Hi. I’m Morgan.
This is me:
I don’t look like this every day. Smoke and mirrors courtesy of Island Light Photography.
I’m into kids, nap schedules, play dates (who made up that lame term anyway?), and buying diapers in bulk. When I’m not feeding children, cleaning up after them, and then preparing for the next round of meals, I enjoy writing, photography, fake shopping online, and power napping.
I also like to plot crafts in my head. It’s the actual “doing” part of crafting that I have a hard time with. So, I shop Etsy and stalk Pinterest instead.
Occasionally, I surprise myself and bake bread (without a machine or a mix, thankyouverymuch) or make homemade jam and pickles . I even made my own cream cheese once and I am still alive to tell the tale. I blame it all on my hippie parents.
Before I became a mom, I was a banker, nanny, make-up artist, real estate agent, bartender, retail clerk, and personal assistant. I am a high school dropout, but I hold an Associate of Arts degree Merchandise Marketing and Bachelor of Science degree Business Management. This means I know a little about a lot, while maintaining zero earning potential, and that is how I became a Stay at Home Mom.
I also used to be married but I’m not anymore. And that’s all I have to say about that.
Stay at Home Mom, or SAHM (or SHAM?) doesn’t really apply to me anymore. My little old blog started to make some money, which led to freelancing, which led to a “real” job as an editor….. But you can read more about that on my professional website. I know, I’m all legit and stuff.
Lets get back to the chicks.
These are my kids. They are awesome.
Emma was born in October 2007. She’s into Hello Kitty, talking The Sass, and eating carbohydrates (or not eating at all).
Annie was born in February 2010. She is into being cute, breaking stuff, and driving her sister crazy.
I started this blog to highlight how glamorous my life is: I get bossed around all day by a couple of pint-sized dictators. I haven’t worn anything labeled “Dry Clean Only” in four years and I can’t get rid of my old Baby Bjorn tan lines. I have goldfish permanently stuck to the seats of my car and I haven’t gone to the bathroom alone since 2007.
Sometimes when all you want to do is cry — it’s better to laugh.
A lot of people ask me why I named my blog “The Little Hen House.” Well, chickens are sort of a theme in my life.
It all started in 2007, when I bought what turned out to be the worst investment EVER (aka: my house). I live in an “up and coming” urban neighborhood (read: the ghetto) where you can literally purchase chickens of your own at the local market. I’m not sure if this is entirely legal, but it is what it is. Therefore, it is not uncommon to actually see chickens crossing the very road that I live on. Along with the stray dogs, occasional transient, and members of the Mariachi band that lives a few houses down.
Doesn’t that just scream “curb appeal?”
In fact, my neighbor across the street had two roosters living in his yard for a short time. That, I know for a fact, is illegal (it’s a noise issue). I’m not going to fess up to any tattle taling, but I will say that those roosters are no longer with us. Bless their souls.
Well, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em and in February 2011 four Rhode Island Red Hens took up residence in my very own backyard. And no, that nmber does not include a rooster.
Meet the girls:
Not only are there chickens roaming the streets and four hens living in a coop in the backyard, but I have a couple of chicks living inside my very own house! I’m talking about my two kids, of course. I love having a house full of girls. A lot of people have said to me, “Oh, maybe one day you will get a boy.” I just smile and and think to myself, “No thanks!”
I have a fantasy that one day I will leave the city and live in a little home with enough land for all my chicks to roam wild and free. When my days are long, I start plotting my escape to the country, a place where I can finally build The Little Hen House of my dreams.