2020 is for the birds!🐦

2020 is for the birds!🐦

“I only have three children. But, most days it feels like 12.” 


I drag myself, nose over toes into bed most nights and fall asleep with my mouth agape, snoring. This story is an example of why. Wait, you know exactly why, we mothers suffer together! There is no fatigue like Mom-fatigue!


Here’s the thing. I know these are my stories. But you’re here too. You’ve either been there, are there now or are headed there. So walking with me as I tell these ridiculous stories will comfort and entertain, and that my fellow mama, is my mission. Nothing more. But seriously. Grab a seat, this is funny. 


It was a chilly Sunday morning in March, not the March that we were quarantined in our homes with no school to speak of, but the March before that when it was just plain cold and one of our doors being left open wide enough for several birds to enter while we are gone is our biggest problem.


That normal March, we went to church, late, like a perfectly usual Sunday. The rushing starts when we decide we should workout instead of pick out the kids’ clothes. Priorities. This results in Kyle and I being sweaty and somebody in the family missing underwear and socks that fit or match for that matter. It’s usually Harper, but many months later, I realize she does it on purpose. My little darling loves to wear orange and pink together. Why not? When you’re 4 anything goes, and to me, it’s perfectly sensible given we got our workout in and all of us in the car in enough time to actually hear the sermon. These days, transitioning to a third baby, I’m counting my blessings more and more. So, if we don’t look snazzy, I really don’t care.


All eyes turn to us as we enter the building, they laugh because it’s the usual scene, remember this is a normal time in American history. Families that are late to church, wait, that actually get to go to church, are a thing and nobody cares as long as you make it.

We drop the kids in their classes and hi-five because nobody cried, not even Hayden. Kyle and I scooch into a pew with too many people in it.

Excuse me, sorry.

Excuse me, sorry.

This would never happen during the March that CoronaVirus came to town. I’m suddenly missing the crowded-ness of a small church with familiar faces. But, see, we don’t know any of that during this normal period of time. 


Our preacher gives us our daily bread. And home we head.


We pulled up to the carport of the house and Kyle notices something that is most certainly not usual.

“SOME-one left the freaking door wide open for two hours!” There goes our daily bread.


And our clean house. I’m already giggling as I grab bags and hands and walk inside. Not one but two birds flitted from one place in our house to the next. I can do nothing at first but put my hand over my mouth and laugh. It’s only two birds, which are quickly getting named by the kids that can talk, but it looks like several as they flutter from the kitchen table to Hudson’s bedroom upstairs and back again leaving a bird poop trail. 


I whipped out my phone because it’s 2019 and you’ve gotta see this!


Hudson grabs a plush castle with removable doors declaring one of those birds will be her pet! She is seven. Catching a wild bird in a stuffed cage would be pretty awesome. Two would make her the Queen of First Grade if she wasn’t already. Kyle sat Hayden, still in his car seat, on the floor – quite literally left to the birds. 


But never mind that. Kyle’s motive was to remove the flapping beasts from the house. Nobody wants bird flu, see what I did there? That joke was ok before CoronaVirus. If these were bats we would really have a problem. But again, we don’t know any of that while we try to get the imminent threat out of our home so we can go on as normal, on this particularly cold day in March.

The birds continued their hyper flapping from window to window seeking an escape route. We opened windows high and low until we managed to push one out from the second story. All of my kids witnessed the bird fall to its death, except Hayden because he is still strapped to his carseat downstairs. 

We found “Diamond” (thanks to Harper) and began throwing towels, blankets and Hudson’s make-shift cage upwards and sideways. “Diamond” finally flew out the door, left open for exactly that purpose. 


“Belle” and “Diamond” left some white poop behind and me laughing like a maniac behind the camera. Kyle walked around locking windows and doors with a BB gun in his hands. Just kidding. We don’t have a BB gun, but you can imagine him taking care of business the best way he knows how: shouting in disbelief and cringing at the white poop streaks on the furniture and floor. The girls are still squealing with delight over the whole story, already re-telling it to each other with the dramatics of 7 and 4 year old girls. Two birds have become four plus a fox. I’m here to tell you that is untrue but I let them make up their versions anyway. Hayden is finally out of his car seat, happily drooling on my shoulder.


I may be exhausted most days with the ruckus of 12 children,I mean, three. But, this is what I’ll remember when I’m 95. And lucky for me I have the video to watch repeatedly, because in this era, we catch everything in action and my, how we can laugh at what used to be just a regular day in 2019. 


Air hugs,