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I went to my mom’s last night for dinner with Auntie Good Times, Grammy, Papa and Auntie Donut, while my three boys stayed home.  I know it’s no wild and crazy girls’ nights out, but that’s not really my style. 

We drink champagne (when there is some) or beer or something from the bar, eat dinner and listen to Auntie Good Times tell her most recent tall tale about one of the many things she has seen, from giant sea turtles to huge black bears, and nude Aussies anchored next to them in the cove and teeny-tiny hermit crabs crawling out of little shells she collected—oops, better swim back to shore and put them back on the sand. (She really did.)

Near the end of the evening when Auntie Donut decided to leave, my mom was walking her out, and when they opened the door something flew in.  We thought it was a bat which was terribly unnerving, but it was a little finch.  Cutest thing I’ve ever seen, but not too smart about how to fly back out the door.  Here’s a situation where a camel could go through the eye of a needle easier.  Finally after about 15 minutes he flew his way out the back door in to the pool cage.  I think we should let a couple more in and they could be pets for my mom and dad.  I guess they didn’t think so, because they left the screen door open all night in hopes he would find his way out.  That’s a big deal for my dad!  This is a guy who needs to “batten down the hatches” when he’s home alone during the day because someone may sneak in and sexually abuse him—he wishes!  Anyway, here was this darling little bird flitting around the pool area in modest panic trying to make sense of his surroundings.  Auntie said that the male finches actually build a nest and hope a female chooses them for their “cool crib!”  How cute is that? 

We sat out in the screened area (after we gave up trying to lure him outside with bird calls on my phone and acting like “wing walkers” trying to negotiate him through the open door with orange batons.)  As he flew back and forth between the ceiling fan and the other end of the screened enclosure, the conversation meandered around until we got to my boys and how different they are.  Mikey is constantly moving with very short focus time while Pierce is methodical and even paced.  As we watched this bird land on everything and bouncing around Auntie said that ”he’s just like Mikey!  That might explain why Mikey is so busy—maybe he’s a bird brain!”  Too funny!  I wonder if that is a real diagnosis—if only he could fly, that would make the busy-ness and lack of focus more tolerable?

Has anyone noticed that we have names for everyone and everything that isn’t the god-given name?  I sort of did that anyway, but Mikey caught on and now everything needs a name.  We have Herb the Camphor tree, Leafy the Laurel Oak, Emily Bronte the brontosaurus, Tracy triceratops, Dermot the demetrodon, Moonman for Master Chief on Halo, etc.  And if we haven’t thought of a name, we add a “y” to its name like Tranny (my particular favorite) for tyrannosaurus rex, and Spiney for spinosaurus.

One of my favorite things about nicknames for my kids is using the negative things to come up with funny names.  Pierce and his endless snotty nose and poopy diapers has come to be known on numerous occasions, “Booger T. Washington,”  “Boog Knight” and “Crapper John MD.”  Mikey has been “Skids Donovan,”  “Monkey,” and any other number of names that we threaten to legally change, which freaks him out.  If I manage NOT to raise bullies, what with all the bullying we do as parents, it will be a miracle!

 

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