auntbijou: (Default)
Well, after weeks of eating virtually everything in sight, the Impertinent Daughter had a growth spurt and is probably within one to two inches of being as tall as I am.

It hit me when I was watching her referee a game, and she had turned sideways to me. I thought, "Hmmm, the little pudge she was getting seems to be gone..." And I frowned and realized she hadn't eaten like a ravening, starving wolf the last couple of days, and I thought, "Ah... growth spurt." But it didn't sink in until later that afternoon, when we'd gone into San Marcos to get her some new athletic shoes. She was standing there in her socks, and I had just straightened up from listening to something the Impossible Son wanted to tell me and it hit me...

We were almost eye to eye.

The Husbandly One turned at my gasp, and his eyes went wide and he said, "Auntie, take off your shoes."

So I did.

And it was even more apparent.

*shrieks*

And the Impossible Son has had his own growth spurt. His legs are impossibly long right now, and his shorts are far too short all of a sudden. His feet look too big, and he's clumsy. I think he's about to grow again, and I can't help but think, "But, we just bought you three new pairs of jeans!!!"

My kids are both going to be taller than me. And possibly taller than THO, as well.

*sigh*

In other news, there is a squirrel in our backyard who is getting a little too... demanding. It's not like we're feeding him or anything. But he likes to come to the window where I'm sitting on the computer and peer in, and he whisks his tail and flirts with me. If the window is open, I talk to him, silly nonsense things like, "Hey, Booger, what's up? Find all your nuts yet? Hey, stop digging in my oregano, I just planted seeds in there, you damn squirrel!" etc. However, he has now reached the point where if the window isn't open, or I don't talk to him or make some acknowledgement of his presence, well... he gets a little ... squirrelly. See?

click to see the squirrel, if you like )

And that's not if the cardinals are at the window, chirping at me like I need to fill the feeders, or something. Except... we don't have feeders out, and haven't since we moved here. We used to keep bird feeders at the 21 House, but not at the Alamo house because... all the cats who got dumped in the neighborhood showed up at our house, and having a bird feeder would have been like serving appetizers...

Apparently, the folks who lived here before us had feeders out, not only for the cardinals, but for hummingbirds, too, because they buzz me when I'm working in the garden in the mornings or the evenings. I just about went cross-eyed last week when I stood up from clearing a bed by the porch and found a rather annoyed hummingbird hovering inches from my nose. If ever a hummingbird could look pissed off, this one definitely was, and ranted at me for about ten seconds before zipping off. It reminded me of my father-in-law, and the hummers at their place up near Texarkana. He always knew when he needed to refill the feeders, because they'd dive bomb him the second he came out of the house. I always wanted to get him one of those hummingbird feeders on a hat so he could sit on his front porch and watch them from up close! *snorts with laughter*

And we no longer have cardinals nesting in the jasmine vines on the front porch. Their nest has been taken over by a pair of vermillion flycatchers. Which aren't nearly as laid back as the cardinals were about our going in and out of the house. They fly off the moment they hear the door knob turning, or when they see us walking up to the front porch. They'd better get used to it, though, because I don't plan to start creeping in and out my back door just to make them happy!

Well, I must get about my day. I think I might finish clearing out that bed in the front yard and plant giant purple zinnias, some golden coreopsis... hmmm... maybe some alyssum, too... or should I plant bee balm?

*wanders off, thinking gardening thoughts...*
auntbijou: (Default)
Well, to clarify yesterday's somewhat incoherent post, one of my stories was nominated on [profile] bestmatesawards, and I'm just so thrilled and happy that someone thought enough of the story to nominate it! WOOT!! *is thrilled down to her little toes*

That's definitely enough to add a bit of a twinkle to my eye!

Hee!!

You know, last night, I baked cookies (again), this time the big chewy ginger cookies, and I was wearing shorts and a short sleeved tee. And barefoot. Oh, and an apron. Because it was 75.

This morning, it was 67 when I took the kids to school, and the Impossible Son grumbled a bit about the long sleeved shirt I insisted he wear, and protested my stuffing his jacket into his backpack. "Believe me, you'll need it!"

When I went to pick him up at 3 p.m., it was 33, with a windchill of 28. HUGE change. And right now at 9:45, it's 31 with a windchill of 20. Yay. Fortunately, I finally found my thermals, and those, plus my wool socks, mean that Auntie is finally, finally warm! The Impossible Son has apparently inherited my mother's internal furnace and is running around the house in shorts and a light tee while BAREFOOT. He had his sleeves rolled up when I picked him up, saying, "I'm fine, it doesn't bother me!" and refusing to wear his Domo-kun hat. So I wore it.

