After the mouse in the kitchen (last summer), this Sunday morning kicked off with... a bird in the bedroom.
OK, it was just a sparrow. But, if you're not quite 3 and a half, and just emerging from an 11-hour sleep, believe me: the sight of a sparrow hurtling towards you in the semi-darkness is pretty scary.
I know, I was there.
So, BB was frantic, LB was bemused, FH was flustered and I was trying to be mature about the whole thing. You know, to set an example (or whatever it is us mothers are supposed to do).
And the sparrow... well, he was absolutely terrified, from what we could see.
As FH tried to coax him out from under the bed of the frantic child, the bird stole its chance and made a kamikaze dive for the bedroom door.
It was at that point that I totally gave up the attempt to appear calm, and released a tragic, piercing shriek of my own.
See, I was standing right by the doorway, and so got a nice bit of "wing-lash" as birdie rocketed past.
Well, after that, FH was well and truly on his own.
I barricaded myself into the bedroom with the boys, slipping effortlessly and gratefully into "women and children first" mode.
It's amazing how a mere whiff of danger sets us right back a century or two.
A few minutes later, FH announced that our winged friend had been shown the door.
I insisted he swear on the Bible and a few precious people's heads that this was no lie, knowing FH's penchant for the "say what they want to hear" theory.
He promised.
So, it wasn't even 8.20 a.m., and we'd already experienced major drama. It was definitely going to be "one of those Sundays."
But on the upside, at least that explains the unfathomable noises we've been hearing above the boiler for the past few days.
LB, always cool in a crisis
No comments:
Post a Comment