Yesterday, a bird flew into my house. Apparently it had been hanging around in my garage and when I opened the garage to let the dog out, I scared it. The irony. Because then, it flew straight into my house, into my kitchen, and terrified me. Yep. I completely freaked out. It headed straight for my sliding glass door, thinking it had found a fast escape, only to bump and flap at the glass and cause me to scream. And shriek. In hindsight, it’s all a little humiliating but in the moment, I was completely hysterical. Really, only for one reason- my hubs had already left for work. Why do all the good things happen after he’s gone?
Had Allen had been there, I still would’ve been a little nervous, but instead of holding a Mets apron over my head for protection, I probably would’ve been just watching, jumping around saying things like,”Get it Baby!” and “Honey, you are so brave! How do you know how to do these things?” And then Allen would’ve gotten rid of the bird and I would’ve spent the rest of the day thinking about how great he is. Instead…I acted like a maniac, ran out the front door, talked myself down a little, ran back in, (grabbed said apron for protection) and called him. I might’ve cried for a second. I know. Epic. Failure.
All this was happening while my daughters were halfway upstairs, halfway downstairs. I’m not sure what was more frightening for them. Me or the bird. I’m such a role model. Me and all my fitness and workout quotes that inspire me-“I don’t run to be thin. I run to be fierce” and “Strong is what happens when you run out of weak.” Blah, blah, blah. Wow. Keep running, eh? My one daughter actually said,”Oh, it’s a bird? From the way you were acting I thought there was a masked man in the house!” Um, hello? Is anyone else out there remotely with me on this? The bird was now perched on top of my refrigerator while breakfast was about to burn on the stove. And of course I couldn’t turn the stove off because then I’d have to go near the bird. And it might do something crazy like- I don’t know- fly at me- or peck my head to a nub. Or get caught in my hair. (Caught in my hair feeling like the most likely scenario)
Thankfully, sweet and calm husband on the phone gave me some tips, such as open all the doors- which, to my credit, I had done. Then, after closing some other doors to the living room and dining room, the bird flew out the sliding glass door. I didn’t actually SEE this with my own eyes, so I had to ask my youngest daughter approximately 237 times if she was SURE the bird had flown out the door. And then, this same child looked me square in the face and said….wait for it…”You didn’t handle that very well.” Wow. Insult to injury. And then came the re-enactments of mom freaking out. The made up songs about birds in the house and a crazy mother. Sigh…it was not my finest hour.
BUT! My chance to save face came a little later in the day when that same sweet child had a fly in her room and called me for help. That’s right- a measly, teeny, tiny little fly. Puh-leeeze. Who would be scared of a fly? I ran in like a champ and let it out the window. And we didn’t even have to call Dad.