I am heartbroken. 

After last night's bad weather, I went out this morning to check on our little bird family. *See Our New Neighbors* Mommy Bird's nest was somewhat askew, but she and her little eggs had survived the storms.  Later, however, I heard her chirping loudly and looked out the window to see what was going on.  Mommy Bird was hopping around on the bushes a few feet from her nest.  I went out onto the porch to get a closer look, and to my horror saw a large black snake curled up in her nest.

The snake had already swallowed one little egg while Mommy Bird looked on helplessly.  Don and I tried to intervene.  He grabbed a broom handle, and I grabbed an umbrella, and together we attempted to get the snake out of the nest before he ate the rest of the eggs.  It was no use.  We couldn't uncoil the snake without upsetting the whole nest, so we were forced to just turn away.

We left for church, and when we returned, Mommy Bird and her eggs were all gone.  I think Mommy Bird is still around.  I thought I heard her a few times, but I'm still very sad.  I had adopted them all in a way.  I checked on the eggs when Mommy Bird was away.  I left birdseed around the bushes so she wouldn't have to go very far to find food.  Most of all though, I looked forward to seeing the tiny little baby cardinals when they hatched.  I wanted to see them break out of their little speckled shells.  I wanted to witness Mommy Bird feeding and caring for them. 

Now instead of chirping little open-mouthed hatchlings, there's only an empty nest.  I can see it from the front door, and it breaks my heart over and over again.  Perhaps I'm silly for mourning three little unhatched birds, but I felt as if they were neighbors.  I sympathized with and related to that new little mother.  I don't know if birds have any concept of love or loss, but I hope Mother Bird is all right.  I hope she knows that I cared for her and her babies.  I hope she knows that I tried to save them.  I hope she forgives me for being unsuccessful.  I'm sure she'll lay eggs again.  She'll be more experienced and a bit wiser.  I hope though, that she'll still see fit to make our home her home too. 

 We have some new neighbors.

This little family of cardinals moved in not long ago.  Initially, I think Mother cardinal built her nest on our front porch in an old helmet Timothy had left out.  When she realized that it was in a less-than-ideal location, (little boys going in and out all day) she abandoned that nest and built a new one in the shrubs just below our front porch.  She seems to be a bit inexperienced, so I've come to the conclusion that she must be a new mother.  Been there, done that.  Wrote a whole blog entry about it.  *See Let's Hear it for the Mommies

I've become fascinated by our new little feathered friends.  The mother cardinal, who we have lovingly dubbed "Mommy Bird," sits patiently on her three little speckled eggs even as we come and go.  Occasionally, she's startled enough to flit away, but she doesn't stay gone for long.  She quickly returns and resumes her vigil. 

I know from experience that waiting is the easy part.  Once the little blessings arrive, Mommy Bird's days will become a non-stop feeding cycle.  It was difficult enough for me to feed one mouth at a time.  I can only imagine how exhausting it must be to feed three hungry mouths, especially when it involves going out and hunting for food.

I hope all goes well for our new little family.  I know God looks after His creatures great and small.  I plan to keep up with the progress of our little birds and post updates here.  Stay tuned! 

They Say You Never Forget...

Today I did something I haven't done in at least 15 years.  I rode a bike.  Not the kind that's in the gym where you just sit and pedal your heart out and never go anywhere.  I mean the real wind-in-your-hair kind of bike.  It was hard, but fantastic.

I live in the country, so I have a nice little stretch where there isn't too much traffic.  There are, however, an abundance of little hills that are just steep enough to make your legs ache when you try to climb them.  I need those hills though.  Those hills are what's going to take my legs from jello jiggle to va-va-voom! 

I''ve decided that I am going to try to ride at least a couple of times a week.  I really enjoy it.  The bike in the gym seems counterproductive in comparison.   There's no wind in my hair besides the big fan.  The only scenery is a wall with a bank of televisions broadcasting CMT and stress-inducing news stories on CNN.  On an actual bike, I ride past the cotton fields, greet the neighbors working out in their gardens, watch the cute little furry creatures scampering through the woods...  It's all very serene and relaxing despite the complaints from my jello legs.

I have a feeling my legs won't be jello for long.  Hopefully by summer I'll be a red-headed, fun-sized Heidi Klum.  What?  A girl can dream, can't she?  ;)

As the mother of a pre-schooler, I am getting quite familiar with kiddie television. In my house the tv stays on Nick Jr. most of the day. I like the programming on Nick because it's not only entertaining, it's also educational. Paul and I watch a number of cute shows like The Backyardigans and the Wonder Pets and Little Bill.

A couple of years ago a new show joined the daily line-up called Yo Gabba Gabba! I was totally prepared to hate the show. It looked like some kind of Sesame Street for stoners. The characters were big monster-like creatures and the host was a creepy black guy in a fuzzy orange hat. Weird, right? Except it's awesome.

