This year we were very successful in our attempt to not do anything noteworthy.

Let’s start with news about the most important person in the family—me. When Nikole said, “Let’s take the family photo today.” I made sure everyone wore earth tones while I wore the brightest orange shirt I could find. Actually, I wore that shirt so I might avoid being struck by a car on our annual family bike ride to celebrate Dad’s 39th birthday. I am still an instructor of graphic design at the technical college in town. The school pays me wheelbarrows full of money to teach young people to design advertisements that convince people to spend wheelbarrows full of money. I rode my bike a lot more last summer. I never got fast. I spent a lot of time being noticeably slower than my peers and those much older than me. Every Sunday I made my kids do the 10-mile ride home from church. I crushed them with my middle-aged speed, because they are the only people I can crush anymore.

Nikole returns from from another pre-sunrise, epic run in the frigid north.

Nikole is amazing. She does everything. If I told you all she does, it would make you throw up. But don’t worry, because she would clean it up with one hand while she made my breakfast with the other hand, all the while maintaining safe food handling techniques. Actually, she never makes my breakfast. She crawls out of bed every morning at 5A.M. to meet her buddies and train for 5K runs and half marathons and such. When I am walking out the door to ride my bike to work, she is bustling in carrying a couple gallons of milk and some bananas. Before her coat hits the floor, she is cooking malt-o-meal and getting the kids ready for home school. That is about all she does. She maintains a high level of fitness, teaches home school and cooks meals for her family. I think the busyness might drive her crazy, but I wonder if the knowledge that she is stronger than all those cry baby professional football players you see on TV helps her to cope. Or is it a miraculous peace from God that keeps her from snapping and backing over her family with a full size van?

Helen gives some attention to The Great Ignored One.

Helen is 14 years old and is in her first year of home school high school. She takes care of my chickens and my parakeet. She takes care of her younger siblings. She devotes the rest of her time to her on-line history and French classes. She neglects all her other classes and can no longer read, spell or do simple addition. But, she is really cute. She swims, plays the piano and draws beautiful arrangements of fruit and glassware. She recently won the Winter Rec Fest button design contest, for which she will receive a full ride scholarship to the University of Minnesota–Bemidji (or maybe it was $25 — I cannot remember which).

Helens Rebuttal:

“Don’t believe anything my father says. I am the perfect child. I never scream at my younger siblings. And they never scream at each other over important things like rubber dresses for three inch dolls.”

Claire gets smacked. Actually, Claire enjoys using Crayola markers to make herself appear to have been smacked. Then she lurks around the yard with a bow in her hand pretending to be in the Hunger Games.

Claire is 12 years old. Claire hates everything except Katniss Everdeen. (A little culture check for you there. Katniss is a book character who can shoot an arrow through the eye of a squirrel from 30 yards away.) Claire has dropped out of home school and devotes her time to reading fictional books about young people with super powers. She swims with the YMCA team seven or eight times a week. She is shooting for the 2016 Olympics. She wishes there were an Olympic event in which the competitors swim fast then pull out their bows and shoot unsuspecting spectators off the side of the pool. When Claire is not swimming or breaking laws governing the use of weapons in city limits, she is drawing pictures of young people with super powers and very long, skinny legs.

Claire’s Rebuttal

“Dad, that’s not true! I don’t lurk around the yard pretending to be in the Hunger Games after drawing on myself with markers. I just like making tattoos. And my drawings are getting better — the legs aren’t so skinny. And they’re not all about people with super powers. I do do all my school work. [Claire, tell us what you do instead of just negating everything I wrote in the letter.] Well I… I… I guess I do just sit on the couch and read about people with super powers.”

Hey kids, why don’t you go out and play on the frozen creek bed. Don’t worry, the ice is probably thick enough.

Ten-year-old Edward is a boy. But not the kind of boy who pounds nails into the back door, gets in fights, and jumps off the garage roof. He is the kind of boy who talks about his feelings and snuggles up on the couch reading fictional books about young people with super powers. He wages complex psychological warfare on his younger sisters. Edward ran his first 5k this year. He also swims and plays the piano.

Edward’s Rebuttal

“I think I am a little needing to pound a nail into something sometime.”

