Things I like

The house is quiet, Littlemagette's sleeping peacefully in the next room, I've got the taste of salt on my lips from a really nice evening run, the window's open next to me and a cool spring breeze is blowing in, and Bailey the Wonder Dog is curled up on the floor beside me. She just started woofing in her sleep...perhaps she's dreaming about chasing robins... And with the last day of school being tomorrow I have a deep sense of accomplishment. Missesmagette is healthy and happy and carrying Babymagette inside of her...the expectation of new life to accompany this spring feeling.

Deep breath...exhale...things are good in this moment.

Robin update part II: More bad news, a death talk, and an empty nest

Bailey the Wonder Dog chewed up another of our young robins yesterday. We didn't mean for it to happen...it was an oversight to even let her into the back yard. You see, a pretty good line of storms moved through town yesterday afternoon and dropped about 3 inches of rain on us. For a little while, there was concern that the storms could become severe or even turn tornadic. And in the middle of it all I found myself back in the yard, in the middle of a downpour, gently scooping up the mauled remains of a second fledgling.

In all fairness to the dog, there's no way to know if the bird was dead before she got to her or not. I also think it needs to be mentioned that the fledgling had to be on the ground when Bailey got it. And a bird that small and defenseless stuck on the ground in a torrential downpour was probably doomed...BTWD might have just been speeding up the inevitable. But it still sucked.

This time I felt like I couldn't dance around the issue with Littlemagette. The "I have to clean up some Bailey poop" excuse doesn't really work when there's a storm going on. On the other hand, it could have come in handy when he goes to grade school:

Bully kid: My daddy's tough!
Littlemagette: Well my daddy's tough to!
Bully kid: Oh yeah? Well my daddy's bigger than your daddy!
Littlemagette: Oh yeah? Well my daddy runs out into thunderstorms to pick up dog poop!
Bully kid: Ooohhh....here's my lunch money...take it and please just don't hurt me.

So after conducting my second trash can solo funeral in two days, I got to have another "death talk" with Littlemagette. (As a side note, if I can handle these "death talks", the inevitable "sex talk" is going to be a piece of cake. I teach biology...I can talk about sex. This metaphysical death stuff, though, is hard.) The conversations went something like this:

Littlemagette (LM): What did you do?
Mistermagette (MM): One of the litte birds died. I had to go get it.
LM: One of the robins?
MM: Yes.
LM: Why did it die?
MM: Sometimes baby birds blow out of their nests in storms.*
LM: And they die?
MM: Yes.
LM: What happens when they die?
MM: Well, when something dies it goes to live with God.**
LM: How does it get there?
MM: I think sometimes God comes to get it.
LM: Did God come to get the little baby robin?
MM: I think he probably did.
LM: (Looking out the window at the pouring rain) How? I didn't see Him?***
MM: God usually comes when we're not looking.
LM: Did you ever see him?
MM: No.****

Notes on this conversation:
*This may make me a liar, but I don't have the heart to tell Littlemagette that our dog is a vicious killer of baby birds. He can learn the whole "nature red in tooth and claw" stuff when he's a little older. (Maybe I'll work that into the sex talk.)
**I don't wish to argue about whether or not animals go to heaven. I'm trying to explain something to a 3-year-old.
***I remember having this exact conversation with my parents when I wasn't much older than Littlemagette. A calf had died on the farm, and I spent the next morning waiting for God to fly down in a helicopter and get it.
****For the record, I see God every time I look at Littlemagette...but I'm pretty sure his head would explode if I tried to explain THAT one to him.

When everything was said and done, I decided to check the nest one last time. Empty. All four birds were gone. I can confirm that two are dead. I saw one leave the nest. I'm not sure what happened to the fourth...I hope the little guy made it.

He put WHAT in his mouth?!?

Here's a story for you...

Littlemagette and I were in the back yard together this weekend, trying not to get dive-bombed by momma robin. He was "helping" me mow the yard, and at one point he disappeared behind a big clump of ornamental grass (I hate that stuff...). After a few minutes, I could hear him making spitting noises, so I turned my mower off and investigated.

Spitting is something that, unfortunately, Littlemagette has learned from watching his Daddy. It's also something that his Daddy doesn't try to encourage. With this in mind I dutifully headed across the yard to the other side of the ornamental grass (did I mention that I hate that stuff...) to talk to him once again about germs and manners and how he shouldn't do the things that I do because I'm not always the best role model.

And that's when he stopped spitting and put the blue balloon to his lips to try to blow it up.

Before I continue with this story, I need to take you back a few weeks to Easter. On that weekend, Missesmagette hosted a baby shower at our home for my sister-in-law. Since the baby is going to be a boy, the house was decorated in an according fashion including, yes, blue balloons. I never realized it at the time, but the bag of blue balloons was never seen after the day of the shower.

