Childrearing versus Housekeeping

Outside our living room is a small patio with a metal covering. The covering's shape is pleated and under each small peak is a space between it and the frame. Birds have taken advantage of these small, sheltered spots to build nests. I figure they are smart to do so because their work is protected from the crazy desert winds we get. Also a possibility is they are lazy because there's no balancing of twigs and other nesting materials to be done. They just have to pad their pads.

We've got a great view of these families from inside the house, getting much closer than we otherwise would. We also peak in with a mirror from time to time to see what's going on. We do this part when the parents are away, of course. One of the original nests has launched a couple batches of fledglings successfully. This nest is simply caked with poop. Poop upon poop, sometimes falling off in chunks. Another nest at the other end of the patio was remarkably clean. We saw birds in and out and had seen eggs within. One day I saw the mother feeding her hatchlings. After she had, she began cleaning her nest and it's surroundings. She was eating the poop. After I threw up a little bit in my mouth (much like a bird), I went about my day. A few days later, Brandon found a dead baby in a corner of the yard often visited by the dogs. He speculated it had fallen from a nest and been transported by a four-legged undertaker. I mentioned I had noted a stink over the last few days so Brandon got the mirror and discovered a dead baby in the clean nest. It looked about the same age as the other.

The only lesson I can draw is a clean house can be detrimental to your child's health and welfare. It would be careless of me to not heed this lesson, don't ya think? Ma Nature always knows best.

If You Don't Know Me, You Don't Know Who I am or Umpires Have Families, Too

A few Saturdays ago, Amelia and I visited Brandon at the baseball game. He was ump'ing home plate. She and I stood behind the bleachers for one of the teams. We stood in part because it was shaded and in larger part because I was wearing shorts and I have a policy to not sit down in shorts in public. As we stood and watched, women sitting in front of us began to complain about the ump. They weren't complaining to him, just about him. He didn't make calls loud enough for the spectators to hear. Yeah, and a few weeks before, he refused to call a ball as fair, he would only call them foul. Oh, but they liked Dave, now Dave you could hear. Not this guy, couldn't hear him.

So, I thought about things to say. I could point out that this umpire volunteered his time off - often his whole Saturday - to be here, in 100% polyester, in the sun, because he loves baseball and understands how important it is for these kids to have. Especially in a town like this with so few options. I could say, yes, he makes about 20 bucks a game, but that all he's earned hasn't come close to what he's spent on gear. I could mention that he studies the rules the eve of each game because he's very concerned that he do well by the kids. I could say that he told about refusing to call a fair ball because that's not the way of the real world and could be confusing to kids who are expecting only to hear the fouls called. In the end, I decided to go with my normal passive approach and simply watch them crumple over themselves in embarrassment after the baby and I met him at the fence to say good-bye.

Remember, If you don't know me, then you don't know who I am. Or how diabolical I can be. Mwa ha ha.