I am not even sure where to begin. I had a letter written in my head and suddenly there is an entirely different sort of letter to write. Sometimes life happens like that. You think it’s all going to go a certain way and then suddenly it’s not going that way at all. You go to bed in an entirely different reality than the one in which you woke.
Before I tell you the rest of the story, I’ll start by saying you’re getting quite big. You’re both actually bigger than what they tell me a 22-week old single baby should weigh … which scares me a little bit since I am one Mama and you are two babies.
Your 22-week picture is so cute. You’re actually starting to look like little boys! On Tuesday Harlow weighed 1 lb. 5 oz. and Harper weighed 1lb. 3oz. Statistically you are the same size. I’m really starting to feel you move around and I love it. Harlow you are in the perfect position already. Head down and ready to go. Harper, you have decided to camp out right under my rib cage with your tushie heading down my left side. This is not the ideal position, but perhaps you’ll figure it all out over the next several weeks.
This week has been long and extremely busy with work for both your Daddy and me. Soon we are heading to Texas for an extra long weekend where I’ll get to see many old friends.
Now about this day … you’re probably wondering why this particular post is called Your Daddy, St. Francis Of Woodland Hills? I’m not even sure where to start it was such a bizarre day, so I’ll start at the very beginning.
Your Daddy and I had to run to Home Depot on a quick errand. The roses needed some food, we needed to replace a set of blinds and I needed a pot for a plant. This should have taken 30 minutes over lunch …
We went to the outside area of Home Depot to pick up some rose food and an extremely bold bird flew up and tried to sit on my head. I freaked out because I am not the sort of head a bird should think about sitting on. I’m a freak. I had birds once when I was six (Lisa and Marvin) but I don’t remember being all that attached to them and they certainly never dared to come near my head.
I was never a person to bring animals home to your Grandma Kay because I was fairly certain she would have shooed it and me out of the house. I did once bring a catfish home to Mawmaw. In that case, I wanted her to cook him for dinner. You can decide at a later date what exactly that says about me.
I honestly do love animals, but St. Francis I am not. Let’s be serious, saint anything I am not.
Now your Daddy grew up with birds. Your Grandma Susan always had a bird. Your Grandpa Jim loves birds. The Wilcox house always had parakeets. Your Daddy has no issue with them wrapping their little claws around his finger. I’m less easygoing in this particular instance.
While I was freaking out over this attempted head landing by the bold bird, your Daddy turned into St. Francis the Bird Whisperer. The bird flew up and hung onto his shorts, then he sat on his shoulder. Your Daddy found an open bag of bird seed and gave him some. He pecked at it, possibly even ate a few kernels, but let’s just say the bird was much more interested in hanging out with and onto your Daddy than he was in any seed. He literally followed him around the store.
Now your Mama was on a mission to get in and out of Home Depot in 30 minutes. I was inside getting the last item on the to-do list when in walks your Daddy carrying the bird in his hand without any struggle. He is followed by Home Depot employees in search of a box.
As I watch this unfold, I begin to panic.
Jonathan, what are you doing? — I asked.
I’m going to take the bird.
Take the bird where?
Home where? To OUR house?
He smiles at me. My heart melts and I force a smile … in a are-you-effing-nuts-you-are-not-the-bird-whisperer-what-on-earth-is-happening-right-now!?! sort of way.
The bird proceeds to get in our car and ride in your Daddy’s lap as we travel to Petco, the bird store and then home. He does not do this without pooping in my car. Of course, your Daddy cleaned it up since he could tell by the look on my face I was not going near it.
After we conclude our visit to the bird store, I drop your Daddy and the bird off at home. The bird has a momentary escape in the garage, only to head safely back into your Daddy’s arms. I’ll be honest, I was hoping he might fly over my head, high up into a tree never to be seen or heard from again. No such luck. I left to purchase a bird cage. When I arrive home with a bird cage your Daddy was sitting on the toilet with this bird on his shoulder. He was not using the toilet, just sitting on it — like a seat.
This time my heart really did melt. Not because I wanted this bird — because I was praying to anyone I could think of to come and deliver me from this bird — but because your Daddy did. He loved his new little friend sitting on his shoulder.
I looked at him and said, you’re the first Jewish Saint Francis of Woodland Hills.
We named him Depot (or HD for short). I posted a picture of Depot on Facebook.
Selma calls after seeing the picture of the bird in her newsfeed. I tell her the story. Within the hour two bird rescue ladies are at our front door because Selma has this extraordinary Rolodex of incredible people. I mean who has a bird lady in their Rolodex?
The ladies arrive, and I think they want to take him and coax him back into the wild, or perhaps help us figure out what to do? I was hoping they would take him. I was even willing to give them the cage in an effort to ensure his safe release from my home.
Your Daddy had a different idea.
He picked Depot up out of his cage, and he sat calmly in his hands. I knew as I watched him sit there petting that bird, he was not releasing his bird to anyone. They had bonded.
How did I let this happen? Why did I let him come with me to Home Depot?
The reality is, I was not surprised. I knew deep down your Daddy had to believe Depot was going to the best possible place to let him go. He needed to be in charge of it.
Sometimes you just have to go with it where your Daddy is concerned. I just have to follow his lead. He’s unpredictable. No two days are ever alike. I have a love-hate relationship with this fact. Mostly love.
Not knowing anything about Depot, we have no idea what is best at the moment. We do know he is quite domesticated for a wild bird, and letting him just go would not be good since he really does not fly. We want what is best for him. Tomorrow we are going to visit a wild bird sanctuary.
Sometimes things happen and I know I must write about it. I must remember it. It must be one of the moments I tell my children. As I type this, I am exhausted from the day, but your weekly letter had to be about your Daddy. It had to.
Your Daddy has one of the biggest hearts in the whole world, don’t ever forget that.
I hope you get his great big heart, even if it means I end up with a house full of turtles, rabbits, fish, birds, cats, dogs, hamsters or billy goats. I’m hear to tell you St. Francis Of Woodland Hills will not tolerate snakes and his wife will not tolerate spiders. Anything else is open for discussion, I suppose — but I would always go to your Daddy first. He’s going to be the random pet pushover.
I’m not an ogre or anything, however, I prefer to actually have a farm before you start bringing the farm animals home.
Right now Depot is sleeping in a cage on my desk. This scenario is not exactly what I had in mind.
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