A few days later, deflated blue balloons started showing up in the back yard. Under the deck...over by the fence...beside the ornamental grass clump (stupid ornamental grass...) and finally a large pile of them right at the base of the deck stairs. The source of these balloons was Baily, the wonder dog. Evidently, she had decided that blue balloons would be a tasty treat (they probably smelled like scented candles or something foofy like that). Latex balloons obviously don't digest very well, so they tend to pass straight through a dog's digestive tract (or, at least we hope so...). The balloons that we found in the yard, then, were deposited there as dog crap.

Which brings me back to Littlemagette innocently finding a blue balloon in the yard, putting it in his mouth, and attempting to blow it up. That sure did explain why he was spitting...the thing couldn't have tasted good! It's funny the things that go through your mind in that moment...most notably what should I rinse his mouth with? Water? Milk? Coke? Clorox? Tequila? Would a Brillo pad cause irreversible damage to the mucosa of his mouth? What kind of dog parasites did he ingest? Has he done this before when I wasn't looking?

After a big drink of water and a long talk about "Bailey poop", we were able to return to our chore. I mowed, he helped, and the dog pooped. And I have another great story to tell when he brings home a new girlfriend...

Just another day in the life of Mistermagette.

Is God friendly?

I had the following conversation with Littlemagette this morning:

Littlemagette (LM): Daddy, when am I going to die?

Mistermagette (MM): Well, hopefully not for a very long time.

LM: How long is a long time?

MM: Probably not until you're an old man.

LM: Daddy, I don't want to be an old man.

MM: Why not?

LM: Because then I'll die.

MM: Well, son, I don't think you need to worry about that right now.

LM: Daddy, is it scary when you die?

MM: Not at all. When somebody dies, everyone is really sad because they miss them. But the person who dies is actually really happy...because they get to go live with God.

LM: Is God friendly?

MM: Yes, son. God is very friendly. He's friendlier than anyone else you've ever met.

LM: You're tricking me, Daddy!

MM: What?

LM: You're being silly...God lives up in the sky and I can't go up in the sky! That's silly.

MM: (changing the subject) So what would you like to do today...?

Why can't I ever win at ANYTHING?!?

My son just schooled me at Wii bowling. My son is 3 years old. At one point he looked at me and said "Here, Daddy, let me show you how I do it."

Anyone want to buy a slightly used Wii?

Traumatizing my son

I picked my 3-year-old son up from daycare yesterday afternoon and had one of my "I'm the best Daddy in the world" ideas. Since the bloodmobile was at the high school, I figured I'd take him up there and let him watch people donating blood. He gets a kick out of medical stuff, and enjoys playing with his little doctor's kit. Plus, he's been learning about the heart in his preschool class. I thought this would be a great opportunity for him...

...so we get to the school, and everything's fine for awhile. There's a student in one of the chairs getting prepped for his donation. We talk about how the "nurse" will poke him with a needle, and then they'll fill a bag up with his blood so that they can take it to the hospital and give to somebody who's sick. He was fine with all of this...

...so then we went around to the other side of the donation area to where one of my co-workers was in the middle of a donation. As soon as he saw that there was actually blood coming out of her arm and filling up the little bag hanging below her, he went completely catatonic. The technician who was monitoring the donation reassured my son that she wasn't hurting the donor. The donor did her best to show how healthy and happy she was, and that it didn't really even hurt. And I kept reminding him that the blood would be used to help somebody who's sick at the hospital. None of this worked...he just stared blankly at the whole process...lady...nurse...blood...needle...bag...blood...needle...blood...arm...BLOOD...NEEDLE...barely able to respond with simple nods when I asked him a question...

...so I think I've traumatized him for life. He'll probably never give blood, and may even grow up to start some sort of "anti-blood donation" activist group. A career in health care is probably WAY out of the question at this point. Even though he eventually rallied* and snapped out of his semi-comatose state, I'm afraid the damage may be irreversible.

*His rally was due, in large part, to the ALYX machine** that was on site. Surely something that fancy looking had a jet engine attached to it somewhere...

**Actually, it was probably the cookies that we cobbed from the "hydration station" that saved the day more than anything else. Nothing wards off permanent psychological damage like NutterButters and Oreos.

Reader Response

Let's try playing a game. This is a picture taken of my son a couple of weeks ago during a visit to Grandma's farm:

Let's see who can come up with the best caption for it. Leave your suggestions as a comment by clicking on "comments" below.

My idea:
"When famine struck the North Pole, all the little elves were forced to take drastic measures..."

Who's Kid is That?