Wednesday, March 08, 2017

Chicken break

The other day theboy rage quit the pen door when he bumped his head and knocked a hole in the mesh next to the gate frame—a hole big enough for even the big chicken.

Later he realised the chickens were out and furiously attacking the greenery.

So we had to herd the chickens which is difficult because I can only bend if I take care and effort and squatting involves extreme discomfort. That and there were places to run that were difficult to extract them from like between the vegie patch and the fence. 

I got theboy to block that path off then convinced the chickens to exit from under the hiding (slash) climbing tree whose lower branches threatened to coat hanger my neck or stab me through the glasses and into my eye, and, one-by-one, drove them into the washing line area dog leg where even me with my anti-ninja body can groan and slow dart to grab.

Then I bent the gate mesh back enough to reduce the hole below chicken size to prevent the future escapes. 

I feel for theboy and fully understand his lashing out after he bumped his head on the gate crossbar. I did that as a child, experienced deep anger at sudden pain, and it is something I still struggle with. He was sad he'd over reacted but he's less than 10. His grip on his emotions and ability to recover are in far excess of me at his age—and now, because I have PTSD and occasionally experience crippling anxiety attacks.

The best thing we can do as parents is to keep what is good and discard what is bad from our childhood. Standing over my son and over reacting to an over reaction is never good; I loathed experiencing it when it was (and is) inflicted on me. So I didn't get mad, I understood and together we got the chickens back in.

WFTW.

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