Holed up in the nursery, the baby had just drifted off to sleep in my arms. It was that blissful moment when eyes finally took rest behind their lids and slumber won out over my fussy little one.
The tides of peace and calm rolled in my mama brain. Yes, that four-walled, pale blue sanctuary (aka the nursery) was fulfilling its purpose- quarantining us (baby and me) from the bustling household long enough to give rest a chance to settle in.
No sooner had those lids dropped and the tide rolled in, when my 5 year old Paul Revere rushed in booming, “The chickens are out, the chickens are out!”
Potentially as devastating as a British invasion, loose fowl required a call to arms or my husband’s fledgling garden faced certain doom. Continue reading