I have to admit that I have been sucked into Gabba Land and all its trippy glory. I love the quirky musical guests. I love the little video game-like interludes and the spazzy dancing children. It's unique and weird and all the things I like. And next week it gets even better.

Next week Anthony Bourdain visits Gabba Land.

I knew it was coming. I had a gut feeling. According to his show as well as his blogs, he and his young daughter are fans of the show. Next week Bourdain makes his Yo Gabba Gabba! debut as Dr. Tony, coming to the aid of Tooti who is suffering from a bad cold.

The juxtaposition of the snarky bad boy rock star chef with the warm and fuzzy Gabba friends is genius. Can Tony behave? Can he be *gulp* sweet? Of course he can. Since becoming a dad, Tony has made no secret of what he calls his "transformation into Bill Cosby." He's quit smoking, lost the earring, and taken on a somewhat gentler tone. He's taken a lot of flack for it too. But that's what happens when you become a parent. I don't just mean when you have kids. Plenty of people have kids, yet are not parents. When you really take on that role, you change. You have to. You tell yourself that you will stay the same, but it's just not possible. Kids change you, but in a good way. A great way.

Sure, I adore the snarky, smoking, sour Tony of the earlier shows. But I really love this newer version. He's still Tony, but with less of a need to shock or repulse. It's more about the exploration and the story. That's another great thing about becoming a parent. You get to rediscover the world through the eyes of your children.

So, on March 10th, Anthony Bourdain will reach a new level of awesome in my book. To those who have been critical of Tony's journey into fatherhood, I would tell you exactly what I think, but according to the Gabba friends, that kind of thing just isn't nice.

As If I Needed Another Reason to Hate Walmart

Walmart doesn't have Hobbits.

There is a guy at my local grocery store who bags groceries and pushes buggies (that's shopping carts for all you Yankees) and he looks just like Elijah Wood. Okay, maybe not just like, but there is a definite similarity. Every time I see him I want to holler, "Wait up, Mr. Frodo!"

He's a very nice young man. (Ugh, I sound like somebody's Granny) He always offers to take my groceries out to the car. A few times I have let him. I like to watch him push the carts around the parking lot and wonder if he's thinking about the Shire. Is that mean?

The same local store that employs the Hobbit now carries Paulie's favorite juice as well as my green tea, which means I have no reason to ever shop at Walmart again. Win!

If they get a cashier that looks like Aragorn I will be there every day.

My Preciousssss...

I Hate Mieces to Pieces

I live in the country. Way out in the country. When you live out in the country you tend to see a lot of wildlife. We have rabbits, chipmunks, raccoons, opossums, deer, etc. You know, cute fuzzy animals. We also have the non-cute fuzzy animals. The wildlife that doesn't want to stay in the wilderness. I'm talking about mice.

Oh sure, some folks have the nasty little things as pets. Personally, I would rather see them get fed to pet pythons. Ewww! I have don't have much love for the disgusting little rodents.

We've been waging our war on mice for some time now. They come and go. They tend to show up in the winter when the weather gets cold. This winter has been particularly cold, so we've had a real problem with the little critters. I found some stuff a few years ago that seemed to work for quite some time. It was a powder that supposedly smelled like mouse predators. It kept the mice away for a long time. I don't know if the little buggers have gotten used to it, or if they're just too cold to care, but recently the powder doesn't seem as effective.

The other day I walked into the pantry and noticed that there were broom bristles all over the floor. I moved the broom, and there it was. A mouse. It was caught on one of the little glue pads we've been putting out to catch them. The mouse was trying to pull itself off the glue pad with the broom bristles! I got a plastic bag and swept the mouse, still stuck to the glue pad, into the bag and closed it up tight. I hope it died a slow, torturous death. Sue me, PETA.

We tried poison a while back, but it didn't kill the mice. It just made the next generation of mice slightly retarded. Don called them "Tom and Jerry's Kids." That's terrible, I know. I didn't say it, my husband did. Anyway, the retarded mice would just walk out in the middle of the room and look at us. Then they would scamper off sideways like they were totally wasted. They would run into the walls and the furniture. They were fairly entertaining, albeit nasty.

Today I pulled a t-shirt out of my dresser drawer and a handful of almonds fell out of it. The little buggers have been storing nuts in my dresser! And they were my nuts! I was very upset. I emptied my entire dresser and threw everything into the washing machine.

So now this is war. I am thinking seriously of getting a cat. We had a cat a few years ago. His name was Simon, and he was quite old so he couldn't really chase mice anymore. He passed away at the ripe old age of 17. I think it's time for another cat. I'm not really crazy about having animals indoors, but I think I would rather have a cat than mice. So, if any of you know where I can find a good mouser, please let me know. I've had it with the rodents eating my food, and leaving their little droppings, and chewing up my stuff. They MUST go.

