Priorities - And A Little Soap Box

I hate the television. I hate how easy it can be to come home from work, flip that sucker on, and then waste the evening away. I hate how appealing that mind numbing habit can be. Jenna and I would periodically go through phases where we would watch way too much TV. And it's not even good TV, since we haven't had cable since...ever. Normally, this seems to happen when the days get shorter and colder. However, I am happy to say this winter we have not succumbed, or even missed, those unproductive evenings spent in front of a flickering screen. Our current project(s) has (have) pretty much eliminated those evenings of being in a vegetative state until bedtime, and I'm totally OK with that. Now, that's not to say we don't occasionally watch an episode or two of a classic, "quality" show like Arrested Development or something, but the amount of time spent is significantly less than previous winters. This shift in priorities was highlighted recently. In case you haven't noticed from the pictures, we don't have a TV at the new house. It's still at the old house. (Any "TV" time is actually throwing a DVD into one of our laptops.) Jenna and I haven't even talked about how or when we want to move that. In fact, when designing the house, we made the explicit decision to NOT have the TV in the main living area. The other evening when we were moving the chicken tractor from the old house to the new one, I had a realization that it was deemed more important to us to spend time and energy moving a poo covered chicken coop from one house to another instead of moving the inside entertainment equipment. This realization made me happy.

On a side note, the city ladies have made it an entire work week and have continued to lay eggs through their traumatic move. They've even welcomed their new roommate, The General, Mr. Churchill, Lord Grantham, or whatever Jenna has decided to call him. The peeps are growing like weeds. And oddly, every few days a few more fluff balls seem to appear in the kiddie pool turned brooder. Either my ability to count is alarmingly bad or someone has a hard time controlling her excitement when it comes to acquiring baby chicks. Jenna swears its the former.