Steph here. Shocking. I know.
I have many excuses as to why I have not written in quite some time, but I shall spare you them as they are probably interesting only to me.
On that same note, as I watched Parker talking endlessly to someone during my nephew’s birthday party, I commented to a family member that I am trying to teach him not to talk until his captive’s eyes glaze over and they begin to search for a way out… And I realized! I was blathering on about his chatter! And he is 11 and I am, well, not 11. Uninvitedly and certainly most unwelcome, I recalled a book the kids and I read recently where the main character makes the comment to never pass up an opportunity to shut up. I pass up those moments like mileage markers on the autobahn with the Yeti in a Maserati close on my tail. Not so good at closing the mouth. Gotta work on that. quietly.
We are trying to become off-road cyclists. The pedaling kind. We bought P a bike and he promptly removed large portions of his epidermis/dermis and all the underlying tissue that I cannot name and we have watched a quite educational process of wound healing. Many colors are involved. Helmets are our friends.
Perhaps you remember our inept doves, Frieda and Freddie? They are back. Again. Shoddy nest making. Bottoms pressed firmly against the window above the front door. Parker has a less polite way of describing their unusual positioning but I’m not going there right now.
I am in awe of the survival of this species if these two are representative of their kind. Pantophobia grips them tightly. Fearsome foes such as the ups man, The stick-a-flyer-on-your-door man, a neighbor, a butterfly, gnat or even a wisp of pollen sends them into a panicked and bizarre flight – bumping unto walls and people, knocking their shoddily made nest to the bricks below in an unidentifiable tangle of sticks and grass and debris as they flee our porch for their lives.
Over. And over. And over. And over. And over. Again.
If past performance is any indicator of future results, we will soon have 2 or 3 very pretty little eggs in the oft made nest. The flighty and slightly mad couple will stick around for a bit and then leave the youngsters to incubate alone in the oven that is the ceiling of our porch. We will wait expectantly for them to return to their seemingly chosen home and clutch of eggs, and after a few months we will remove the by-then hard boiled eggs and the cycle will lie dormant until next spring.
We are as of yet unwilling to let go of the hope that their parenting skills will one day improve. Hope that is. I don’t wish to imply that we have any confidence in their abilities. It is hard to have confidence in one who presses their anus against your window for much of the day. Maybe this year will be different. Maybe. Or maybe not.