Knuckle-headed

A telemarketer just called me a knucklehead. I giggled for 20 minutes after I got off the phone. A knucklehead! That young man probably does not have much of a future in sales, bless him. I simply asked him if he was trying to sell me something, and he did not care for that knuckle-headed question. When I told Hudson what the guy said, he said, "whoa HO, wait until Daddy hears about this!" Then all the kids sweetly assured me that I am in no way a knucklehead. Whew.

Yesterday I had lunch duty at the kids' school. An entire table of Pre-kindergarteners asked me, one by one, "Do you know my mom?" Then they would tell me their mom's name, and they all sounded something like "Lawlan Wemelnish."  I lied to every one of them and told them that yes, I thought I did know their mom, and that she is very nice. They seemed really relieved and also excited. Note to self: meet more moms with Pre-K students so I don't have to lie next time.

Sunday when we were leaving church, Harper and I saw EIGHT roseate spoonbills sitting on the shore of Oyster Creek. Of course we pulled over.  We got within about 15 feet of them, then they made annoyed noises to each other and flew to the other side. Maybe they could tell that I did not know their mother.

The highlight of yesterday was that I got to hold my new friend Mr. Th for the first time. He is four days old and I like him a bushel and also a peck. I actually do know HIS mother.

The Tragic Ruination of the Orange Bishop

Hudson has been working on a science project for weeks that involves drawing and painting lots of mammals and birds and reptiles. Yesterday afternoon he had been laboring over a ruby- throated hummingbird, and was just finishing up an orange bishop when Harper strolled over and noted that the photograph of the orange bishop he was using was so charming, she thought she might paint it herself. I suggested she might want to work at a different table (because experience has taught us that two left-handed kids trying to use watercolors in close proximity to one another is sometimes awkward) but both she and Hudson thought they could make space next to Hudson. You can see where this is going? Hudson had just filled his brush with black paint and Harper reached over to get the water. His elbow was jostled, the brush full of black paint went slashing across the orange bishop, and CHAOS ENSUED. There were ear-piercing histrionics from Hudson, then Harper joined him, feeling equal parts sorry, defensive, and annoyed that he was so upset even though IT WAS JUST AN ACCIDENT. It took around 15 minutes to diffuse the situation. Helena ran upstairs to escape the tension. She came back down when things settled and reminded all of us, rather smugly, that she was "the only kid not crying!" Helpful. We had, the night before, read The Sorely Trying Day by Russell and Lillian Hoban. If you've read it (and you should!) you will note some similarities to our event. Though, thankfully, in our version the blame could not be traced back to any animals living in our house. Anyway, the good news is, after the ruby-throated hummingbird was salvaged, the orange bishop deemed beyond fixing and wadded up rather violently and put into the recycling by Hudson, the offended party and the offending party were back to normal. Harper was offering to give Hudson horse back rides on her back if, "he would promise to ride side-saddle like a proper lady."

In other, much happier, bird news, we spent the day after Thanksgiving doing a little birding near the Grandparents' and Harper and I saw a belted kingfisher! He flew away before we could get a picture, but it was quite a thrill.  I did manage to get a few shots of brown pelicans engaging in their unique style of dive bomb fishing.

This was a pretty fantastic moment--my parents strolling behind me, my boys and girls scampering in front of me, the water sparkling, the sea grass waving. Glorious.