was kind of an “Eat poo” day. Little did I know how significant that would be toward the end.

Dave arrived home and glory be. His presence makes everything better. The screaming is a little less grating, the boy noises more easy to bear… mostly because he whisks them off outside and lets me have a few minutes’ peace to sling dinner. Which was exquisite tonight. A smoked Tri-Tip with grilled hearts of romaine salad and baked potatoes. In my very VERY humble opinion, I am really good at it. Meat was a perfect 130 degrees internal. And if you say that’s not enough… you’d be wrong.

I know, I know. I cooked our dinner. For Mothers’ Day. Special dispensation, you see… the man was at the hospital earning the $$. Next week is our anniversary and we are stepping out, my friends. And we’re going to party till Ten O’clock like the mid-40’s parents we are.

But until Dave came home, it was poo. Lots of boy arguments, lots of baby meltdowns because I’m weaning her and no one wants to learn to feed themselves when it’s just HANDED to you. Level up girl. Put on your big girl panties.

So when dinner was ready, we kept the boys inside and Miss Fussypants went outside, because that tends to make her happy. The two adults sat outside with our plates and tried to keep her somewhat content.

While eating, we heard the crazy-crazy chirping of all of the adolescent birds sitting in our cactus in the side yard. So Dave picked up Rachel to show her the commotion.

I, of course, continued to sit and milk the sanity for a few minutes. So this next part of the story is told through the eyes of daddy when he returned with Rachel in his arms:

“You aren’t going to believe what happened!

So, I was watching this little scene unfold: The babies were chirping like crazy for food. The mama bird flies in and starts feeding one of the chicks.

Then the chick turns around at the entrance of the nest. I got worried because I thought this was the instance that the poor little bird was going to be thrust out of the nest into the cold cruel world and I’d have to be an unwilling participant in its little social experiment.

But no. It hangs its little booty out of the entrance of the nest and proceeds to push out a fairly large poop for such a small bird. It was astounding. BUT:

The turd just hangs there. Quivering indefinitely like it is stuck in a time warp of fecal proportions.

And THEN… that mama bird swoops over and grabs that poop and hauls that poop right out of the nest to some proverbial diaper pail in the sky.”

I looked at him and blinked.

“Forget the *poo* hitting the fan… that mama bird didn’t even let it hit the ground!”

I feel like I was one-upped today by even the animal world.

I was intrigued by what just happened so we asked the googles about this phenomenon of “birdy poo snatching.” Here’s what it told us:

“Baby robins remain in their nest for about 13 days. Just about every time the nestlings gulp down some food, they poop. Let’s see—that’s 13 days x 4 babies x 356 insects and worms on average each day. That’s a LOT of poop! How on earth do robins keep their nest clean?

Baby robins can’t wear diapers of any kind, but they do put their poop in a strong “bag” so the parents can carry it away. This bag is made of thick, strong mucus that a parent robin can pick up in its sharp beak and carry without puncturing, and is called a fecal sac. Fecal sacs are just like disposable diapers for birds!

Within seconds of feeding, baby robins back up and poop. This ensures that whichever parent brought the food will still be there to carry away the fecal sac.”

How many times a day are those parent birds picking up fecal sacs?

I guarantee you, by the end of each day, that mama bird also wanted to kick that little baby right off the edge of that nest. Her poor wings. I see you mama bird…. I see you.

After we finished reading the Google expose, Dave looked up from his phone and said, “If that doesn’t say Mother’s Day, I don’t know what does.”

“I have an answer for that: Haagendaaz and Breyers on sale at Albertsons. Get to steppin.”

Dave, being a husband of excellent training threw the baby in the car and took off for the promised land.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the poo-slinging moms.

There will come a day when “Mom’s Not” doing it anymore,

But today is not that day.

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