Five forever

In my mind they will be 5-years-old forever.

The years will pass, milestones will occur and inevitably they will probably forget all about me, but I will always remember them. Their faces will forever be etched in my memory as 5-year-olds running through the playground and sliding down the slide.

I worked at a preschool for the majority of the school year as a paraeducator until I took another position. I had never worked in a school setting before. My previous job had been as a newspaper editor with a daily newspaper for 11 ½ years – that's all I really knew or so I thought. There were good days and bad days – periods of adjustment for me and for them.

I will never forget greeting them for the first time when they came off the school bus. They looked so small, but ready to take on the world with their new backpacks and shiny shoes.

I never went to preschool – it wasn't very popular back in 1980 when I was 4-years-old. My first introduction to school was a half day of kindergarten in a small class that met in the afternoon. My teacher was Mrs. Mattan, who I ironically had again in second grade.

I don't remember too much about kindergarten except show-and-tell. I brought my ceramic kitty that my mother made for me. Unfortunately, it was dropped by one of my classmates. I was devastated. I was even more devastated for my mother who made it. Mrs. Mattan felt bad too. So bad, in fact, that she took the kitty home and glued her back together – talk about an awesome teacher. And for that act of kindness, I have never forgotten Mrs. Mattan. I still have the kitty wrapped up and stored away with the rest of my childhood toys.

So, as the year progressed, I wanted to spread a little bit of Mrs. Mattan's kindness on to my own preschoolers. I enjoyed making snowmen out of Playdough complete with a hat, scarf and smile on his face. It may have been a little over the top in September, but who cares.

One of my favorite units involved puppets. We had shadow puppets, which I cut out, and regular puppets. For example, there were character puppets for “Little Red Riding Hood,” “The Three Billy Goats Gruff,” and “The Three Little Pigs.” I loved playing the troll from “The Three Billy Goats Gruff” and I think the kids did too. I lowered my voice and called the kids by name, which they thought was hilarious. This brought back fond memories from my childhood when my dad played with me. I had a Miss Piggy and Ernie puppet. After supper, my dad would sit in his recliner and talk to me through the puppets.

I will never forget the last day of preschool. I wanted to memorize each child's face so I would always remember them. And, I hoped deep down inside, that maybe just maybe, they would remember me too. So, I made it a point to put their graduation date on my calendar.

When I walked into the church that day, I couldn't believe how much bigger and older they were compared to that first day I welcomed them off the bus. One little girl spotted me right away and waved, “Oh, Ms. Angie I just knew you would come.” It took every ounce of my being not to cry.

As I sat in the pew and watched each child walk up the aisle in their cap and gown, I was overcome with emotion. I was so proud of everything they had accomplished and a little sad I had not been there until the end.

After the ceremony, there was a reception for the kids and their families. I stood off to the side, but a group of them saw me and yelled, “Ms. Angie, Ms. Angie – there she is.” And with that, one little girl ran over to me and hugged my legs saying how she much she missed me. It was very difficult not to start crying when I bent over to hug her.

As I left, another little girl reached out and grabbed me after she had her picture taken with her Mom. “Oh Ms. Angie I missed you. I want my picture with Ms. Angie.” So, I picked her up and smiled for the camera. I told her how proud I was of her and how much I missed her too.

I guess I made more of an impression on the kids than I thought – they didn't forget me after all. As the years pass, maybe one or two will remember me like I remember Mrs. Mattan. It's hard to say. But, in the end, I will never forget the preschool class of 2015.

Color me blonde

In some ways I'm a late bloomer.

For example, I started drinking coffee in my mid-30s. That is pretty impressive considering I never liked the smell or taste up until that point. Coffee wasn't the cool thing to drink until recently. Now, you see drive-up coffee stations everywhere. They dot the landscape just like fast-food restaurants.

I limit myself to one ice-coffee drink a week or every two weeks. I really got hooked on them the day before my wedding. My husband's aunt, Sandy, my good friend, Niki, and I were doing some last-minute shopping that day and decided to have a late lunch at McDonald's. It was on that fateful day, two years ago to be exact, that I fell madly in love with an ice-coffee drink. And it was all purely by accident. A customer decided he or she didn't want the drink for some reason and one of the employees was trying to give it away. Needless to say, I took it and the rest is history.