Winter in Texas. I wish it would make up its mind, you know? If it's going to stay cold, then... STAY COLD!! Or if its going to be warm, then... FINE! BE WARM!! The upping and downing, not so much, please. It is to being harsh on Auntie's constitution, yes.

I sprinkled sunflowers seeds on the back porch for the cardinals that have arrived to look for real estate possibilities in the neighborhood. They were complaining; "I thought you said it was going to be warm here, this is the South isn't it, George??" "Now, now, Tizzy, dear, calm down, this is just for a few days, it will warm up in no time, just you wait...Oh, look, see? There now, that nice human has put out some food! Let's go nibble some, that will put you in a better mood, go on..."

They were a little nervous every time I came to the window with the camera, or I would have gotten some shots. Possibly Calcifer, with his face pressed to the window, actively drooling, wasn't helping with the credibility department all that much.

And... I bought a new mini-muffin pan today. I plan to bake mini corn muffins to put in the kids' bentos for school. You know, they got teased for their bentos at first, but now, their friends are envious of their lunches, and sometimes even sit there peering over their shoulders, hoping for a bite or two. I don't put huge amounts in their boxes, but I do put variety, because my kids tend to graze, and they don't come home nearly as hungry as they used to, which is wonderful. They've gone from, "There wasn't enough in my lunch," to "I couldn't eat it all, so I had some later for snack-time." And like I said, I'm not putting huge amounts of food in their lunches. Just... variety. Which works. Thank you, Japanese moms!!

*is still dancing happily because of the nomination*

I better do a bed-check to make sure everyone is tucked in! Stay warm, those of you who are freezing along with me, and to those of you on my f-list who are experiencing summer, stay cool!!
auntbijou: (Default)

I should have known today was going to be one of those days when the Husbandly One woke me up to kiss me before leaving for work.  "Stay in bed today!  Get some rest!" he admonished, referring to the virus that has me currently coughing up my lungs.

Why didn't he just come right out and say, "I curse thee to never get near this bed again for the rest of the day!  Verily, thou shalt not be horizontal again for the next twelve hours!!"

If I'd been more awake, I would have said, "Is there any oxygen on the planet you're from?"

*sigh*

So, ten minutes after he left, I ended up getting up, because I got into a coughing fit that left me curled into a ball, and unable to lay down at all.  

Did I mention we have three kittens?  Three kittens that are almost four months old?

Okay.  So, soon, I hear the Impertinent Daughter stirring, and wait for the inevitable, "What's for breakfast?" cry.  Instead, I hear this ringing, clanging crash, and hysterical bird noises from the kitchen.  This is not reassuring, so I get up and hurry into the kitchen to discover that the parakeet's cage is no longer hanging in the kitchen.  No.  It's on the floor, on its side, and  the three kittens, who had been crouched in "stalk mode" look up, see me, and SCATTER!!

Miss Priss rushes in and says, "WHERE'S WEBBY??"

I look in the cage.  No parakeet.  I look up on the cabinets.  No parakeet.  I look on the floor, expecting mangled remains of bird.  There's Webby, perched calmly on the floor.  Terrific, I thought glumly.  I have to catch her and pick her up.

Webby does not like people.  Webby does not like other birds.  Webby does not like much of anything, really, though she is cheerful enough, just so long as you don't try to touch her.  She'll chirp happily to you, and dance for you, talk, and all that.  But the second you get close to her cage, or even THINK of putting your hand in there to do anything aside from cleaning the cage... she turns into the parakeet version of a rabid Rottweiler on steroids.  With a sore paw.  And a headache.  

The kittens are coming back into the kitchen, so I have no choice.  I gently pick Webby up, holding her cupped in my hands and start speaking reassuringly to her while I turn to the Impertinent Daughter and say, "Set the cage on the floor and put the top back on."  I feel Webby nibbling at my palm, and in any other bird, it would be affectionate.  But Webby?  She's testing to find where the tenderest spot is.

By the way, did I mention I have LARYNGITIS??  As in, no voice whatsoever today?

So, ID blinks and says, "What was that, Mama?"

"Pick up the cage and put the top back on!" I squeak desperately.

She frowns.  "Wha-a-a-a-t??"

Webby is very close to finding the major artery in my hand, I just KNOW it, and I'm trying not to panic, and I say calmly, "Pick... up... the... cage.  Put... the... top... on...NOW!!"

Right at that moment, Webby finds her spot and takes a plug out of my hand.  I yelp, and ID shrieks, then says, "I know, Mom!  I'll pick the cage up and put the top back on so you can just stick her in the cage!!"

