Looking glass

I am on day two of seriously trying to write my personal statement (basically a 2-3 page essay describing why I want to be in the Counseling program, and why they should love me) for my Masters application package. Finishing it is the only thing between me now and me being all applied.

Writing this is much like trying on bathing suits in a very small dressing room, under dramatically awful light. It's just me reading this so far, but in my head, my dressing room is surrounded by twenty year old 6 foot tall women wearing size 0 suits.

It's a very self conscious process, and I haven't even been accepted into the program yet.

I don't need bolstering from y'all. I know I have a good skill set for this profession and program. I just need to get it on paper.

patience going both ways

I was tickling Henry, and Willa - who is going through a gigantic phase of "me too" - asked me the same question for the 43rd time. I had answered this question when she first asked it. She in her magical thinking stage truly believes that asking more than once may change the outcome. It does, but not to her benefit; I get irritated and my eyelids start quaking.

Anyhow... tickling Henry, and Willa's standing over me asking something. When I did not immediately look up, she sighed from her toes, and said, "moth-er." I'm sure there was eye rolling involved.

Then I grabbed her, started tickling, and we all laughed.

Henry is now the age that Willa was during this post. And that freaks me out a little.

Not related: we went on vacation, and are back. And I'm working on a post here, but I'm having troubles with photos and words, and really should be doing laundry instead. So, until later this week...

Best lesson in humility

Henry.

Henry is three and a half months away from 2. And yet his absolute two-ness is amazing. Remember when I shared about him losing his mind routinely? I'm not here to write about that, yet that chapter continues.

He's been showing some pretty strong signs of potty training readiness. Telling us when he's just gone, or (better yet) when he needs to go, and actually using the toilet... these are all good signs. Just hours ago, I said to Jim, "when we get back from vacation, we should maybe try to really start potty training."

So, tonight when he put out the alert, I placed him on the toilet and after we all danced with great enthusiasm. Afterwards, I put set him loose in the house in only a pair of shorts.

Free range Henry did well for nine minutes. At minute ten, when I scooped him up for a bath, his bottom was wet. "Henry," I said, "you need to tell me when you need the toilet. You can't go potty in shorts. Do you understand?"

"Uh-huh," he nodded with gravity.

"So, no accidents, okay?"

"Ohh-KAY!" he grinned and hugged me.

As I slid his shorts off and sent him to the bathroom and a waiting Jim, Henry ran, peeing all the way.

New temporary charges

Oh Lordy, pals... a few evenings ago, I was sitting in our backyard and marvelling what real estate agents might call a "park-like setting" in our backyard. There were frolicking squirrels and a few rabbits that Henry chased after giggling. We've got a lot of nature here.

And if you've been around for a while, you know that nature likes Camp Sinki as a birthing center, which has been equal parts cool and vexing.

I knew there was a Cardinal's nest in our front pine tree. We've watched them collect materials to build their nest and recently they've been making lots of round trips. We've heard peeps from above.

On Thursday, I was rushing the kids out the door to get Willa to preschool. We immediately noticed a baby bird hanging upside down, beating its wings furiously. A closer cool showed two baby birds with one foot each tangled, apparently in the brambles of the old tree. I got a step stool and a golf umbrella and gently moved the branch while two very concerned adult cardinals kept close watch. Everyone had high nerves, so I called that good enough, loaded the kids up, and left.

Henry and I did some errands and returned home two hours later. The chicks were still hanging and had bloody wings and legs. Up I went again. This time I could see they both had thread twisted around their tiny legs. I grabbed them, the nest fell, the male cardinal dive bombed me (no contact). I sat with one on my lap and the other in my hand while I unwound the thread, which was wrapped at least eight times. And then I did the other. They were weak, and their wings were pretty bloody. I took the nest, an old pair of soft Henry pants, and the birds, and placed them in the recycling bin under the tree.

Their mom and dad made several concerned visits before starting the feeding visits.

Jim got home, and we strapped the recycling bin to the tree, about 5 feet up. We figured this would keep the baby birds safe from neighborhood carnivores (including, sadly, Greta the dog.). The whole bird family seems to have adjusted to their new home. The babies may have been ready to start learning flight, but they need some time now to heal and rest.

Photo to follow.