Moments of Levity Moments of Grace
This is a photo of a nest above the door up into our Thetford studio (above our garage, if you've never been). Built in May, the nest has twice held and hatched eggs to become chicks. They became fledglings and flew away the first time. This time, they are taking their time. I'm in and out of that door several times a day usually, but otherwise the flow of human traffic passing through is absent, while the studio is closed. There is a lot of complaining from the mama when I do pass through, but I reason that if they wanted a humanless zone to grow their brood they should have moved house after phase one. In other words, they chose this spot. They can deal with my presence.
If you peer closely at the picture you might notice that this is a very small nest. This is a pile up of not-so-small birdies inhabiting a tiny space, wee bloated overloads who occasionally poop near my head when I enter. (If I had a camera with a zoom lens or was 8 feet tall, the photo would be clearer).They don't sit into the nest so much as overflow it and each other, like a beer gut spilling out over khakis. It's about a week past the time when, in my opinion, they should be out of that nest. I kind of want to talk with the mama bird. Maybe it's the pandemic, but they don't seem eager to fly.
Do I snort and giggle every time I look up before opening the door?
Oh yes I do. Sometimes while ducking the bird poo.
First, let me say this: I love my kids. I do, truly. They are wonderful and unique young adults (23 and 25). Kind, thoughtful, smart. And they are living with us, along with a lovely girlfriend. For a chunk of time, we had a niece bunking here too. Since March we have been a kind of well-stocked safe house. And we love them all. Do we love being together? Mostly yes. Is it maybe time to kick them out of our little nest? Oh way, way past time. Except....pandemic. So, you know. Here we are.
If I occasionally snort and giggle it's a healthy way to let off a little steam because though my kids are no longer kids, neither have they fully adulted. Which is not unusual. But when you are 23 and live in your own apartment, there is nobody else picking up your damp towels. There's nobody reminding you (as they throw away the ruined gelatto) that sometimes the freezer door doesn't shut properly unless you give it an extra shove. In your own apartment, you learn your roommates get a little peeved if you always scarf down that perfectly ripe organic avocado without asking if it was being saved. You probably don't lose your roommate's car key. And then the spare.
So you learn some stuff. Adult stuff.
If I sound like I'm complaining, I'm not really. Or maybe just a bit, but what do we do during a pandemic, when our adult or sort of adult children come back to roost a bit? Or longer than a bit? Humor is essential. As for the actual adults in the nest, we've discovered that an escape to the grocery store or hardware store can inspire guilty, getting-away-from-them glee. More giggling. Which is healthy.
I maybe shouldn’t post this one to the blog. Not that they ever read what I write anyway. But if I die tomorrow, and they do make their way to my blog to search for poignant "last words", I'm not certain the humor will hold up.
So keep this between us?
(PS: free class to the person who comes up with the best photo caption. Go!)
