The chicken…and the egg

My busy week is upon me and here are just a few highlights of last weekend:

On Friday night, we had a Christmas party for our dinner group. About a half hour prior to departure, I stuck our offering (chicken wings) into the oven to warm them up. A while later later when I was feeding Bode, I asked Jamie if he could check on the chicken, to which he obliged. Or so I thought.

When I went to take it out of the oven and package it up prior to departure, I noticed he’d turned the oven off and the chicken was stone cold.

“Jamie, I thought I asked you to check the chicken!”

“I sure did. I peeked in the oven and it sure looked good!”

(A note to husbands everywhere: when your wife asks you to check something in the oven, she wants you to actually make contact with it).


As many of you know, I am a great fan of puns; the cornier the better. At our dinner group, we were talking about our Ward Christmas party. This group of friends knows the pains I’ve had dealing with certain personalities at church and The Egg Incident from our Labor Day breakfast was mentioned. You know. The one where I said we wouldn’t be having eggs and people went behind my back and brought them anyway.

Jamie: “Tough to believe there was a coup on her committee.”

Dawn: “Hmmm…wouldn’t it actually be a coop?”


The hosts of our party have a son who, at 7 years old, is already a gifted gymnast and has Olympic aspirations. They will soon be enrolling him in a school that accommodates his training schedule and the family will inevitably need to make several sacrifices along the way.

As we discussed the financial ramifications of pursuing sports at a higher level (his private sessions are $50/hour), we were all blown away and sobered by the cost. During a lull in the conversation as we were pondering our discussion, I made the announcement:

“And this is why I encourage my kids to just be average.”

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