Our apartment is surrounded by birds. I don't have a Tippy Hedron complex or anything like that, but I'm really not a fan of our fence constantly looking like this:
Tuesdays are my day to work from home, and sometimes my friend Jenny comes over to help me stay accountable. Last Tuesday we stepped outside to get some fresh air, and we discovered a baby bird writhing on the ground. It was sad. I didn't know what to do. We couldn't reach the nest to put it back and I didn't have the heart to kill it. So naturally, I called my mother to ask what to do. I didn't want the girls to come home and find it in the backyard. Mom laughed and advised that we move it to a spot where the girls wouldn't see it with a paper towel. She then reminded me of a funny Annika story from way back.
I couldn't do it. Luckily, Jenny is braver than I am. She wrapped the bird in a cloth napkin (I thought it deserved a little more dignity than a paper towel), and she placed it under a bush behind our backyard area. I was still distraught about that F*$%ing bird when I went to bed that night, even though I knew in my heart that we couldn't have saved it and that it's mother probably already forgot about it.
The old story that my mom reminded me of:
When we lived in Cleveland, a bird got stuck in our chimney. It fluttered and made some soot come out of the flue and it was generally annoying. As it was an unusable fireplace, we couldn't open the flue. We had no idea what to do other than to let it continue to try to get out and/or die in there. It was a loong week before one or the other happened. Every time it fluttered in there and black stuff came down on the white painted fireplace, I may have muttered that colorful phrase in the title. I don't even remember doing it.
My mom came to visit. Mayzie was a little baby and Annika was barely two. We were playing in the living room when we heard the bird fluttering in the chimney. Annika looked directly at the spot where the black stuff kept coming down, shook her head and said "f*$%ing bird." I looked at my mother with upturned hands as if to say, "I have no idea where she learned such appalling language." At the same time my mom looked down her nose at me as if to say, "Don't even try to pass that off on Andy. That was the exact tone and cadence that you would say that phrase in." We laughed, and the story became legend among my friends too, almost as much as Annika's other phrase: "Dead mouse, it happens." That's a story for another day.
Does anyone know how to clean that fence without actually having to touch the poop? 3 thunderstorms have yet to clean any of it off, and I'm super grossed out by all the poo.
Have your kids ever picked up on a phrase you'd rather not have them repeat, especially in front of your mother?