometimes I even bring fresh eggs for the ladies there. While drawing blood from a bulging vein, she mentioned how happy she is that I had a vein for her today to draw from and that they had been very busy, as they had been closed the previous Friday and then the Monday for the Christmas holiday. And it seemed every patient was now here on this Tuesday doing the things we all are there to do. I sensed it's been a long day for the lab lady and she was happy to see a patient whose lab draw was easier than others. I was happy to oblige and happy my veins are still cooperating. You're welcome, I'm thinking, like I have something to do with it. The lab lady then sent me to what they called the sub-waiting area. That means that you don’t have to go back out to the official big waiting room out front, and instead you travel down the long hallway to another waiting area more towards the backity-back of the office while they process your labs and get the results after which the doctor will see you. This is where I sit and wait, wondering what’s going to happen. Silly me, I know what’s going to happen. The medical assistant will call my name, and she did. I have all the vital signs taken as usual and my blood pressure was up just a touch although nothing profound. I think to myself it was the billing office fun that jolted my blood pressure up a little. The medical assistant has no idea about that nor do we discuss it. She 'rooms me' (places me in one of the exam rooms) and asks me all the usual questions of 'any medication changes since we last saw you'? 'Are you having any pain'? yet never "how are you today". I remember smiling through my mask at her thinking how she's just done. She's out of gas. Done with her day. Maybe they are short-staffed and very busy, and on this particular day, this wasn’t the usual medical assistant who’s normally with my oncologist. It was just something I noted to myself. I was simply a means to an end for the nice yet distant medical assistant, I was not really a person. I imagine she's seen alot of folks that day and like most all of us at the end of a long day....we just want to go get in our cars and go home. I felt like she was in need of an escape. 

I still find seeing an oncologist a very surreal experience. It just doesn’t seem real that I have cancer, and I wonder if the other patients feel that same way. Then sure enough, my labs must have completed processing and showed up in the computer because the oncologist walks in the room and we greet each other happily. Sometimes I think he feels sorry for me, yet I may just be projecting that on him. His demeanor is always one of care and concern. We do "my numbers" dance as we always do and he tells me my numbers are high, which we both find not unexpected. He had given me a reprieve from phlebotomies while I was training for my most recent Ironman triathlon, and now I have to get back to treatments. He asks me when my next race(s) are. He writes it down. He cares. I know that he really wants to help me accomplish my running and triathlon goals. He and I are a team because I can't do this without him. My body will not allow it - unless he makes these special considerations to help me. And he does. I tell him when my next race(s) is/are and that I hope to do another Ironman triathlon in the fall instead of the spring - to give myself a little longer training time. He begins to tell me what I knew was coming: I will need a phlebotomy, and in particular, I need one every two months for at least the next six months and that he knows this is not going to make me feel very well, which will make it hard for me to train for the race. But he says he will make a special consideration (as he's done before as well) to provide me with a series of iron infusions before my race to help me feel better around race time. He's just as fanatical about helping me get to the start line as I am about wanting to get to the start line. He’s literally helping me actualize my dreams. He does remind me that I am not his 'usual PV patient' (whatever that means) and that typically iron infusions are counterproductive for my condition, but due to the endurance racing that I enjoy, he will do it for me because he knows how important it is to live my life and pursue my dreams. As I look him in the eye, it’s almost as if I see his pain. I pause. I ask him what it’s like to see cancer patients all day long. Is it hard on you? I ask him. Without breaking eye contact, he looks past my eyes and into my soul and says yeah it’s hard. And he just keeps looking at me. And he says again, like he's confirming it: yeah, it’s hard. And then he catches himself and says thanks for asking, and continues to say that the hard part for him right now is that Covid has postponed many patients from getting the scans and the much needed health care that they need. He continues by saying that he's seeing many patients whose cancer has worsened without the follow up care that cancer patients need to be getting. And that Covid has made that hard for many cancer patients for many reasons. I feel bad for him.  I get the feeling that he feels sad for me too. But I’m not sure, because I'm still watching him as he searches for his words carefully. What I know for sure is that he wants to help me, and everyone else. We review "my numbers" and we review the last year of my numbers and the changes that have occurred and talk about the progression of my blood cancer. Everyone’s progression is different and since there is no cure he reminds me what numbers and values he would look at in my lab results to determine that progression. He comforts me by saying that he's on the lookout for changes that I would "need to know about". We then talk about the few other polycythemia vera patients that he has in his practice, not in detail mind you, and he lightly comments that he wishes they would exercise. I thought that held some irony in it because fatigue is the #1 side effect of this particular blood cancer. Exercise seems unlikely to be on the top of a PV'ers To Do List. 

