Poop on a Porch

It's days later and the drama that played out on my porch with that little dove is a memory, and all I have to show for it is one downey feather in the flower bed, and teeny, tiny piles of birdy doo on my steps. Fortunately, the spiritual lessons of my natural encounter linger, long after the birds have flown.

I wonder if there were any sophisticated thoughts in that little birdie's head when he was waiting on the porch steps, waiting for his mother. I tend to personify and have to assume there was emotion; fear, anxiety maybe. Perhaps nothing. I, as a woman, tend to attribute emotions and see intent in my husbands words, or silence that, admittedly misses the mark, entirely.

Sometimes I even miss by a mile or two. We're talking the arrow missing the target completely, and skewering the guy in charge of the archery range, bad. I know, I KNOW! It's hard to believe. ME, misinterpreting my husband's thoughts, words and actions.

Take this little scenario, which actually happened. I had the girls, at the end of a very long day, and they were fussing in their respective jumperoo and exersaucer while I was trying to make dinner. At this time of day, I tend to do a juggling act worthy of a circus performer. I try and keep the kids from totally melting down, and also attempt to put something healthy and delicious in the oven that we can eat later at night after the girls are in bed.

I see through the living room window that my husband has pulled up to the curb in front of the house. He is chatting on his hands-free device, I assume with a friend or somebody from work, for work purposes. I tell the girls "Yay!!!! Daddy's home!" I think to myself. "Thank you Lord! Relief." He'll be right in, he'll entertain the girls and stop them from crying, while I finish preparing dinner. The girls had been whining and fussing, and now crying for about an hour. It's too close to bedtime to let them nap. I clench my jaw and keep working on dinner, with greater fervor. Jeff does not appear.

It's approaching 6:25 pm. And that's when I start living in the flesh. I am stewing in my own juices. Where IS he? I look through the window and he's still chatting in the car. He's smiling...while I slave away in the kitchen, making HIS dinner, to the song of the twin sirens. I go out on the porch and attempt to catch his eye with my glare that says, "Come ON! What are you DOING?" It's been a half-hour! How can that call possibly more important than your family? More important than getting in here and doing your JOB (aka meeting your wife's expectations). He waves briefly, dismissively, and keeps on talking. I go back inside to steam.

Long story short. We had "loud fellowship" over him being late and coming in at the last possible minute before bedtime. He was talking to a friend and business associate about a sales opportunity in said friend's business, and a potential side job for my husband. Jeff was concentrating on providing for his family, so was I, just in different ways.  We were seeing the situation from two different ways, but striving towards the same goal: being there for our children, just like that mama bird.