dead bird

Enough said. Bill and I got home from church on Sunday, and he looked up and said, "Oh, the birds are back." Then he stopped and quickly said, "Why don't you go ahead and go inside?"

Dead bird hanging over the edge of the nest. So I went inside and cried (not so much about the bird as it was just a tough day, hormonally). He came in and assured me that it had been "taken care of" and that it was not one of the baby birds. They were all gone. They must have successfully mastered flying. It must have been the mama bird.

That or he was lying through his front teeth to make me feel better.

So I comforted myself by mumbling something about the circle of life. Then went back to the hormonal tear-fest.

a little birdhouse in my soul

It's amazing the things that I miss when I'm moving too fast in life. Such as? The nest of baby birds underneath our deck. I kept noticing this ever-increasing pile of bird poop under our deck (which is right outside our garage). Then, all of a sudden, it was increasing double-time (or rather triple time) because lo and behold, up I look and there are three baby birds. Not cheeping but looking kind of creepy and still. So I cheeped at them, and apparently, I'm more fluent in baby bird than I ever realized because it set them off. They stuck their little beaks open and started cheep-cheep-cheeping waiting for food. Then I felt guilty and ran inside. They must have gotten fed eventually because the next day they were still all there.

Well, tonight, I only saw one little bird and he was on the edge of the nest. They seem to be too young to fly, but he certainly was sitting precariously close to the edge. To be honest, I'm a little confused about how the bird poop gets outside the nest. Do the little baby birds stick their little bird heinies over the edge to poop? Does the mother bird flick it out? Is that all her poop on the ground and inside the nest is disgusting? Things I will never know.

bizarro world

I officially feel as if I've landed on another planet...the bizarre and uncharted world of free time and relaxation. What is this strange place in which I don't have to wake up at 5:15 in the morning or stay at work until 7:00 at night? What shall I do with my time? Actually keep up with the laundry and cleaning? Exercise (okay, not really)? Get a good night's sleep? Gasp....read a book I enjoy???

Yes, I am officially part-time at my work, very part-time. Despite the shell shock to our expendable income, I have greatly enjoyed my week (so far) of almost-freedom. There is, of course, this little voice in the back of my head saying, "Whaddya going to do next, Karen, huh? Whaddya going to do? You need to start planning for your next step, your next job, your next...whatever."

Well, the first thing I'm going to do is relax and enjoy my slothfulness a little bit longer, but in the meantime, I'm open to suggestions from those of you who know me in the real world...or feel like you know me...or just enjoy giving advice.

If you could do anything for say, oh, 2 months or so, what would you do? And what do you think I should do when I return to work (think "part-time" and "low-stress")?

There and Back Again

Bill and I drove to Atlanta for the 4th of July to see his family (actually, we weren't there for the actual 4th--we were driving back in a tired stupor).

While there, we went to White Water, where a good time was had by all. Both Bill and his sister had worked there as teenagers (and when I say teenagers, I mean barely teenagers--Bill had just turned 14, and apparently White Water got busted for child labor practices back in the 90's). He flipped hamburgers at Smokey's Lunch Box where we ate for lunch. Apparently, he had to go in for an official interview and everything. When he left, he sent in a very courteous resignation letter thanking them for "a wonderful first job for someone to begin with in the working world."

This is why I love my husband.

Our nephew is cool. He's cute and funny and obedient, but still all boy. He's on my list. And he knows my name now (along with every single vehicle friend from Thomas the Tank Engine--he can even tell the twin engines "Ben" and "Bill" apart. Apparently, they have slightly different facial expressions.)