Last Monday, as we sat at breakfast planning for how to welcome the cow, Violet, and how Jason was going to drive the livestock trailer the first time, the telephone rang. I should point out that being up here in the far, far north, the sun greets us well before 5:00, and we tend to be awake by 5:30 on a summer morning when we're sleeping in. So, for the phone to ring during breakfast is a remarkable event. It was not even 7:00.
It was the post office letting us know that we had 27 chicks sitting in a box just waiting for us to pick up. I leapt from the table and the children leapt after, and we made our mad dash to the post office. (Quick aside- I think the postal service is amazing.)
I knew the chicks were supposed to arrive last week, and I had written down that they were supposed to arrive Monday, but when I looked back at my notes, that just did not make sense to me. Things don't ship on Sunday, so they would have to ship on Saturday and just sit somewhere until Monday in order to pick them up Monday. Needless to say, we were not exactly ready.
The people at the post office are not nearly as excited about chicks as we are. There were not happy smiles wishing us luck, just a quick, "Here are your chicks. Good-bye!" So we hustled home with them peeping away in Ezra's lap. I only had to tell him 80 times during the 5 minute drive to keep the box closed.