If I hadn't already been in excruciating pain from the bird biting the hell out of my hand, I would have banged my head into the counter at that moment.

Webby starts twisting her head to worry at the skin of my palm, like a little terrier, and I'm telling you, the temptation to just squish my hands together was very, very strong, but... I didn't.  (EW!!)  So, the daughter gets the cage set up, and plops the top back on and says, "How do I fasten it?" and I said, "Don't worry about it, just get it on so I can get this damn bird off my hand!!"

As soon as I could, I stuck my hands in the cage and opened them.  Did she hop off immediately and fly to the top of the cage as usual to get away from the crazy humans and cats?  NO!! SHE ATTACKED MY THUMB!!!

Damn bird!!  Next time, I'll let the bloody cats HAVE her!!

Did I mention bird seed, kitten chow, and water all over the kitchen counter and the floor?

*sigh*  You know, the bird belonged to my oldest sister, the Practical Sister.  Her daughter gave the bird to her not long after her husband died, figuring her mom needed companionship.  So she gave her a psycho, anti-social parakeet.  How fitting, then, that it was named after my brother-in-law, who could not stand me (believe me, the feeling was entirely mutual).  The bird barely tolerated the Practical Sister.  The only person the bird likes is my niece, the one who gave her to the Practical Sister.  When PS moved to Arizona, did she give the bird to her daughter, whom the bird likes?  No, because, you see, THAT would make SENSE!  No, she gave the bird to ME.  And sometimes, I have to wonder if that bird is possessed by my late brother-in-law's spirit, because she definitely looks at me with the same jaundiced eye from time to time.

And no, she doesn't want the bird back.  But... she doesn't want me to give it away, either.  And it doesn't help that she's a huge Martha Stewart fan, and watches the Mark Marrone pet segments religiously, so that every time I talk to her and she asks how Webby is doing, she chirps, "You know, parakeets can live up to 15 years if you take good care of them!"

Damn.

Anybody want a cranky, anti-social parakeet with a really, really big cage?  Anybody?

*stalks off to put an ice pack on her swelling hand*

auntbijou: (Default)
Okay, so the storm that blew my table off the deck had another victim.  A blue jay's nest got blown out of one of our trees.  One of the nestlings didn't make it, but the other did.  It's getting wing feathers, but not quite flying yet.  The kids came and got me, and thanks to the Amazing Kitten Resuscitation Adventure, fully expected me to pull a hat out of a rabbit and Do Something.

So I did.

"Okay, y'all, back away from the bird.  Where's the nest?  Oh, on the ground.  Okay, leave the baby alone.  No, I promise, the parents are around, but they aren't going to come down here while y'all are standing around, kneeling over their baby.  No, they won't smell you on the baby, birds mostly have little to very poor senses of smell.  No, we can't bring the bird in the house.  Come on, let's go inside and give the parents a chance to take care of their baby."

Well, apparently, I didn't make it clear enough.  My kids thought Mama and Papa Blue Jay would actually PICK their baby up and fly it to a new nest.  I said, no, this is a prime opportunity for them to teach their baby how to hunt for itself.  Leave the baby alone.

I told them that hand raised birds very rarely survive into adulthood.  

I pointed out that it is illegal in our state for someone to keep a wild bird as a pet unless they are a licensed wildlife rehabilitator.

I told them again that the parents were nearby, and that they would be watching over their baby, please put it down, leave it alone.

The results?






Yes, that is the Impertinent Daughter, with Scallop on her shoulder.  Yes, the damn bird has a name.  No, we do not have it in a cage in the house.  It is in a NEST on the back porch.  I wanted to put it back where it was found, so that Mama Bird and Papa Bird could have a chance to deal with it, but I was outvoted.  

Oh well.  At least it isn't a mockingbird, and won't divebomb me.

...sigh...

Oooooookaaaaaay....

Monday, May 14th, 2007 08:11 am
auntbijou: (Default)

I think Mr. Killer Psycho Nutjob Mockingbird is having carnal knowledge of the passenger side mirror on my minivan.  Really.  Because there's... stuff... on that mirror.  Thick, globby, clearish... stuff.  Right where Mr. Mockingbird is, for lack of a better word, humping the mirror.  On a regular basis.  

Honey, there ain't enough Windex in the WORLD!!

At least he's not dive-bombing me any more, or trying to fly into the car to terrorize us.  I think it's because he's too busy driving the starlings, grackles, blue-jays, finches, and any other bird stupid enough to try to nest in his tree away.  I'm sorry for these other birds, but I'm also glad I don't have to duck and roll every time I want to get into my car.  