Hanging Barbies by their chins… No, that’s not a disturbing image. Ruthie is completely normal.

Ruthie (seven years old) is going to rule the world someday. I am warning you now. She is intelligent and successful at whatever she does. (If she is not immediately successful at a thing, she slowly melts into a sobbing gelatinous mass so annoying that her trainer vows never to broach the offending subject again.) Everything good in the house belongs to her. If a sibling owns anything desirable, she will convince him or her to relinquish ownership sort of like how Jacob took the birthright from Esau. I will not be surprised when one day she convinces the president to hand over the reins of leadership and then convinces congress to do away with those pesky elections. I can’t wait to hang out with her in the white house. Ruthie swims and plays the piano. She draws mermaids.

Ruthie’s Rebuttal

“I really actually play with my little sister and I’m not as mean as my dad says. And I’m not going to rule the world like my Dad says. I’m going to grow up and I’m going to be a nurse like my mom.”

Bethany oozing sweetness like a recently stepped on cinnamon roll.

Five-year-old Bethany is pure and kind. (I expect that when Ruthie rises to power, she will have Bethany put in an iron mask and exiled to the island of Patmos because of the annoying contrast caused by Bethany’s beautiful character.) Bethany smiles from the time she wakes until she goes to sleep. Bethany will melt into a sobbing gelatinous mass if someone leaves the house without giving her a meaningful goodbye hug. Bethany can swim across the YMCA pool without touching once. Bethany can read, but would rather be read to. She draws detailed copies of her older sister’s mermaid drawings.

Bethany’s Rebuttal

“No I don’t really copy her. I just draw mermaids. I would like them to know that I can read. Well, some people might know that.”

The child who defies description mostly because we don’t really notice her… except when she wears a cute hat.

Three-year-old Lydia is the great ignored one. She mostly walks around the house clutching a blanket, sucking her thumb and observing the chaos. She is excellent at whispering tales of intrigue as she manipulates a couple of Ruthie’s cast-off Barbie dolls. She sits quietly in the laps of older siblings and watches them figuring algebra problems. On rare occasions she may demand someone read her a book. Lydia does not draw, swim or play the piano. Lydia enjoys being held and going on bike rides and car trips.

Rebuttal

Lydia: “I like to draw and color.”

Nikole: “I would say she’s not ignored. She’s so stinking cute, we are always picking her up and covering her in kisses and tickles.”

Our parakeet is a talented singer. Our chickens are in their winter doldrums, not producing any eggs but still consuming food. I still don’t have a dog.

In truth, the Lord has blessed us this year. We aren’t making headlines with our wild success, but we aren’t under a lot of stress either. We hope you are blessed with health and prosperity this year.

Happy Christmas from the Hales.

She replied, “This is Barbie Heaven, and they are all going to Barbie Heaven.”

There was a mysterious procession of Barbies and small plush animals on the living room floor.

Below, God, wearing yellow high heels, greets the devoted at the steps into Heaven.

Barbie raises her hand as she takes in the glorious streets of gold.

When God looks down and sees Himself depicted as a California Raisin in a child’s diorama, does he smile?

The author of creation, Ruthie, looks down on all she has made and sees it is good.

I saw a beautiful piece of art on pinterest done, I think, by a first grader. It was painted strips of paper weaved together and mounted on black paper. You can see it here: http://www.artsonia.com/museum/art.asp?id=19209153. Inspired by that artwork, students in the Edward Hale Art Institute made the following works of art.

Weaved painted strips by Bethany Jane Hale

Weaved painted strips by Ruthie Nikole Hale

This shows Edward’s weaved painted strips. Since he has a broken arm the strips were painted and weaved by Nikole without any input from Edward.

Weaved painted strips by Claire Hale

Weaved painted strips by Helen Hale

There you go… Day one of classes at the Edward Hale Art Institute is complete. I wanted to change the name of the institute to The Edward Hale Academy for Young Endurance Athletes, but my students were not receptive.