For my 39^th birthday, I decided to try something that I'd never tried before. As the days neared, it was very tempting to chicken out of the whole thing, but I didn't. I finally decided, after many years, to take the plunge and get my hair highlighted. See, I'm the epitome of a late bloomer.

The one thing I always liked about myself was my blonde hair. I never wanted it to change. Blonde hair is a bit of an oddity in my family. My mother has brown hair and my dad has black. Both, have brown eyes. Me, on the other hand, I have blonde hair and blue eyes. When I looked at family pictures, I often wondered if I was mixed up at the hospital.

I am convinced that my blonde hair originated from my Swedish roots, pardon the hair pun. My great-grandfather was from Sweden and he had blonde hair and blue eyes. I liked being special; I liked being different.

As the years have rolled by, I've asked my hairdresser countless times if she has seen any gray hairs. Fortunately, the answer has always been “no.” But, I made up my mind a long time ago that I would do whatever I could to keep it.

I'm getting older – things are shifting in places I didn't know they could shift. I have love handles and my crows feet are a little more pronounced on the sides of my face than they used to be. I don't look the same as I did 20 or even 10 years ago. So, as the trend keeps going, I wanted to keep one thing that reminded me of “me” and that was my hair.

So, this was the golden opportunity. It was go big or go home. It was now or never. As I sat in the hairdresser's chair, I felt like a real rebel – a little James Deanish if you know what I mean. I was beyond excited as my hair was being folded into foil. This was a bit bizarre since the only thing I have seen wrapped in foil has been food.

I decided to get my hair highlighted enough that people would notice and to knock off at least five years of my actual age. As my hairdresser took my hair out of the foil, washed and dried my locks, I couldn't believe my eyes. Why didn't I do this years ago? My hair hadn't been this light since high school. I felt like a new me; I felt transformed. I felt like I could take on the world like Mary Tyler Moore and throw my hat up into the air. I felt rejuvenated. I felt alive. For heaven's sake, I felt 34 again. A new hair day had finally dawned and I was going to keep it that way.

You're never too old to try new things. However, I don't think I'll ever color my hair white and put a red streak down the middle to resemble my chickens – just saying.

New moms need chick registry

I am going to be a new mother in a few weeks, but not in the traditional sense of the word. My babies are going to fit in the palm of my hand, cheep and arrive in a box from the U.S. Postal Service. This delivery won't even require a dramatic entrance into an emergency room or me screaming for an epidural.

Unfortunately, I have not been blessed with children of my own. I have only been a mother to those who are a little on the furry side and have feathers. Some would say that I'm not a mother, but I would disagree. Like other mothers, I would do anything for my children. I have taken care of them when they're sick, comforted them when they're scared and most of all, loved them. So, you see, I am a mother too.

I bought a baby gift recently, which got me thinking. Why aren't there baby registries for every mother out there? Come on, doesn't a chick registry sound unbelievably cute?

I think this would be an awesome idea for farm-supply stores. Soon-to-be chick parents could use a scanner and pick out everything imaginable they would need for their new brood. Why shouldn't all mothers join in the fun? We get the nesting feeling too.

First and foremost on my list would be heat lamps. Instead of soft, warm baby blankets, my chicks would need nice warm heat lamps to keep them cozy and warm.

And instead of a crib, my chicks would need a brooder. A brooder simply consists of a cardboard wall encircling these yellow balls of fluff under the heat lamp. So, I would need one or two cardboard boxes wrapped up in a pretty pink package.

Another gift I could use would be a small thermometer, which would be placed inside the brooder. You have to watch the temperature very carefully when using the heat lamps. You want the chicks warm – not fried.

In addition to these items, I would also need a bale or two of pinewood shavings to cover the floor inside the brooder. Little chicks need to feel comfortable too. Just think of this as the mattress inside a real crib.

Since most new mothers get a multitude of bottles, I would definitely mark down a 1-gallon waterer for my chicks. Well, let's splurge a little bit and ask for two. Heh, it's not like I'm asking for a breast pump or anything.

