This is what I found the other day as I walked into the dining room arms full of groceries. I let out a loud sigh as I used my critical mommy thinking skills to prioritize the following tasks. Properly dispose of dead germ infested bird, carry in one chunky sleeping baby, carry in one sleeping super heavy very sticky toddler, or finish carrying in the perishable groceries. What to do first. I quickly decided the proper order was sleeping children, groceries, then bird disposal.
As you can imagine it didn't take long for word to spread that there was a dead animal in the dining room. Elliott quickly came over to take credit. I was supposed to be impressed but couldn't bring myself to pat him on the back. I couldn't help thinking about calling Heloise to find out what cleaning product worked best to remove bird blood off a wood floor. Gavin quickly declared it was a burrowing owl and that we were going to jail because they were a protected species. Tommy argued back and insisted that we were not going to jail, this was just a bald eagle.
Poor Tommy knew what was coming next. He's the resident animal control officer. Dead or alive, he's responsible for relocating all wildlife back outdoors. His favorite animals to catch are the lizards that come in through the cat door. He normally keeps a pair of gardening gloves in the drawer specifically for these tasks, but must have misplaced them. He seemed to think a pair of underwear would work equally well.
Every mother at some point in her life has to be called upon to find an animal coffin. Thank goodness this wasn't a beloved pet, just an unfortunate bald eagle. I sized him up and gave him the upgraded casket, an empty dryer sheet box. Not even Bounce or Downy, just the generic brand. Sorry, don't think he had life insurance. So now I tried to decide on the burial method. Garbage, bury, compost... Not so sure. Tommy assured me he could take care of it. As I look at the above picture it's really quite clear that a normal mom would allow her four year old son to be in charge of the disposal of a dead bird. It also appears to be irresponsible that I allowed his 1 1/2 year old brother to accompany him on the mission. I sent the undertakers out to the backyard and allowed them ample time to have a simple ceremony and a few prayers, then decided I should check in. I walked out the back door and noticed Tommy was laughing hysterically (never a good sign). He was chasing Finn with the hose. As I was about to ask about the dead bird, I noticed Finn was carrying it around in his bare hand, the coffin long gone. Finn was clutching the bird while Tommy sprayed it continuously with the garden hose. At this point I shook my head realizing that this was more my fault than theirs. What do you really expect a four and 1 1/2 year old to do with a dead bird? Exactly! So I threw on my gardening gloves, chased Finn through the muddy sandbox, retrieved the carcass and made the sign of the cross as I threw the poor bird to his final resting place over the fence into the neighbors backyard. This stuff never seems that strange until I type it out. Gosh, we're nuts. Only in this house...
This is what I found the other day as I walked into the dining room arms full of groceries. I let out a loud sigh as I used my critical mommy thinking skills to prioritize the following tasks. Properly dispose of dead germ infested bird, carry in one chunky sleeping baby, carry in one sleeping super heavy very sticky toddler, or finish carrying in the perishable groceries. What to do first. I quickly decided the proper order was sleeping children, groceries, then bird disposal. 
As you can imagine it didn't take long for word to spread that there was a dead animal in the dining room. Elliott quickly came over to take credit. I was supposed to be impressed but couldn't bring myself to pat him on the back. I couldn't help thinking about calling Heloise to find out what cleaning product worked best to remove bird blood off a wood floor. Gavin quickly declared it was a burrowing owl and that we were going to jail because they were a protected species. Tommy argued back and insisted that we were not going to jail, this was just a bald eagle.
Poor Tommy knew what was coming next. He's the resident animal control officer. Dead or alive, he's responsible for relocating all wildlife back outdoors. His favorite animals to catch are the lizards that come in through the cat door. He normally keeps a pair of gardening gloves in the drawer specifically for these tasks, but must have misplaced them. He seemed to think a pair of underwear would work equally well.
Every mother at some point in her life has to be called upon to find an animal coffin. Thank goodness this wasn't a beloved pet, just an unfortunate bald eagle. I sized him up and gave him the upgraded casket, an empty dryer sheet box. Not even Bounce or Downy, just the generic brand. Sorry, don't think he had life insurance. So now I tried to decide on the burial method. Garbage, bury, compost... Not so sure. Tommy assured me he could take care of it. As I look at the above picture it's really quite clear that a normal mom would allow her four year old son to be in charge of the disposal of a dead bird. It also appears to be irresponsible that I allowed his 1 1/2 year old brother to accompany him on the mission. I sent the undertakers out to the backyard and allowed them ample time to have a simple ceremony and a few prayers, then decided I should check in. I walked out the back door and noticed Tommy was laughing hysterically (never a good sign). He was chasing Finn with the hose. As I was about to ask about the dead bird, I noticed Finn was carrying it around in his bare hand, the coffin long gone. Finn was clutching the bird while Tommy sprayed it continuously with the garden hose. At this point I shook my head realizing that this was more my fault than theirs. What do you really expect a four and 1 1/2 year old to do with a dead bird? Exactly! So I threw on my gardening gloves, chased Finn through the muddy sandbox, retrieved the carcass and made the sign of the cross as I threw the poor bird to his final resting place over the fence into the neighbors backyard. This stuff never seems that strange until I type it out. Gosh, we're nuts. Only in this house...
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