Friday, February 20, 2009
A tale of a picky pea eating, dive bombing, kitchen trashing, rather naughty brown bird
This afternoon, I went and did some grocery shopping then picked up Brielle and Aaron from school.
When we got home, Max held open the door from the garage to the kitchen while the other kids helped me carry in the groceries.
I got a phone call just as the last of the groceries were being brought in. I answered the phone and a minute later, I realized that Max was still holding the door open and whining about something.
I asked Aaron to go close the door and bring Max inside. When Aaron went to do this, Max began sobbing, and pointing to the garage saying "The bird is in there! It also needs to come in the house!"
I told him that there was not a bird in the garage, and please close the door.
Max sobbed. There were tears in his great big eyes.
"The bird needs to come in the house!"
"Max, there is no bird in the garage."
"GET THE BIRD! GET THE BIRD!"
I asked Brielle and Aaron to go with Max into the garage and show him that there was not a bird in the garage.
The kids all went into the garage and when they came back in the house, there, on Brielle's finger was perched and imaginary bird.
Max was now happy.
"See" he said "The bird did also need to come in the house!"
Max very carefully took the "bird" from Brielle and sat it on the floor in front of the door.
"Hey Max" I said "I'm thinking it might not be such a good idea to put the bird on the floor. Someone might step on him."
Aaron ran over and scooped the bird off of the floor and held it in the air. Max fell apart.
"NO! NO! THE BIRD NEEDS TO BE ON THE FLOOR!! IT ALSO NEEDS TO BE ON THE FLOOR!!"
I told Aaron to give the bird back to Max.
Max took the bird and sat it back on the floor, then the stupid imaginary bird started flying around the kitchen, and Max started screaming "It's in the oven! The bird did fly in the oven!"
He ran over and opened the oven door, and then the bird flew a few laps around the kitchen, then he flew into the closet.
"The bird is also flying into the closet!"
Then Max ran over and opened the closet door.
Then the bird started dive bombing Brielle.
"Brielle! Brielle!" Max screamed in a panic "Bird is getting you! He's hitting your head!!"
Brielle screamed. (Wouldn't you scream too if you were being attacked by an imaginary bird?)
Max scared the bird away from Brielle's head then chased him around the kitchen. When he finally caught him he took "Bird" to his room.
Max came back a few minutes later and said "Bird was naughty, so he is also in time out."
Grateful for the moment of quiet, I asked Max "What kind of a bird is he anyway, what does he look like?"
Max answered "He's a brown bird."
"What size is he? Is he a big or little bird?" I ask.
"He does not eat his peas at dinner, so he is also smaller."
Just then Max starts screaming again. "BRIELLE! BRIELLE! BIRD IS ALSO HITTING YOUR HEAD! HE'S HITTING YOU!"
Brielle screams, and Max takes him back into time out.
Over the next ten minutes, Brielle was attacked by bird at least three more times.
I was beginning to be concerned because I really couldn't see how we could handle a pet bird who could fly through closed doors and enjoyed attacking my daughter.
So I just left the chaos and went to pick up CJ from school.
On the way home I told CJ about our new pet. I warned him to watch his step because Bird might be on the kitchen floor, and to watch his head because this crazy bird was into attacking people.
When we walked in the door, everything was quiet.
Brielle was sitting at the computer doing her homework. (yes, you heard me correctly, she was doing homework on a Friday afternoon. Hey, I don't question it, I just happily allow it to happen) and Aaron, Max and the bird were nowhere to be found.
I went looking for Max and found him in his room playing quietly with his garbage truck.
"Hey Max, where's Bird?"
"Oh, he was very naughty, so I putted him in the garbage."
I'm pretty sure that's the shortest length of time anyone has owned a pet, either real or imaginary.
This was an imaginary bird. Please, don't anyone call P.E.T.A.