(This post was originally written on September 5, 2009.)

I was cutting up chicken for enchiladas when Phoebie and I had the following conversation:

Phoebie : “Mommy, where do chickens come from?”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Phoebie: “Where do they come from?  Like….. Do they grow in the ground?”

Me: “Chickens?!”

Phoebie: “Yeah, chickens.”

Me: “Phoebie, chickens come from eggs.”

Phoebie : (blank stare)

Me: “You know, Phoebie… Chickens….  Brock, brock….  Grandma Penny has chickens in her yard.”

Phoebie: (look of sudden insight) “OH, YEAH!!  CHICKENS!”

A few nights later, Phoebie was talking her dad’s ear off.  He looked at her and said, “Phoebie, why don’t you go out and plant some chickens.”
Very seriously, she said, “But, Daddy, I don’t have any seeds!”

Enjoying every moment,


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