Jesse! Now Jerome…


You know that saying “a picture’s worth 1,000 words?”


Well, I’ll take words for 1,000 Alex.


My kids have trained me well this year as  they have completed the transition from excited lower-elementary shining faced darlings to grungy surly angsty bus snobs.  If/when I drive them to school they get to sleep in 20 more minutes (but then again, so do I) and so the bus is kind of acting as our alarm clock.  And by “drive”  I mean “floor it through the neighborhood/school zones” because if you’re gonna miss the bus, then why not walk in the door AS the bell is actually ringing?   Remember the scene in Ferris Bueller where the principal is running down the hallway and then walking 2 steps whenever he passes a door?  That’s me but in the Pilot slowing down when I see another car in the neighborhood or cop at the intersection where the light is turning yellow.


So the ride to Three Oaks Elementary takes place from 7:50- 7:54 while the middle schoolers are still getting ready.  (I know.  They’re spoiled.  Shut up.  These are not your children).  The ride to Princess Ann doesn’t take place until 8:45- 8:55 so there’s a bit o prep still undone (by me)  ((namely hair)) on the elementary run that reaches completion by middle school run.  But not on Tuesday.

I walk in the door ‘tween trips on Tuesday and immediately hear some weird shuffling sounds coming from over my head.  Instead of looking up, I am distracted by the site of my daughter digging around in the hall closet where cleaning supplies are kept.  “What is this strange site?”  I ask myself.  “Why on EARTH would she be looking for something to CLEAN with?  I’m confused.”  Then the shuffling/flapping sound overhead again.  While daughter is frantically asking me:


..which I completely tune out while I look for the source of the sound and discover it in the window over the front door.  “Ohmygosh!  There’s a bird in our house.”  The three of us run around looking for long sticks and step stools or chairs for the next 97 seconds and then we formulate a plan.

“The walking stick won’t reach.  Stand on the chair.”

“I can’t.  I’m filming this for YouTube.”

“Want me to get the ladder?”

“Sure.   Good idea.  Get the ladder.”

flappityflappitypeckpeckflap  -feather shower-feather shower-   EEEEWWWWWW x 3 

Then we start talking to the bird.

“That’s a window, bird.  It’s like FAKE sky.  YOU CAN’T GET OUT THAT WAY.  See?  Still not working!”

“Come on, Birdie.  You can do it.  A little lower.  Trust the humans.  We’re trying to help you.”


The walking stick we’re poking at the bird is clearly not effective.  So 14 year old son helpfully announces.


Sidebar:  This SAME brilliant-plan-making son has been unsuccessfully attempting to convince me all morning that he has contracted SwineFluenza and why did I not get him vaccinated back in the fall?  He has been moping around making sad little pitiful coughs and looking at me with eyes that won’t open all the way.  I’m not buying it.  Especially now that he’s found miraculous strength and the mental sharpness to formulate Project Surfboard Avian Rescue.

8th grade SupaStah shleps the previously unused (by us) Christmas present surfboard in from the garage.  7th grade Spielberg is still recording on her blue Rumor phone and I’m barking directions. 

“Get it up under her.  That’s it.  A little more to the right.  Don’t crush her tail!”

“Ah my Gah…that’s its butt.  THAT’S.  ITS.  BUTT.  NAYstee!!!”

We quickly realize that holding a surfboard straight up in midair and attempting to aim the other end  quickly becomes tiresome so we each take unsuccessful turns.  When it rotates back to 8th grade Stud Boy he ungracefully but with pride knocks the poor balding bird to the floor and she promptly shakes the “dust off her boots” as it were, and flutters away with a great story to tell on the telephone wire.

I turn to “sick” boy, call him a hero, and tell him he HAS to go to school now so he can tell of his daring rescue.  He reluctantly agrees and all is well with the world. 


After I sweep up the feathers.



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