Ruthie poses by the traditional birthday sign

We celebrated Ruthie’s birthday today, with breakfast in bed, ice skating, gymnastics and chocolate cake. Nikole always makes a beautiful birthday sign to greet the kids when they come downstairs on the morning of their birthday. I am a little jealous of her lettering skills and her ability to choose colors. She is a skilled graphic designer.

Editor’s note: I sent the camera along with the ice skaters with instructions, “Make sure Mom takes some pictures of Ruthie and her friends skating!” The camera and the instructions were delivered, but the order was not carried out. You are probably wondering why I stay married to a wife who often defies my orders? Look at the cake below… that is part of the reason.

The big seven-year-old aglow in the presence of chocolate.

Three sweet chicks. (Note to potential suitors: the sweetness rises as you move to the left. You didn’t hear that from me).

Nothing increases productivity like having a two-year-old between your hands.

There is the amazing woman, making chocolate cakes and raising the next generation of professional cyclists.

Helen sporting her new tooth hardware.

Ug, my oldest kid just got braces. I suppose I better plan on all of them needing braces. I don’t even mind the price. I sort of figured I would be purchasing some braces when I decided to have kids. But something about being like everyone else bugs me. I own a little, old house. I own two cars. And now I have kids in braces. Just like everyone else. I think it might propel me into a mid-life crisis. I’m going to buy a really cool fixed gear bicycle, grow my hair out and get dreadlocks.

Recently, I walked out of the house with our parakeet, Mr. Misty Freeze, on my shoulder. Inside the house, the bird had been on my shoulder for much of the day and I had forgotten she was there. When the little kids experienced some kind of chicken feeding emergency in the back yard, I walked right out of the house to help them. I bent over the feeder and felt something hop across my back. I looked at Ruthie and asked, “Is there a bird on my back?” Ruthies eyes grew huge and she looked close to panic as she said, “It’s Misty!” I said, “It’s okay. She can’t fly.”

Lies! What I really meant was, “I hope she does not try to fly, catch some freak of nature gust and sail a hundred feet up in the air and glide half a mile away.”

I straightened up and the bird climbed back onto my shoulder. I walked calmly back into the house all the way distracting the bird by telling her how pretty she was. She never showed any sign of taking flight.

I am very glad we clip her wings.

I came to the farm to get chickens, but the kids wanted to waste time riding horses. Seriously? You would pick a horse ride over catching chickens?

Everyone gets a turn on the horse. Here, experienced rodeo star, Helen, gives a ride to an aspiring buckaroo.

While I waited for everyone to have the complete farm experience, I took my new farmer boots for a tour of the pasture.

Finally, it is time to acquire the chickens. Below you will see how my peeps do it:

After the stress of catching chickens, it is nice to relax with a small, furry rodent... I mean dog.

Now it’s time to go home to our own little farm and show the chickens their new place.

Once the chickens were installed, the coop became a very popular attraction for the kids.

Escape!

If you look closely at the photo above you can almost discern the absence of chicken wire on the top of the chicken run. “Chickens cannot fly that high” I told all who questioned my coop design. A few hours after the hens arrived, we were out there herding two escapees back into the coop. Then we were donning headlights to staple chicken wire over the top of the chicken run in the moonlight.

Micro-managing

I am such a doting father. The first night I had to pick up the hens and put them in the hen house. Then I reached through the chicken door and lifted two of them onto the roost poles. The other ladies then figured it out and flew onto the roost poles themselves.

Even a few days later, the chickens are a fun attraction. I have to keep reminding the kids that they have to wear shoes if they are going in the coop.

The second night I had to lift most of the ladies into the hen house, but they were able to get up on the roosts by themselves. The third night, they were able to do the whole maneuver with no help from Ed. (Kind of makes a farmer feel unneeded.)

And finally after days of waiting, the chickens start doing what they came for.

Update

I realized, after posting this, that I did not have any photos of the new residents. Below are two photos showing the ladies of the coop:

We got three buff orpingtons and two silver laced wyandottes. The buff in the foreground is named Bertha.

This is Edward's silver laced wyandotte. We are pretty sure she is the first to lay an egg, and Edward is pretty sure she is the smartest chicken ever.

There you have it. The chickens have arrived and are learning the ropes around Harlingen Square. After a week, the ladies have only produced enough eggs for a four-egg omelet. But we will keep them.

