I am sure many of you are unable to concentrate at work right now because you're all "but what about the FLOOR?"
In the interest of productivity, I will answer some questions. Pay no attention to the fact that I am blogging from work.
To recap - we want to renovate the kitchen but Not Now. So anything we do to the kitchen is really all for naught since it's going to be torn out in however long. But it's ewky down there and I want a nice place to put my Liz Kinder bowls. I am a prima donna.
Turns out a new floor would be like stapling 1,300 one dollar bills to the floor and then urethaning them. Except that the aforementioned floor treatment would be more visually appealing than what we would get with the same money.
That's right, the cheapest, most ghastly linoleum floor on the market would be $1,300. So I threw up my hands and said "that's it! That does it! I'm getting garage paint." And then I simmered down (ew, toxic fumes) and did some googling. Specifically "painting kitchen subfloor." And I discovered that I am not as completely insane as is rumored. I found these posts and can hardly wait to start (except, as mentioned discretely above, I'm at work).
The other thing that is perhaps keeping at least one person up at night is the free-rangeness of our chickens. A little girl who was visiting a neighbor yesterday walked into our yard and asked if we had a butterfly net. Something in her eyes made me hesitate to offer up the two Maximum Capturing Power nets I have in the trunk of my car (don't ask). Instead I said, "why, sweet child, would you like a butterfly net?" And she told me it was to catch the chickens and put them in their coop.
I explained that they are having recess and will go back in their coop when they are ready.
A few minutes later, she is at my side asking to borrow the rope that is lying by the driveway (don't ask). She only needs a small piece and is pulling the loops apart to find what she needs. Again I ask, and again she wants to catch the chickens who are lost and cannot find their way home without her.
I ask her to please stop trying to catch my chickens. "Sweet neighborhood child," I say, "they do this every afternoon. They know where their coop is and they go in when it's time for bed so they will be safe safe safe."
She does not take this AT ALL WELL. That is an understatement. The only possible explanation for her complete and total COMBUSTION is that she was a chicken in a former life. A chicken who could not find her way home and was then eaten by a coyote.
So, to all the sweet children with flames shooting from their eyes, and anyone else who may have been eaten in a past life: the chickens made it home and are indeed safe safe safe.
It's 9am, do you know where your chickens are? If they are at work, check and make sure they are not frittering away time on the internet. Shameless chicken behavior, that.