Yesterday, I discovered a bird was building a nest in our garage. Since my favorite middle stepson moved in with us a few months ago, he tends to leave the garage door open all day long. The tiny bird was building a nest in the Christmas tree stand stored on top of a cabinet, far out of reach. I decided not to say anything to the rest of the family, knowing that the kids would be too tempted to climb up and disturb it and that Beloved would get rid of it. I just thought that the little bird had worked so hard and I didn't want to bash its little-bird-housing dreams. With so many people losing homes in the last few years, I had foreclosure empathy for the little bird.
I know I should have tried to evict it immediately. But, I thought, what can it hurt? Maybe a little bird poop scattered around. Some peeps and tweeps now and then. I even thought about getting some bird seed to spread out on the driveway.
I blame all these bird harboring thoughts on not getting enough sleep. Let's face it, I already have 3 dogs, 4 kids, a guinea pig, one of the longest living guppies in existence and a husband (listed in no particular order of my love for all of them). Like I really need another mouth to feed around here.
I found the nest material scattered across the driveway this morning. Looks like Beloved discovered my garage squatter. It made me feel bad, but not as bad as I felt at lunchtime today when I saw the little bird (or its identical bird twin) hopping around my window seal. I think it was trying to say "hey, the garage thing didn't work out, so how about that empty bed upstairs your son isn't using while he's in college."
. . . . early bedtime for me tonight, no matter what.