I assume there is a MRS. Killer Psycho Nutjob Mockingbird, because I have seen a second bird, and I do see her on occasion sitting in the tree on what appears to be a nest.  For all I know, she's cut him off from conjugal duties while she sits on the eggs, and that's why he's humping my car.   Frustration.  Damn bird.

*grumble*

Finally, after two weeks, I have the house to myself.  Both kids are in school today.  No making endless slushies, no making bowls and bowls of soup that get half eaten.  No entertaining sick, cranky children.  I don't mind, but TWO WEEKS!!  TWO WEEKS, PEOPLE!!!  And school is out on the 24th.  

*panics*

NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

auntbijou: (Default)
WHAT IS IT WITH ME AND MOCKINGBIRDS????


Okay, I've got, like, the Migraine from Hell.  Omg, I want to crawl into a dark closet, curl up in a ball, and just... I dunno... DIE or something.  And there isn't a lot I can take for it, because, well, I'm resistant to a lot of medications.  

And yet, I can't crawl into the closet, because I have to take the Impossible Son to the doctor, because he's got a major ear ache and is running 101.  Fine.  So, I bundle him up, and load him in the car to take the Impertinent Daughter to school.  Everything is peachy-keen and hunky-dory, yada, yada, yada, we talk... okay, well, SHE talked while I just sat there, driving, and listening, and trying to have something other than a pained grimace on my face (why does she always seem to be extra-bright and cheerful when an elephant is tap-dancing on my skull in spike-heeled shoes??).  I drop her off at school, we come home while the Impossible Son tries to chatter listlessly, and I try to make out what he's saying through his drone.  So you know I was thoroughly irritated when we got home.  I get out of the car, open the door and help Mr. Manzie out of his seat, thinking, well, here's someone who is just as miserable as I am, and I was giving him a hug.  The only warning I had was his body suddenly stiffening, and his startled gasp, and then something slammed into the back of my head and my shoulder.  And all I could think was..."OW!!!"

It was two of them.  They're ganging up on me.

The Impossible Son was waving his arms over my head and shoulder.  "Go away, you bad birds!!  Stupid birds!!  You stop hurting my mama!!"

I would have laughed if I could.  Two mockingbirds, sitting in our little maple tree, eyeing me with malice in their little hearts.   I have to tell you, I felt like I should be looking for Alfred Hitchcock.  Bird-thugs, I swear.  They should have been wearing little leather jackets and had tiny cigarettes hanging off their beaks.  

As long as we were still, the birds left us alone.  But every time we moved, we became a threat, and they'd start attacking again.  It was driving me nuts.  Little Man couldn't get out of the car at all.  Finally, I said, "Okay, here's the plan.  I'll stay between you and the birds.  You run for the house, and I'll keep their attention focused on me."

"Right," he said.  He was thrilled.  It was just like a ninja mission or something, as far as he was concerned.  "Are you ready, Mama?"

No, I wanted to say.  After all, the way I'm feeling, I'm only slightly faster than a drunk snail.  But hey, anything's better than having a small, fierce bird pounding your skull, right?

It worked.  He got out of the van, I closed the door, we started moving and as soon as the birds started hitting me (ow, ow, ow, ow!) he raced for the porch.  Only one problem.  The door was locked.  So he ended up plastered against the door while I shielded him  and unlocked it, and we both fell in.  I had a sudden horror of mockingbirds IN MY HOUSE and managed to kick the door shut in their indignant faces.  

You know what?  I'm beginning to really, really hate mockingbirds.  Really.

Damn, I just realized.  We have to go to the doctor, and those damn birds are STILL OUT THERE!!!!

*thunk*
auntbijou: (Default)

Okay, so there I was, minding my own business, doin' my laps around the track.  And yes, Alex, I went earlier than yesterday so I would avoid Mr. Annoyingly Oblivious Talkative Guy, and successfully missed him.  Darn, I'm sooooo disappointed (can you hear the sarcasm dripping off my voice?).

Anyway, I was doing my laps, and was into the second one, and coming up to a curve next to the highway where there is a half grown oak tree.  I had my iPod on, listening to this really good song by a group called Goldroom that I've taken a liking to when all of a sudden, something slams into my hat.  I looked up, didn't see anything, looked down, didn't see anything, so I kept moving.  It didn't hurt so much as it just startled me.  So, I'm humming along, come around for my third lap, get to the turn, and it happens again.  This time, I heard an angry squawk along with the hit.  I looked up and got a sudden understanding what an anti-aircraft gunner feels like when a plane is screaming down at him, because a mockingbird was diving at me, and I was literally staring right up into its gullet, because it had its mouth wide open, screaming a challenge at me.  No, I didn't stick around, I got busy and got moving.  As soon as I was out of range, it stopped diving at me.  This was a surprise, because I didn't think it was time to for the mockingbirds to start selecting nesting sites yet, though I dunno, maybe this bird just wants to get ahead of the others and find a really good spot.  

