A Chicken Ranch, not THE Chicken Ranch

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for therapy

My ten teen is now a tween-ager.  She turned 11.  According to her, “Babies have teeny birthday candles on their cakes.  I want something more grown up.”  So we had sparkler candles on her cake.  I’m just glad there was a fire extinguisher at the ready, a precaution taken after the number of candles required on adult birthday cakes in this house sets off the overhead sprinklers.

 She asked for a special birthday treat, that we all go out to eat.  This is not an unusual request given my inability to cook.  Every special occasion is followed by a request to eat out:  Arbor Day, the Equinox, first day of Spring, summer, fall, winter, Secretary’s Day, National Hot Dog Day, Bring Your Pet to Work Day, National Pickle Day, first day of the month, last day of the month, Pay day, Anniversary of Wal-Mart, Free Willie Day, as well as the regular normal everyday holidays.

She has definitely crossed over into the Tween-ager years of her life as evidenced by her birthday loot:  8 bottles of fingernail polish, 1 bottle of zebra striped nail overlays, nail file, lip gloss, packets of mud facials, skin exfoliate cream, facial moisturizer, skin peeling masks, cell phone (not the flip, track or Wal-Mart kind), subscription to “17 magazine”, and an iPod 2.   Gone are the Barbie Doll days, I guess.

However, the present she was most excited about was becoming the proprietor of her own business.  Dr. Hubby constructed the Donald Trump Condo for Chickens, complete with semi-covered courtyard, modern laying/nesting cubbies, fans, security lights, guarded entrance, and eco-friendly indoor/outdoor space.  He purchased 12 chickens, feed, and a ledger for her to record her expenses and income for IRS purposes.  She will even have her own bank account.

She was even more excited when she learned she would soon be getting 12 eggs a day.  Unfortunately her favorite little chicken, the one she called Sweet Heart, has turned out to be Sweet Boy, the rooster.  Loss of one egg per day.

Today the newest member of the free enterprise system sat all afternoon watching her business, listing potential customers, and figuring ways to cut costs and increase profits.

At this point I am in a quandary.  What do I tell people when they asked “What was your tween-ager’s favorite birthday gift?”  What do I say?  She now runs the Chicken Ranch?”

P. S. If you aren’t from around La Grange, Texas or you missed the Dolly Parton and Burt Reynolds movie, you won’t understand my concern.

Cookie Monster Time!

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved to pay off Girl Scout Collection Agency

In any other country if we saw little children peddling chocolate bars door to door so the band can march in the Miss Black Eyed Pea Festival, they would become the new poster child for ending child labor.

Selling products to make money for your child's school has somehow escaped the child labor laws of this country. How many times have we been met at the door by a big eyed waif and the bedraggled parent waving a catalogue of chocolate covered nuts, popcorn, gift boxes, and soap on a rope, all pictured in bright colors and ten times larger than the actual objects? And who wouldn't want to help the school band make it to the Black Eyed Pea Festival?

We never stop to ask and "What percentage of this outrageously priced chocolate bar actually goes to the Black Eyed Pea transportation fund and how much goes to pay for the CEO's condo in Maui?" But now I do.

One time I tried to figure how much the "proud partner with schools" corporation was making off the backs and strollers of school children and their parents. There is no minimum wage paid to the little sales people. The "sales force" is paid in glow-in-the-dark key chains, Frisbees, and stuffed animals, all made in a foreign country. And not every sales child gets one. Most have to sell a quadrillion items to qualify for the stuffed animal. Or, the latest ploy "every child who sells even one item has their name entered in an electronic drawing with the rest of the world for an AM hands-free radio." At least the Boy Scouts let you know up front what percentage of the popcorn sales is going to their troupe.

And now it is time for the annual Girl Scout Cookie Sale. I now understand why Sesame Street has a Cookie Monster. Must have missed the Girl Scout Cookie quota!

I am not surprised that in keeping with the shrinking dollar, so have the size of the cookies and the number of cookies in a package. Still, like eating turkey once a year at Thanksgiving, we will purchase our annual fix of Girl Scout Cookies if for no other reason than to help that little Brownie or Girl Scout earn her cookie badge and to try for the coveted "charm" for most cookie sales by a girl scout. Still, it makes you wonder how little Angelina Marie, age 6, could manage to sell 2,573 boxes of cookies all by herself and still go to school five days a week. Me thinks there may be family connections there, selling cookies on behalf of little Angelina Marie!

I know the rationale behind selling cookies: teaches confidence, business sense, advertising, teamwork, money management, targeting audience, tracking inventory, profit margin, but I believe I learned all that with my Kool-Aid stand and I only charged 5 cents a glass.

After applying all my business sense, figuring gas mileage, time spent, and interest paid on my Bass Pro Shop issued Visa credit card, I will come out ahead if I buy 8 cases of cookies myself. Then I can teach my Kool-Aid business skills to my ten-teen by setting her up a stand on the side of the road to peddle her Girl Scout cookies.

Course it will be just like the government to ask for a business license, health certificate, IRS WD 40 form, building inspection, and permit to operate a business in a residential area.

But I won't be guilty of violating child labor laws!

A Salute to Average!!

By Jody Worsham
All rights reserved for average t-shirt franchise

Somewhere along the way “Average” has become an adjective that applies to everyone else. Parents are screaming about testing, obviously inaccurate, that shows that their child is average. I have adopted the position that being average makes my child stand out from the crowd.

Think about it. In ballet class, every parent thinks their ballerina is superior, above average. My child is an average dancer, the only one it seems, so when the recital comes around, the entire superior above average dancers will be crowded onto the stage all dancing together and being compared to each other. My average dancer will be dancing a solo, since there are no other average dancers at the studio. There will be no one to compare her to; therefore, she will dance beautifully with no discernable mistakes and receive a standing ovation.

Then there are those SAT test scores. My child is average and will score that way on the SAT test. Because of this, others will look much smarter and more intelligent than they really are. In fact, the worse my child scores on the test, the better others will look. I can foresee desperate parents recruiting average students to enroll in classes designed to help them dumb-down before the tests in order to tilt their child’s scores upward. However, because my child is just “average”, she may qualify for all kinds of grants and incentives to help colleges and universities look like they are non-discriminatory and serving the needs of the average person as well as the super elite.

Being average can also keep you from being clobbered in dodge ball in required P.E. classes. Far superior athletes will be chosen first. The average will be chosen in the middle and the poorly skilled will be chosen last. During the game, the far superior athletes will go after the poorest players first. The average person, hiding in the corner, will be pretty much ignored until the end. By that time the far superior athletes will have worn themselves out pulverizing the easy targets and will lose their steam when it comes to attacking the average. The average players will take advantage of the situation and will triumph. Having defeated the top far superior athletes, the average will come to the attention of professional dodge ball coaches who are recruiting.

The Olympic coaches will then rethink the average child’s abilities and increase their interest. The professional recruiters will then become more aggressive and will up their offers. Once your child accepts, signs the five year no-cut contract, and is shuffled off to training camp, you can relax. Soon the coaches will discover that your child really is average and will be benched, safe from being pulverized by other powerful dodge ball athletes…but the no-cut contract is binding. The money keeps coming in and average wins again.

With the income, your child can open an Average Store. T shirts could sport logos that say “Robbers, don’t bother. All credit, no cash”, or “Jenny Craig, Go Away, My weight is Average”. The IRS would ignore your child’s business, because, after all, it’s just average. It’s a win win situation.

So the next time your friends begin bragging about their super superior children, just smile and say “No need to thank me; if it wasn’t for my child, yours would just be average. Want a t-shirt?”