*Please don't tell my grandmother about my little problem or she'll never come to my house again! Those of you who know my grandmother, know what I'm talking about.

Let's Hear it for the Mommies!

A beautiful young mother-to-be smiles at the sunny, sparkling nursery. She places her hand on her smooth, perfect, round belly...

Pregnancy. It's a magical time. Well, at least according to commercials and movies where it's romanticized into nine months of glowing bliss. Where morning sickness, if there is morning sickness, only happens in the morning. Where a woman gets the slightest baby bump and gains weight no where else on her body. Where maternity clothes are actually stylish.

Anyone who has had a baby knows that this scenario is, to put it nicely, bull hockey. Morning sickness can happen any time of the day, and it can last all day. Everything swells, belly, boobs, fingers, toes... No one tells you that your feet get bigger, but they do get bigger. And they stay bigger. As for maternity clothes, they have gotten better. However, after five or six months of wearing jeans with tummy panels and little poofy floral tops, you start feeling like a style- challenged Weeble.

Another thing no one tells you before you get pregnant is the fact that your IQ will suddenly drop to about 17. Apparently, your brain is so busy with the task of putting together a tiny human that you become a drooling moron who can't walk without falling down or running into stuff. It doesn't matter that you were a rocket-scientist before you got pregnant. As soon as the little stick says "positive" you earn a seat on the short bus.

The Hollywood version of pregnancy cravings is the oh-so-humorous pickles and ice cream. Ha ha, that's hilarious. *Sarcasm* In truth, you can crave anything from Big Macs to laundry detergent when you're expecting. No joke. For the last month or so of my second pregnancy, I had a Big Mac every day for lunch. Needless to say, my butt and thighs still bear the evidence, but it was what I wanted, so I ate it. Pregnancy cravings are irrational. You can't make them go away until you satisfy them. It's different from regular cravings where you see a pizza commercial and think, 'I'd like to have some pizza.' This kind of craving is a deep, desperate need. You must have a banana split with extra chocolate sauce and a side of bacon or you feel like you will DIE!

We've all seen those movies where a couple is about to have a baby. There's a comical mad dash to the hospital, and then the woman pants and pushes a few times, and Voila! A clean, pink, bright-eyed baby is born. Uh-uh.
The truth is, for most births, there is a lot of waiting involved. First off, there isn't that one big moment where you're hit with a contraction and you know "it's time." No, there's usually a grueling build-up where the contractions begin, but just slightly enough to make you go, "What the crap was that?" For the next 12, 16, 18, 32, 48+ hours, the pain continues to build until you begin to feel like Mel Gibson at the end of Braveheart. I thought I would be tough and go without drugs with my first child. By about halfway through, my contractions started overlapping, and the anesthesiologist became my best friend.
With my second child, my labor progressed so quickly that there wasn't time to administer an epidural. That actually ended up not being so bad. Delivery isn't nearly as horrific as some folks would have you believe. Sure, it hurts. You're pushing a tiny person out of your body. It's actually pretty amazing. Once the pushing is over, you are presented with this tiny little purplish alien blob. For those of you who think you could never fall in love with a purplish alien blob, you've obviously never given birth.

The alien blob is cleaned up, and after a short stay at the hospital you take a sweet pink baby home where it suddenly hits you; this baby is totally dependent on you and you have no idea what you're doing. How do you know what it wants or needs? What if you forget something or do it wrong? How did you mother manage to do this twice? Suddenly you're doubtful and afraid, and it doesn't help that everything seems to make you cry. According to modern media it's not supposed to be this way! You should be skinny and smiling serenely as you calmly nurse your baby in your beautiful, sunny nursery. Instead, you're bloated and tired and still in your pajamas from two days ago while you're desperately trying to get your ravenous little milk leech to latch on properly.

Fortunately, it all passes. After a few weeks, you can nurse while doing dishes and talking on the phone. At the same time. The little darlings do eventually sleep through the night. The time between crying fits gets longer and longer. The baby stops crying so much too. And then there's all the cute stuff that happens in between: the first smile, the first giggle, the first tooth. A day comes when he looks up at you and smiles and says, "I love you, Mommy" and you forget about the hours crouched in front of the toilet. You forget about the heartburn and the midnight mushroom cravings. You even forget about the labor pains.

It's all worth it, right?

In a few more years I'll be dealing with a teenager. I'll let you know then.

*This post is dedicated to my little sister who is currently expecting baby #2. I wish I could say that I hate that you're going through this, but as Aunt Mimi for a second time, I can't. I do hope you feel better soon!