He or she is bound to be frustrated, because that's a public track, and lots of people use it at all hours of the day, all the way up until late evening.  

I did three more laps, and found myself hurrying around that corner, because as soon as I made the curve, that damn bird would start squawking and diving at me, pecking at me and grabbing my hair.  OUCH!!!!  The last time, it hit me so hard, I nearly star-fished on the track, and only caught myself just before I hit the gravel, managing to scramble away before it could do any damage.    

Well, I was only going to do six laps anyway.  

When I walked to my car, I saw Mr. Annoyingly Oblivious Talkative Guy stretching and getting ready for his run, and in the interests of being neighborly, I stopped by him and said, "Be careful around that far turn where the oak tree is.  There's a very defensive mockingbird there, and he's divebombing to protect his tree."

He looked up, then looked toward the tree.  "I don't see a mockingbird."

"Trust me, there's a mockingbird there." 

"I don't think it'll be a problem.  Birds are generally scared of people."

I nodded and said, "Whatever," and went to my car.  And yes, I didn't leave right away.  I stretched, drank my water, and waited.  And sure enough, when Mr. Annoying got to that corner, that bird went for him with a vengeance!!!  It could not have been any more impressive, not if that damn bird had had like... a spear and magic helmet!!  It knocked his hat off, and it sent his hair flying, and he started yelling and waving his arms over his head, crouching down, and I sat in my car and laughed myself silly.  Yes, there is divine justice in this world!

Thing is, what do I do about tomorrow?  Carry an umbrella?  A red cape?  Flamethrower?  Any suggestions, Vicki?  After all, from Mr. Killer Psycho Mockingbird's point of view, I'M the intruder.

Guess the flamethrower would get me frowned on in this town, huh?

auntbijou: (Default)

Nothing gets the morning going like getting in your car, opening the windows, turning to check if your daughter has buckled her seat-belt... and having a mockingbird fly right into your car.

(pause for effect)

So, there I was, mindin' my own business, and this stupid BIRD flies into my car and promptly starts freaking out.  Squeals and screams started in the car, and I began to bellow, "CALM DOWN!!!" except I managed the first part before my voice departed, so it was more like, "CALM DO*squeak*!!"  The kids were freaking out, the bird was freaking out... *sigh*  The Impossible Son, being in the back, was not in the line of fire, so to speak, so he was basically freaking out on his sister's behalf, but the Impertinent Daughter was flailing in the seat while the bird was flapping frantically and squawking and doing its bird thing.  I shouted, as best I could, "OPEN THE DOOR AND GET OUT OF THE CAR!!!"

My words finally registered, and she bailed, while I bailed out the other side and immediately slid open the back door to free my son, who was buckled into a booster seat (we are all very small people in this family).  He could unbuckle himself, but he had his face covered with his arms (a smart thing to do in the circumstances) and was busy shouting, 'You bad bird!  You leave my sister alone!  Get out!! Get out!! You stinkin' bird!!"

I was reaching across to unbuckle him when I saw Miss Priss, who was totally terrified at this point (omg, I can see the therapy bills now) about to CLOSE HER DOOR!!  "NO!!" I rasped.  "Don't close the door!! Leave it open so it can get out!!"

This drew the bird's attention to me, and the next thing I knew, it was divebombing me in the limited space of the car.  Fortunately, the Impertinent Daughter recovered her wits and opened the back door on HER side of the car, dragging her shrieking brother out, who was trying to cover me with his hands and bat at the bird (very brave of him, really).  Once they were out, I slithered out and we all stood back breathlessly while we waited for the bird to figure out it was alone.  It did and perched defiantly on the back of my seat, fussing angrily at us and probably cussing us out bird-fashion.  I was beginning to think we were going to have to WALK to school when the mockingbird (and I DO mean that in EVERY sense of the word "mocking") decided it had done and said everything it had come to do and say, and flew out the Impertinent Daughter's door and back to the sycamore tree it has been inhabiting since July.  We all got back IN the car, and YES, I closed the damn windows!!!  I did NOT want another episode with Mr. Psycho State Bird Who Is Most Fortunate To Be Protected By State Law Or His Little Neck Would Be Wrung.

And that, Mrs. Eley, and Mrs. SnareNose (which is the Impossible Son's pronunciation of "Cisneros"), is why my children were late to school this morning.

Signed, a very bedraggled and battered,

Auntie
 

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