the florence nightingales

"Hurry, come quick!" I shouted at the girls. They were down the hall in the bathroom, washing up after lunch.

Our little backyard pool - yes, the pool again...because I have nothing else to blog about - has been a hot hangout spot for the birds recently. We also have scattered birdseed on the ground because, well....birds are very interesting to watch. If you're between the ages of one and five.

A little black bird was swimming around in our pool, making laps and fluttering all about. There had been birds getting close, standing precariously on the rim of the pool for several days, but no one had committed to splashing about yet. I knew the girls would be so excited; I was a little grossed out, but I'd already planned to dump that water before the girls got back in so I tried to mentally block out thoughts of bird germs.

They came running down the hall and smushed their faces up against the glass.

"He sure is swimming slowly, mama," Emma commented. "Can we go look at him?"

I agreed and they all scampered outside to get a closer look at our bathing bird. A quick inspection later and Emma reported to me that she thought he might not be able to get out of the pool. As we looked closer at the little guy, it did seem that he was having some difficulty.

They were under strict orders NOT to touch the bird until I got out there. I seriously don't care how cute he it. He will not be touched by a member of my family, thankyouverymuch. I searched all over for my flip-flops, wondering where Abby had stashed them in one of her bids to be helpful.

Unbeknownst to me, Emma and Samantha had devised a plan about how to get him out while still avoiding physical contact. They scooped him out with a watering pitcher that was nearby and laid him on the ground. The next inspection brought Emma, screaming and nearly hysterical, into the house.

"Mommy! Come quickly! He's dying! He's dying right now! You have to come!"

I was already on my way to the backyard, but Emma would have none of my dawdling. I arrived when the bird just might have been on the brink of death. It's true - he was shivering, chirping some pathetically moan-like chirps, and was opening and shutting his eyelids very slowly. It was a bit creepy.

Emma and Samantha were full of ideas. Put some birdseed in front of him. Get him a towel. Hold him close and snuggle him (an idea that was quickly nixed). Samantha ran to get a towel and we draped it over him. I very awkwardly tried to comfort him - he's a bird, but still...it must be in my maternal genes - and prayed he wouldn't die in my yard. Not only did I not want to deal with the melodrama that would surely ensue from such an event, I didn't want to have to haul a dead bird out of the yard. And since josh is out of town, that job would have falled to me. Yuck.

The doorbell rang, and my mom and sister were showing up to watch the girls while I had a doctors appointment. They got the lowdown on the bird-drama, and we all came inside to let the bird either recover or die in peace. Just as I was about to head out the door, I saw the bird gingerly take a few hops. I heard later that he recovered fine.

Seems like Emma and Samantha might have found a new calling in life.