What's that I hear at the window? Hang on. I think I remember it. No tap, tap, smash. Could it be? Silence. The lil' birdy that drove me ape-sh*t for two days has gone bye bye. Except I think he'll be back any second now. I'm just getting a temporary reprieve. Hubby already warned me that the lil' birdy made a guest appearance at the window, 'round 6 a.m., then left. So, naturally, he'll be back. He wants me to re-read "Are You My Mother?" I did my best to convince him I wasn't his mother, that I'd already given birth to two humans and one feisty canine, and if I'd delivered a bird, I told him, I was pretty sure I'd remember it. God knows, I'm happy to feed my loved ones, a slice of kugel, a nice chicken, a cup of kibble, but I draw the line at worms.
She's your mother!
"Listen, Birdy," I said yesterday, during story time, "I'm not your mother. In fact, I have it on good authority that your mother is looking for you, and she's getting more frantic by the minute." The birdy gave me a look that said, "So far, the cow's not my mother. Fine. The dog's not my mother. The cat's not my mother. I get it. I'm not a complete idiot. But what about you, are you my mother?" "For the 10th time, no, I'm not your mother. What more do I have to do to convince you?" "Keep reading."