Just killin' time, feeding herbs to my chicken...

I scored some rubber roofing from a school re-roofing project. Here it is installed on the coop roof.

Nikole spreads dirt on the green roof.

Edward Luke enjoyed spreading the dirt on the green roof. All the kids enjoyed having an excuse to get on the roof.

My beautiful wife plants sedums into the green roof. I am really glad she wanted to do this step (No power tools).

After this something very motivational happened. My wife set a due date. We are going to get the chickens on Saturday, August 11. Skip the details and get the coop ready for inhabitants by the 11th! Coop construction took on a new, accelerated pace. No trim! Just utility.

First I needed to attach a chicken run to the side of the hen house. I spent a lot of time wondering where to attach it in relation to the fascia and roof line. I knew the world would  judge me on the placement of the run.

After much contemplation, the chicken run appears next to the hen house.

It is always inspiring with the boss rolls up her sleeves and gets her hands dirty. Nikole took it upon herself to staple chicken wire into the most difficult places in the hen house ventilation system. (Look at those pipes!)

Everyone was pressed into service during the final push. Here my father makes the ramp into the hen house. Lydia is checking to see that the steps are evenly spaced.

My dad displays the chicken ramp after is has passed inspection.

On the day before the chickens arrived I needed to make nesting boxes. I told my wife I did not want to start from scratch because if would take me all day. I wanted to find something that I could repurpose into a nesting box. I found a chest of drawers in a neighbor’s trash and determined that, with a few alterations, I could make it into nesting boxes in no time. So, after working on them for about eight hours, I had fashioned the nesting boxes you see below. I hope the hens appreciate all the time I am putting into this!

After a full day of working on them, the nesting boxes are almost done. Do you dig the drawer fronts?

The very morning of the chicken acquisition, Helen made a ramp to help the hens get onto the roost poles inside the hen house. (Hurry, Helen, the chickens are coming!)

The very last step -- just before we jumped into the van to head to the farm, I attached a makeshift door latch to hold the hen house door closed. (Picture my wife in the van tapping her foot impatiently.)

After the final push, we sighed and got in the van to drive to the farm and pick up our chickens. In my next post I will tell you how the young ladies are adapting to their new house.

My neighbor, Jarrod, is the real brains behind this operation. Here he employs some sub-contractors to stress test the floor of the hen house.

No big deal. Just me and "my" Dewalt circular saw looking manly.

Cutting the chicken door the way Jarrod taught me. The amazing part is that I measured it correctly and the hole was indeed between the studs. That was the first time I measured anything correctly.

Photo by Bethany Jane Hale (4 years old). I am saying, "Bethany, you have to aim this thing at my face." And, yes, I do customarily hang out with a tape measure clipped to my pocket.

Roofing in the noon day heat. I make Claire do all the hot jobs while I sip lemonade in the shade and take photos.

The 50 pound, hand crafted, door with 3/4 inch, rough sawn oak veneer.

The door installed, and it actually swings closed! Helen is testing to see if any chickens could escape the oaken fortress.

Can't you just hear me saying, "Wait, wait until I pick up some manly hardware before you take the photo!"

I estimate only about three more months of coop crafting before the project is complete. Ugh!

Ruthie: "It's Me and Dad on the tandem. I'm smiling because I love riding on the tandem for the first time. You're smiling because it's such a beautiful day."

Saturday dawned gray and cold. We planned the ride the night before, and though it was 41 degrees when we left, my wife would not let us back out. We had planned a Saturday activity and we would have a Saturday activity. For me, it was the least of many evils. If I had not taken her and the family on a freezing ride, she might have made me paint the trim, or remodel the basement. I would rather risk hypothermia on a bicycle than work… with tools.

Young Cyclists taking a break at Riverside Park. My kids, a couple neighbor kids and two statues. (Not pictured: Lydia and Nikole and your author)

This next image has nothing to do with our ride, but it is very cute and must be shared with the world.

Ruthie: "That's me in high heels, and I'm walking Daisy around the block with Mom's earrings."

Thanks for checking in. May your bike rides be warm and your high heels be comfortable.