Instead of formula or the inevitable breast pump, I would need some chick starter, which is like baby food for chicks, and Quik Chik, which is like formula. Quik Chik is a powder, which is rich in electrolytes and vitamins. Every mother wants her chick to get off to the right start.

A chick registry list would not be complete without a few oddball items such as a radio and maybe a few storybooks. A radio comes in very handy. Not only does it help keep critters away at night, but it can be very soothing for them and for me. Since I spend a lot of time in the coop just looking at my chicks the first week, the radio is nice for me to listen to. As far as the storybooks go, well, that would be on my baby registry list if I had a baby. I will just have to read “Goodnight Moon” to my chicks until that day comes.

Now that I have all of my gifts picked out for my chick registry, I think a really cool chick shower would be the next best thing. I can see it now – pink streamers, pink plastic eggs decorating the tables and deviled eggs for appetizers. Now, that would be an awesome party for a new chicken mom.

Saving Chickamina

There are more uses for Preparation H than I thought were possible.

Since raising chickens six years ago, I have encountered a lot of ailments including Bumble foot, torn-off toenails, injured heads from being pecked and colds. But I have to say, one of the worst things I have seen has been a chicken who has prolapsed.

What does prolapsing mean? Well, in an eggshell, according to The Chicken Chick, “a hen's oviduct turns inside out and protrudes through the vent.” It can be caused by a number of factors including laying very large eggs. The condition is serious and can be fatal.

A week ago, I discovered my favorite chicken, Chickamina, had succumbed to a prolapse. Chickamina is the only chicken in my flock who has a name and has turned into a pet. Out of all the chickens in the world, why did this have to happen to Chickamina? My heart sank to my knees when I discovered the problem and I started to cry. What could I do to help my beloved Chickamina?

Chickamina is unlike any other chicken. For one thing, she loves being held and petted. But more importantly, Chickamina loves me. She follows me around the coop like a dog. She comes when I call her name. She even makes a path through all the other chickens to get to me. If you put a little football helmet on her head, she would look like she's going in for a touchdown. Some football teams could use a player like her.

Chickamina is unusual in the fact that she is a bit of a loner chicken. Every night 37 of my hens congregate to the back part of my coop to roost. However, the 38^th chicken is missing. Where is she? Well, Chickamina is comfortably sitting on the second rung of a ladder on the other side of the coop looking out the window. I like to think that she is a star gazer. I wonder what kinds of things a chicken wishes for on a shooting star? That just may be one of the biggest mysteries of life.

So, when I close the coop door up at night, I bid all 37 goodnight on the one side of the coop. I feel like a member of the Waltons clan saying goodnight. However, I have more than one Elizabeth, Mary Ellen and Erin. After I'm done wishing everyone goodnight and telling them what good hens they are, I proceed to the next window where my Chickamina is sitting. I may be a little biased but I think Chickamina is in a league all of her own; she is a little better than all the rest.

So, when I discovered Chickamina's ailment, I was horrified. I even put a post on Facebook about my sad news. Chickamina and I have visited schools and my church educating people about chickens. So, this was sad news for a lot of people. Let's just say a lot of prayers were being sent up to Heaven for a little Klucker Farms girl named Chickamina. A friend of mine even did a little research and told me to try hemorrhoid cream. My cousin concurred in an all-out effort to save Chickamina.

So, I borrowed my husband's hemorrhoid cream, which believe it or not, he didn't want back. I segregated Chickamina and brought her into my garage infirmary. I then started smearing cream on her protruding insides.

It wasn't until a few days later, that I started seeing some improvement. Her oviduct was shrinking in size. And when I came home from work one day, it was all back inside her vent. My prayers were answered. Words cannot express my insurmountable joy. However, I still am keeping a watchful eye on Chickamina, but everything seems to be back to normal.

So, along with my chicken remedies of pine tar and Blue Kote, a tube of Preparation H will forever be sitting on the shelf. Thank God for his blessings on Chickamina and thank God for George Speri Sperti, the genius behind Preparation H.