Thursday, February 13, 2014


Yesterday I cooked Cornish hens for the first time since Evan was a baby.  They thawed in the fridge in their plastic wrap and then I took them out and unwrapped them, setting them on the counter in a glass pan.  

As I washed them Evan and Seth wandered into the kitchen.  They asked for a snack and then inquired what I was doing, I told them I was making dinner.  I don't know which one counted the birds but the total was quickly shouted, "Those are four chickens!"  I agreed with the assessment.  


Seth: "You murdered our chickens?!  You can't make me eat them! Peep, wahh!"

I didn't exactly rush to prove them wrong.  I let them wallow in their accusations and assumptions for a bit. Finally tiring of the noise, I said, "Weren't you just outside?  Didn't you see your chicks out there?" 

Evan: "Seth, lets go check and see if they're alive!"

Seth: (Already racing for the door.)

I began putting the rub on the hens.  The boys return in better spirits.  

Evan: "Phew, mom, they're out there." 

Seth: "You scared us to death....  (Smiles devilishly) HEY, KANE!  MOM IS COOKING OUR CHICKENS FOR DINNER TONIGHT!" 

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