I’m very fortunate that I have found somebody who helps me realize my dreams by providing cancer treatments that cater to me. I think about how he does this for all his patients and how wonderfully blessed we are to have him as our doctor. As my oncologist and I talk about this blood cancer, its progression and living life, I think about how many times a day he has these types of discussions to try and help people with their life. I watch him carefully, as if I'm an observer and not the patient. We quietly look at each other and sometimes I think I feel bad for him and that he feels bad for me. And at the same time he’s trying desperately to help me and I’m desperate for his help. Desperate is a strong word, but I'm going to leave it there because if I didn't have him as my oncologist, I would be desperate for someone to help me manage this condition so that I could do all my favorite things I like to do. Or at least try to do them. These office visits remind me of the fragility of life. Sometimes I get so busy living my life that it takes an appointment with my oncologist to bring my reality rushing back like a wave slapping the sand on the beach. I think that’s why I don’t like going to these appointments all that much because of the heavy reminder of it all. It’s easy for me to forget I have this blood cancer when I’m not there, in the exam room looking at the computer screen that my oncologist has swung around for me to see, showing me things I'd rather not see. But I can never un-see it. I can't un-know it. It's like a shirt that's inside out with all the stitching and rough edges showing. That's what my oncology visits feel like. The imperfect side of life showing up like I'm wearing my shirt inside out with all my rough edges in full view. 

2022 will include life saving blood drains. Not that 2021 or 2020 didn't, because they did as well. Here's hoping that that will bring my numbers into a range that is satisfactory, and then because doing that makes me feel so lousy that the possibility of five weeks of iron infusions later this year might help perk me up. Seems kind of like a nightmare dressed up as a daydream, right? Because since iron is what encourages the body to create more blood, it typically does not make sense to give iron to someone with my condition. Yet, the inability to store - and have enough iron - is a piece of the puzzle that makes the puzzle impossible to solve. This crazy circle just keeps spinning round and round, like a gerbil on its exercise wheel. Lucky for me, my oncologist is willing to practice the art of non-conformity for a non-conformist such as myself. He creates options and treatment plans catered to me that continues to allow me to be me. If I'm not me, who will be me. I appreciate him more than he will ever know. 

Turns out, the Infusion Room was full to the brim and therefore I was scheduled to come back for my phlebotomy treatment next Tuesday. As I glanced in the Infusion Room as I walked by, my mind still tries to trick me into thinking I'm not them. Yet, I AM them. They are me. We are fighting a fight many will lose. All of life's blessing must be returned in the end. I just want to walk in that room and talk to every gaud damn one of them. How are you? I want to hear all their stories, their pain and their joys. They, like cancer patients are often perceived, are "the bad thing". Oh, that's Joan. She has cancer. Uncle Joe? Yeah, he's got cancer. I want to tell them they are not the bad thing. To not skip to the end. I want to tell them to turn on the Hallmark channel and start checking off all the movies in the Hallmark App one by one. Surround themselves with all kinds of happy. You are not the bad thing.

Thanks for coming along to my visit,

Cyndi

Merry Christmas!

Since I can't jingle all the way with a blog post just yet, I won't halvies-jingle, and instead fully intend on getting something posted soon.  

In the meantime, I'm busy chasing piggies and trying to get their dresses on them and other nonsensical things. 

Bare with me. Or is it bear with me. Either way, please be kind to yourself, because if I know you, you've been busy wearing yourself out over these holidays trying to do too much. I vote that we relax for a bit. 

Then we'll meet back here again ..............

Look at Dutch's sad little face.
The blog post is coming, sweetie. 

I am a problem to myself

I've figured out the dilemma, my friends, it's me. I am a problem to myself and create all the work I speak of. The good news is that I actually document it here, and then use this blog as a time-line or quite often for reference. For example, haven't I done this before and it didn't turn out so great? Or when did we get the piggies? Or when did we change the barn around (for the 100th time) like so like that. Or, I can't believe I'm doing this again, but I am. That's what I circle around to the most. But hey, I can always go back and reference my online diary and remember it fondly, oftentimes more than once. My husband might say I’m famous for making the same mistake twice.  

So we've been around the block and back on many things here on the farm, but one thing in particular we are circling back around on at this very moment is training new guard pups. Attempt #3 is going well. Well, 'well' may not be the right word. It's going okay. Wait, let me think. No, how it's actually going is like this: We are constantly reminding ourselves to not do the things we did before. And to do something different so that we can make it work this time. 

