Peeps

I love peeps. Unless I eat more than half of one. Then I want to die. I mostly just love that when you see these little gems in the store it means that Easter is soon. I love Easter. Not just for the delicious sugar coated marshmallows that look less like chicks and more like some breed of alien, but because Easter means springtime.

Enough of that, lets move onto the real reason that I'm writing this blog.

My parents bought chicks. 5 of them. My dad is building a coop for them and my parents will gather the eggs they produce and use those instead of buying them at the store.

This little guy is mine. I say that because he's the only one that didn't scream when I tried to pick him up. He also fell asleep in my hands. I'm calling it a "he" because I get to name this one. I couldn't think of a name that fit him so for the time being he will be referred to as Sir Jack Bauer. And lets be honest, Jack Bauer is all man. If Sir Jack Bauer does, in fact, turn out to be a boy, my dad says we will have rooster for dinner. Not funny. If he tries to kill Jack Bauer, I'll pull a Fern from Charlotte's Web and save the day. PETA would be so proud.

True Love.

Also, what is the best thing about going to the mall on a Saturday for a shopping spree?

Is it the beautiful shoes my husband encouraged me to buy along with a skirt and 4 shirts because I let him buy brand new drum heads? Close...

It's the quality massages.