When we arrived home from daycare/work yesterday the kids were feeling noodly and wanted to noodle around the backyard. Which was cool because the weather was nice and we now have a fabulous fenced in back-yard thanks to my Pops. Even though Owen is about as stumped by the gate across the driveway as I am.
It goes like this . . . waddle waddle waddle . . . reach waaaaay up high . . . flick the latch with the very tip of your extended finger . . . push open the gate . . . push it closed from the other side because you are Owen and weirdly taken with "putting things back where they belong??" and then . . . fast waddle! fast waddle! fast waddle! down the driveway while looking over your shoulder, laughing, as mommy demands you Come Back Here. Right NOW. She's hilarious. Then trip over a rock because you weren't looking where you were going. Squeal like an outraged teakettle.
I don't understand this about Owen. In the morning he waits about 10 minutes for us to get our act together and then starts demanding that we "oll OUT." What exactly is so awful about our lovely, toy-and-snack-filled home? When we pull into the driveway after daycare, Owen starts thrashing in his seat, crying, "nooooooo" "NOOOOO!" "Anywhere but heeeeeeeeere!" (maybe not that last part, but it's what he MEANS). And when I do pry him out of his seat and let him loose in our lovely, sand-box-and-climber-filled backyard, his first urge is to escape its clutches.
So we're in the backyard and I'm looking at the driveway and see a piece of wood, and isn't it funny but that piece of wood looks just like a dead bird! OH SICK IT IS A DEAD BIRD. I see it's little empty eyeball. Why is it in the middle of my driveway? Did it just fall dead out of the sky? It is pretty little, maybe it's a baby. Wait. That doesn't explain anything. Are baby birds more prone to falling out of the sky? I don't think so. Out of nests, yes, but not the sky. But this appears to not be an infant bird, just a little bird. Do birds have heart attacks? But more to the point KEEP THE CHILDREN AWAY FROM DEAD BIRD. Neither of them have noticed it, but they do seem intent on inadvertently stepping on it. And, Oh, Jeez, now the neighbor girl is asking to come over to play. Well that's just not going to happen with a dead bird lying in the driveway. And you know who doesn't touch dead things? Me. That's cool, Chris will be home soon.
Any minute now.
Annnnnny minute now.
He's not coming.
But the chants from the neighbor girl and the imminent bird squashing by toddler feet are stretching my nerves and I think the neighbor girl's grandfather thinks I'm weird with the "you can come over when Chris gets home" and the acting like football player blocking for the quarterback (did I say that right, Chris?) except the quarterback is a dead bird. So I confess to the girl's grandfather, "Look, there's a dead bird in the driveway. I don't handle that kind of thing. But Chris will be home soon and as soon as he cleans it up, she can come over." And then he says, "Oh, I'll take care of it" and proceeds to LEAP OVER THE FENCE. I don't think Chris could do that. And then he gets a shovel and starts poking the dead bird. Gross, man. And then he PICKS IT UP with his BARE HANDS.
Then he turns to me and says, "Dear, this is a piece of wood."
I tried to argue with him about it's lifeless eye, but he wouldn't listen and just kept showing me this piece of wood.
It seems to me that the combined lack of judgment that Chris and I have been exhibiting recently should at least get me out of jury duty, if not disqualify me from parenthood.