This seems to be harder than it seems, for me anyway. Because if I knew what to do to get potential guard pups to not eat the chickens they are supposed to guard then we likely would not be on attempt #3. But here we are and trying hard to try to make it work. We second guess every move we make about the new guard pups, and have come to this conclusion: Dutch and Penny do not want to actually kill or eat the chickens, they just want to play with the chickens. Play as in hold them down with their gigantic paws and lick (yes, lick) the chicken until their feathers are completely wet. It's the strangest thing. For every chicken they have done this to (we caught them doing it more than once) the chicken bounces back up and walks away stunned that it is still alive. We feel that same way. 

We have watched YouTube's on training guard pups to not bother the chickens (seems this is a running theme for people) and we have consulted others who have tried it and consulted others who were successful. You'd also think we would know what to do because Levi and Whisper do not bother or eat the chickens. But that in itself does not translate to other dogs. We've had people come over to visit and they bring their dog thinking it's a good idea, and their dog instantly gets a chicken. I'm convinced that only a small percentage of dogs are able to co-exist with chickens, while a large percentage of the human population are convinced their dog will not kill or eat a chicken. It’s the darnest thing. 

Penny and Dutch gettin' big

How could these little faces lick a chicken til it's dripping wet? I don't know, but it happened. So we had to do something about this licking business. Therefore, Dutch and Penny now have a staging area they stay unless we are outside to monitor them. That way, we are able to reinforce the rules. No playing with the chickens. No licking the chickens. 

Sorry guys, we had to. But you have great 
piggie and turkey neighbors 🐷🦃

This new pen for Dutch and Penny also enables them to watch Levi and Whisper from the sidelines. All night long they are able to witness what guarding is all about. Without any fowl play going on. Penny and Dutch are able to come out of their special area only when we are out to keep an eye on them. Because pups will be pups, and once a dog eats/kills a chicken (even accidentally licking them to death), they will do so again. Trust me on that one. 

We have high hopes for these soft balls of fluff who are growing so fast that we are now on larger collar size #2. Our #1 goal? Teach them that the chickens are not to be bothered but to be guarded. Still working on it folks. I’m happy to report that all the chickens are still alive.  

Significantly less cancer-y

At David's 1 year cancerversary, he had a recent visit to MD Anderson that earned him a A+. All the gold stars for David! 

We are so relieved and happy which I will now title as: relappy. We are very relappy. Yet, there's an interesting phenomenon going on here. I'll attempt to break it down:

David gets diagnosed with SNUC (sinonasal undifferentiated carcinoma). He had surgery to remove the tumor, and then he had cancer treatments of chemo and radiation simultaneously. The MD Anderson doctors (which he has many) all tell him the risk of the tumor (relapse) coming back is high and the probability of cure is considered modest (neutral, but swings on the not-likely side). David is considered unusual by his oncologist (and maybe others but that's not the point at this moment) as his cancer is abating and he's not towing the line most other SNUC patients take. He's beating the odds at this moment in time. That means everything to us - and nothing to MDA. David's treatment plan is to continue with PET scans and an MRI every 2-3 months until he's told otherwise. His oncologist informed him at his visit that this timeline may be pushed out of every 4 months eventually. And after 3 years of "clear" PET scans, they will lighten up with all this scanning. 

Bottom line? They will not declare him cancer free yet. MDA will continue to watch him closely due to the nature of his aggressive cancer. It's like they make us feel like the cancer is hiding in his body, and could sneak up on him like it SNUC up on him before. 

So we celebrate the small wins! David had another visit whereby the oncologists said, "Good job not growing more cancer! You're able to go now, but come back soon." And he will. 

Let's take a moment to review how David's visit go at MDA, shall we? Each visit to MDA is an expedition of labs, IV's, scans, oncologist visits and walking to get to each of those places like a speed walker practicing for an upcoming race, except it's inside a building with lots of obstacles and transitions.

