Little Houses

During one of our two big road trips this summer, I purchased each kid a little wooden bird house from Michaels' craft store. It was under a dollar. They happily used their markers to color the bird houses. The 'craft' was complete in about ten minutes. And discarded in the mess that is our car. But just this past week, Wyeth resurrected the little tiny house from his beloved 'box of stuff' where it must have migrated post car trip. He looked at it and started to smile.

"Could I real bird live in here, mom? Like a tiny little one? How would it fly in? What would it do? What could it eat?"

And so our short lived, magical adventure of the birdhouse began. That night, he carefully placed a whole bunch of raw, shelled peanuts inside the bird house. "So that the bird can eat".  And he quickly put on his shoes. Wyeth isn't much for delayed gratification. We are working on this aspect of his personality. But sometimes I love to be swept away in the excitement and the pressing nature of it all. We needed to get this bird house in a tree now!

I pulled on my trusty danskos and off we went to find the perfect tree branch in which to place our peanut filled bird house.  We had to find the perfect branch. Not too tiny because we didn't want to harm the tree. But not on a big branch too close to the ground because we wanted to make sure the bird was safe.  Satisfied with the chosen branch, we tied up the tiny, one dollar magic marker bird house on the branch with a shoe lace. And we waited.

In those brief minutes, I remember how much I adore children. How much I cherish these small moments when there is a belief that a bird will actually come, and live, and eat peanuts in a tiny house.

And call it home.