Let the girls out this morning to pick out our 12th egg. That’s an even dozen and probably as good a place as any to stop reporting on the subject. For anyone interested, they’re still tiny– 34 g.
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An Even Dozen, and Then I’ll Stop9 comments to An Even Dozen, and Then I’ll Stop |
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Fine. Lose your competitive spirit if you wish. I shall continue.
I’ve chosen not to count my eggs 8 and 10 as #8 was officially rubber-egg, and # 10 was found smashed to smithereens on the bottom of the chicken run. So today, I got eggs 9 & 10. #10 this afternoon was the biggest yet, weighing in at a whopping 42.52 grams.
I’ll keep recording them, but I figure my blog’s boring enough as it is. I don’t need to report every time one of those goddamned feathered dinosaurs craps out a protein biscuit.
Oops…
Your blog is not boring.
I can’t think in metric terms. “Mature” chicken eggs are about 2 ounces. How many grams is that?
Wow, Rian…what a grouchy response from a such funny guy fortunate enough to have such a cute little sad kid following him around. But, then, you KNEW I’d give you sh*& for that response of yours, didn’t you? Here’s a happy pill for you: you have a new reader!!
Jen: My egg #10, that I converted into grams for Rian’s nerdy brain, was approx 1.5 ounces. 2 ounces is approx 56 grams. (Yeah, I couldn’t figure out his obsession with grams, either)
Grouchy? I guess so. I’m always out there shaking my fist at the neighbors… you kids! get off my lawn!
Incidentally, the baby’s taken to “swearing” now when he doesn’t like… oh, anything… this hilarious barrage of what must be absolute filth pours forth. He can’t exactly “make words” yet, but we get the idea. Probly gets that from me.
Yes! New readers! I’ll be famous yet! Welcome Farmer Jen and Twinville! (Note that Farmer Jen has already deduced that we are good friends. Now I know who to go to when I need some money.)
And the grams were cuz when I weighed the first ones on my kitchen scale, they were so small that they barely registered in ounces. That, and it’s how I measure all the cocaine that I sell.
YOU KIDS TAKE YOUR COCAINE AND GET OFF MY LAWN!!!
It’s just so darn cute when our babies learn to talk, even the potty mouth stuff is endearing. I’ll bet you even praise him for it.
It’s kinda like the time my oldest son wrote his name for the very first time. T….e…a…g…a…n….with a rock. On the outside of our new car. “Teagan!!! No!!! Oh… um, awww Teag, you wrote your name! You’re so smart, honey….”
Oh… my… god.
‘You’re so smart, honey, that I feel bad about having to murder you.’
Let’s see, our last one was “hey, guys! I just hit the lights off in my room… but now they don’t work…” meaning:
‘I just smashed all the track light bulbs above my bed with a hard cardboard tube because you left me alone for five minutes.’
I won’t even get into the time he thought it’d be neat to cover his play structure with… uh… material… that his body produced.
“Dude! Is this poop?!”
And he looks at me like: “Is that a trick question?”
By the way, that kid’s a genius. Seriously.
Ain’t no free lunch.
You two crack me up!
Rian, thanks for the welcome and for making me laugh so hard.
Farmgirl DK, thank you for the ounces/grams conversion. I will probably still think in ounces though. Good egg size for your young hens.