 

David knows these MDA employees well, and he’s always happy to see their bright and shining faces at his regular visits. And don’t forget the ever famous hurrying from one appt to the next in this ginormous building. This is from his most recent visit, and it hits home every time about the humongous halls, many floors and vast areas within MDA :

In the meantime, we declare everyday a wonderful day. My own next visit with my oncologist is towards the end of December. But before I closeout this cancer update, I wanted to make mention of a reoccurring conversation David and I have often. Sometimes daily, because our self-awareness brings it into focus daily. When we were living in 2019 BC (BC = before cancer) and we thought just like everyone else did - we are going to live forever. I mean, it's what humans think. Humans know they are going to die, but they don't really believe it. It's not a real big conscious thought 24/7, but it's in human's brains that life seems to go on and on and the end is hard to see. It's what David and I thought. Whenever the financial advisor asked us how long we thought we'd live, we would say just like everyone else, maybe til 80 or 90 years old? And then they handle your money (or try to) so that you can live that long. What no one really tells you, and what cancer does tell you, is that you won't live forever like you thought you would. I remember when I used to live like I wasn't going to die. It wasn't that long ago. I was actually doing death cleaning before I really thought I was ever going to die. It was a notion not a real feeling. A notion of "the end is so far out there that I can't see it". Things like cancer, heart attacks, strokes, and esp ALS and many other horrible diseases take that silly thought straight-away out of your head. Life is fragile. It's like a club of people who all know that life is not going to be as long as we had originally thought. Similar to the club you joined when you had a baby and thought "no one told me it was going to be like this". It's just a big secret club until you join it. Then, you too are in the club. Yeah, there's better clubs to be a part of, but I will say that joining this cancer club has woken up parts of us that we did not know were there. We just don't see life like we used to. We see it more sparkly and shiny. Like we need to step up our game of living. It's so cliche, but so real. When you think you might die, you get to the 'living' real quick-like. We don't know our expiration date, but we know it's out there, and likely not as far out as we had originally thought. Oddly, there's peace in that. There's also conversation about the end of life and what we want to do til then. We just come at life from a different angle now, that's all. And no person could have ever taught me this or showed me this. It had to come from inside me. 

Cluck's up in Cluckingham

Oh dear gaud, let the madness begin. Or should I say continue. You're never going to believe it, but I got more chickens. Wait, let me explain. It all started when I moved my Egg Fridge to the front of the property. People can just stop on the side of the road, and grab eggs out of the fridge. Easy peasy. Is there a problem here? Well, I cannot keep eggs in that fridge. People are buying them, and I just don't have enough eggs to sell. Economics would tell me that that supply and demand are at play here. This fun-demental principle tells me one thing: I need more chickens. Plain and simply people. 

Speaking of my people, my fellow crazy chicks who are deemed Cyndi's Crazy Chicks (you know who you are 😏) delivered shirts to me that are the cutest!!!! Not only are they comfy soft, they are super cute and I love them!

And I actually have those exact chickens.

I owe a huge thank you to Brooke and Kaitlyn for the awesome work they did getting these fabulous t-shirts made. They make me smile - and I thank you, fellow C3-ers. I couldn't do all this without your undying support and love. 💕

So Brooke and Kaitlyn will likely understand that apparently I need more chickens. So I contact my chicken lady friend in Oklahoma. You know the one with the wild wild west chicken coops of the Saloon, General Store, Post and Cantina that she built HERSELF. Yeah, her. She recently moved to a new place with more land, and she sells chickens of all sorts. David and I took a drive to OK and went to buy some laying hens from her. Unfortunately, she had mostly grow-outs (not yet laying) and not many actual laying hens. But I did buy 9 chickens from her, but none that will give me the number of eggs I'm looking for. I did get some really pretty chickens though.

Let's see, whose new here, raise your wing.

I then decide Craigslist would be another avenue to find some laying hens and I wasn't disappointed. I even found a guy who had hundreds of laying hens on a farm not-that-far-away and would even deliver some to me. How many did I want, he asked: 10, 20, 30 or more? He has hundreds of Hy-line chickens which are an avid egg laying breed of chicken. They can lay a brown egg a day for a few years. And, his price was right. So on Thanksgiving morning, yes Thanksgiving morning, he delivered 15 of those girlz to us. Just for the record, I had said 10 chickens and David said 15. We went with 15.

I've lost all control now. Where's the new girlz?!

Needless to say, our chicken barn was complete chaos with over 20 new hens. This bounced my total chicken count to around 80. And since David happened to give me a $hit Show Supervisor sweatshirt for my birthday recently, it seemed applicable to wear.  

It's at this point that you can imagine we need to get our chicken $hit together. David, as the amazing chicken guy he is, whipped straight out of his wood working shop a couple new chicken roosts, along with a gated nesting box area (to allow chickens in and keep other animals out). Chickens need a little quiet time to lay an egg, ya know. 

We even did a re-do of the barn to accommodate all these chickens - and we took (back) the Tack Room for all the feed (for all the animals actually). I know it's hard to believe, but for the ka-gillionth time, we changed the barn around. 

