We have a tile floor in our kitchen that always gets compliments. I should just say “Thank you” and be grateful for it. But usually I launch into a monologue about the grout and how difficult it is to clean (several hours on hands and knees scrubbing) and how I wish we could hack up the tile with a hammer. We’ve tried many techniques for cleaning it over the past decade, but today I decided to fill a bucket with a bit of Dr. Bronner’s soap and water and handed scrub brushes to all six kids. As I watched my kids sliding around laughing with sheer glee, I remembered doing the same when I was about nine years old. We had a little galley kitchen in our Nashville apartment and I would clean the floor by pouring soap and water on it and then sliding through the sudsy water with a towel under my knees. (disclaimer: While this will be the new way that I keep our kitchen grout clean, there are dangers in letting a pack of small children, one of them still a baby, slide around on tile floors in soapy water. I wasn’t able to help because I had to hold Silas’ hands most of the time to keep him from falling down.)
At the dinner table tonight Beatrix in all seriousness asked, “What’s chicken made of? …pig?”
Somehow this led to the launch of a discussion on naming the rooster. I suggested “Dumpling.”
Keats came up with “Doodle” which led to hilarious laughter and phrases such as, “Watch out! That rooster’s going to doodle on your porch!”
I think we’re going with “Doodle,” but possibly “Doodle Dumpling” which I realize is ridiculous. Generally speaking, naming roosters is not one of our special talents. We’ve had Harriet, King, Gimp, and Tail Down. Speaking of tails, Doodle is getting some lovely green tail feathers.