Ready for Take-Off

Less than a week after the sad obliteration of the family of birds who took up their short residence in our back yard's bird bottle, a new feathered couple began setting up house. Back and forth they flew, with twigs and grass and other nesting material, busy at work stuffing the bottle to suit their needs. They do indeed work fast, those little birds.

Part of me wanted to warn them of the potential dangers involved of setting up a nest so high off the ground. We saw three tiny babies fall to their deaths; we wanted to spare this new family the same tragedy. But come on ... they're birds! This is what they do! Calm down, Sue. You're too soft.

So we watched the nest-building, and we waited. And waited. Finally, one afternoon, I heard sounds that differed from Mama and Daddy Bird. I heard little squeaky chirps, much higher pitched, much more frantic. I tried to look inside the nest but couldn't see any movement. We waited some more. I noticed that when Mama Bird flew to the bottle and perched on the stick, the squeaky chirps got louder, but still I couldn't see anything.

Then a couple of days later, I was sitting outside while my kids played. Mama Bird flew back to the stick with something in her beak. The chirping sounds flew to a frenzied pitch. And then I saw one, two, three tiny heads pop right up, mouths opened wide. They're here! The babies are here! Oh, please Creator God, do not let these little ones fall out ...

I was a bit surprised at my reaction, how protective I was of these little birds, getting more and more nervous with each passing day. The chirping got louder as the babies got bigger; I could see them more clearly as they grew, tiny black eyes looking out of the bottle. My fear was that as they got bigger, they would begin to crowd each other out ... and then one would fall. Oh, don't grow too quickly! Don't jostle around too much in there!

Just a few days ago I noticed the babies were getting bold. They would come out to greet Mama Bird now, squishing their bodies at the bottle's opening, craning their little necks, heads now exposed to the outdoors. I saw one little claw grasp the rim of the bottle, almost ready to take its first step out completely. My heart jolted a bit when Mama Bird was finished dishing out dinner, and the three squished babies tried to turn around to go back inside. Little bird bottoms hung out of the bottle; one little claw slipped out and the baby tumbled against its sibling. Don't fall! Don't fall!

Then the day came yesterday -- their version of "Platoma Day." A milestone. Yesterday afternoon as I was talking on the phone in the kitchen, I stood by the window and casually looked out. I glanced down and saw a surprising sight. There, on my window sill, was one of our baby birds, sitting quietly, looking right back at me through the screen. See? it seemed to say. I'm OK. I took my first flight and I made it.

I must have moved too quickly, for the baby flew off, a bit haltingly at first. He flew to the arm of a patio chair, then over to the lettuce patch where I then saw another baby hopping up and down, trying to get some leverage. There was Mama Bird, right with them. That must be their practice field. Up and down they fluttered, one poor guy repeatedly hitting the foundation of our neighbor's house in the back.

Last night I joined the kids outside in the back yard. I looked up at the bottle but saw no movement. Perhaps they're resting from their big day, their first moments of independence. Suddenly I saw Mama Bird fly to the stick and look inside. But this time I heard no chirping. I saw no babies cluster around the opening. It was very, very quiet. The babies grew up.

I guess I am now experiencing Empty Nest Syndrome. I miss that little family -- the family that actually made it. I found myself so happy for Mama and Daddy, their diligence and protectiveness (many a day had I watched them defend their bottle from other aggressive sparrows) and devotion to their babies having paid off, watching them grow safely, and finally helping them out of the nest for good. I can't believe how attached I got to this little family.

There's a good lesson here, riding on the back of a daily reminder to "live in the moment." These past few weeks were a condensed version of my own parenting, my own little birds needing me, my own responsibility in raising them and feeding them and caring for them until they, too, are ready for take-off. Did I once hear Mama Bird screech impatiently at them? Lose her patience with their constant squawking? Roll her beady bird eyes with exasperation? No, she had a job to do, and she did it well. This summer especially I need to strive to be like Mama Bird -- patient, above all thing. Certainly not something I do well ... at all. I lose precious moments with my kids when I roll my eyes, when I frown at them, when I screech with impatience and frustration, when I get irritated every other minute. I have a job to do ... and sometimes I feel that I don't do it very well. And before I know it, my baby birds will have reached the point of independence, of not needing me anymore, and they'll step out of their bottle and spread their own little wings, leaving me standing on a stick, looking inside to an empty nest.

I spent these first two days of summer vacation feeling frustrated, tired, and exasperated. This lesson came at a good time. Let's see if I too can become a good Mama Bird. And I'm going to make a start this morning. The dishes can wait (don't they always?!). The usual Wed. a.m. grocery shopping can be put off for another day. In a little while I will throw some bikes in the back of the gigantic rented blue minivan and take the kids to a local park, find a flat area, and (try to) teach my boy how to finally ride his bike. Then we'll head to the library, get some books and movies (myself included), and pray mightily that Grace won't destroy the place or break into her who-needs-a-microphone?-orator voice. Doesn't sound like a big deal, right? Why it is for me, I don't know. It certainly shouldn't be. But hopefully today will be a "moment" day. Thanks, Mama Bird. Good luck, babies.