I'm hoping more will roost here at night, with time.

They even sleep up in the rafters.
Sorry Sugar, I'm coming back down to get you.

I mean, they are everywhere.

They love this area the most.

I'm happy to report that every one is settling in nicely, and the egg production numbers went up. Eggcept for one small issue, that because the chickens free-range, they are now deciding to lay eggs just about anywhere and everywhere. It's like a freaking Easter egg hunt to find them and I know I'm not finding all of them. I don't want to talk about that right now, because I'm going to call a mandatory Hens Meeting (not on Zoom) and discuss that the willy-nilly work they are doing will not be tolerated. I don't care if it's covid-times, you will come into work (the barn, folks) and be productive. "Or I will turn this car around right now". Those mealworm treats are not cheap. Have you priced mealworms lately? Better yet, I will have C3 over here to do an in-service if need be. 

Turkey Troubles

No need to worry, we did not eat Paul for Thanksgiving.

This is really in our front yard. We'd never eat you, Paul.

But guess what Paul is doing? He's decided to try and date a few of the ladies around here. So, we had to relegate him to the same area as the piggies for security reasons. Sorry Paul, the girlz are not interested. They cannot be fraternizing with any boys. It's enough for me to get them to lay eggs in the barn, much less worry about if they are messing around with a turkey. Something is not right about that. 

And I won't let the piggies eat you either.

Infirmiry 

Things happen, right Spice? Seems she was in a hurry and not watching where she was going and stepped on something that ended up infecting her foot. No need to worry. David and I learned what to do off MD YouTube and hence surgery was performed at our kitchen table on her foot. Yes, she (and David) made it through with no sedation. We are changing her bandage every other day and she's getting better, slowly. She's on antibiotics for her infection and what she has is a common term called Bumble Foot. 

Details left out of video, your welcome.

Spice is popular with her fancy 'shoe'.

You purdy

I could have gone my whole life not knowing what it's like to get a birthday gift of a piggie dress. Well, actually 2 piggie dresses. 

I'll get these dresses on them one day soon. 
Uh huh, sure I will. 

David had piggie dresses hand made for Maggie and Prissy from a talented seamstress. Thank you, MegRose! Matchy matchy of course. I failed the first attempt to get them on the piggies. But give me a little more time and I will. And you'll be the first to see them, piggie promise. 

Sweet Mag Pie

Barn Sweet Barn

After the recent concreting experience, the back pasture barn is now floored. It's sooooo wonderful and is now split between the mini horses on one side, and the sheep on the other. As a reminder, Winston (once a stray who now lives with us and the sheep) has been given a dogloo of his very own with a comfy dog bed inside. 

He absolutely loves it, and even gets breakfast in bed some days. After all, he's half blind and hard of hearing and getting his arthritic body in and out of his warm "house" is just plain hard on some days. 

Just in time for cold weather.

David has placed our thick rubber mats on top of the concrete, then mucho straw for warmth. He also built a fence and gate inside the barn to keep the animals separated. It's an amazing place for the animals, and just in time for winter. We are so fortunate to have this for the animals, and I hope they are as happy about it as we are. 

Pawfect

Junie B and Finn

I'd like to tell you these are barn cats. The siamese, June Bug, with the bob tail was actually born in a barn and we found her and her siblings abandoned. The calico, Finn is an adventurous girl who lives to hunt mice. Both these cats have sweet, soft souls and are kindred spirits. They find their way through the doggie door and into the laundry room to take refuge from the cold. We keep the laundry room closed off to the rest of the house, and it's best said to be a Cat Room rather than a laundry room. Either way, there's beds, food and water available to any that dare enter. And they do. And that's okay. 

Cuddle Puddles all around with these two.

Brookie Bear

Since it's humanly impossible for me to leave Brooks out of a blog post, I'll leave you with him having breakfast at our house. We had the wonderful pleasure of him spending the weekend, along with his mom. 

He's a two fisted drinker. No coffee in there though.

We love having him over and anything to spoil him is on the menu. 

Pops lets him stay in his jammies all day. 

Dessert first, extra butter on everything, plenty of icing and whipped cream, and lots of playing outside in the rocks when possible esp when mom is not looking. 

Yes, we have merch

I'm enjoying my C3 shirt, and thinking of adding it to my merch collection. Another big thank you to my C3 chicks, and I also think that bringing back the "chickens are like tattoos" temporary tattoo (I need to order more of those, Brooke) could be in the mech collection, too. 

I mean, why not.

Gotta go look into getting my pretend online store going,

Cyndi