These are a few of my favorite things....

First, I love that song. Somewhere along the way it became a Christmas song, which makes me love it even more. Even though my husband completely dismisses its Christmasness, and adamantly refuses to put it on his annual Christmas cd.

But reminiscing about the Sound of Music is not the point of little soliloquy. After my weekly group get together where we discuss all the disappointments, trials, tribulations and heart-wrenching moments of our childhoods, I can get a little blue. Focusing on those who done you wrong tends to do that to a person. And as I began to further wallow in my wounded psyche, one of my truly favorite songs came on. The song that makes my daughter run screaming to my room to tell me it's on. The one that makes my oh-so-proper husband roll his eyes. Yes, you all know it...the F.U.N. song by Sponge Bob Squarepants. This lifts me from my funk...but I like the part Plankton sings. "F is fire that burns down the village, U is for uranium bomb, N is for no survivors!" I'm convinced the Sponge Bob writers stuck that one in there for over-caffeinated, sleep-deprived parents who are tired of the vapid lyrics to which we were subjected while our children watched Dragon Tales. Don't get me wrong, I love me some Dragon Tales, but there just so many times I can hear about how it's great to be me...in Spanish.

Another top ten hit--finding out that my son's hearing loss was due to the disgustingly enormous hunks o'wax that had wormed their way down into his ear canal. But I clean his ears!, I said. Really, I do. He has waxy ears, they say. He'll need to have them cleaned out periodically to avoid this happening again. This, I can do. So I thumb my nose--I'd rather raise my middle finger--to the teacher last year who said my sweet little boy never paid attention. He has enormous hunks of wax, I'll tell her. No, maybe not. Then she'll start saying I'm a bad mother. Maybe I'll start a vicious rumor about her. Yeah, that's productive. But oh so satisfying.

Not too far down the list is that the chickens are now regular egg producers. One even consistently lays double yolkers. I swear the first one was twice the size of a store bought egg. I cannot even imagine how that one felt coming out. Can we all say ouch? I'm worried about them tonight, though, because we're expecting another "gully washer" as my grandmother used to say. I have reinforced their little red barn with gravel in hopes of avoiding the coop flood.

Last, but certainly not least is the fact that finally, finally, finally it appears that Sarah Palin is beginning to lose her luster. Not going into just how many ways she annoys, frightens, terrifies me. But she has nothing to do with my hens or children, so I will try not think of her. Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts.