For the birds

When I was pregnant, I was good and did things like not drink a lot. Or ever. But despite following all the rules about alcohol, drugs, and caffeine (Oh, who am I kidding? As soon as I could stand the smell of coffee again, I was all about it.), something still happened to my kids. No, no, I am not talking about the obvious things like Emmi's deafness or her other conditions. I mean, sometimes, I think they just aren't right.

This morning, Emmi and I sat waiting for her bus to come. (Everybody shout, "YAY FOR SUMMER SCHOOL!") I was drinking my coffee, watching Emmi chase birds when it occurred to me. My kid chases birds, like a damn dog, so often, that I don't even think it is abnormal. Instead, I watch her, and think things like, "Wow, she is getting so much better at sneaking up on them," and "Gee, she got close to that one!" I don't wonder if other children spend hour after hour chasing birds. Oh no. I just commend her on a job well done. And you know, offer her tips.

"E Baby, I think the birds are scared of you."

She looks at me confused. "But I will hold them bery, bery carefully. With two hands! And then I will pet it bery, bery gently!"

Well, in that case, "Em you should try tip-toeing if you hope to get closer. That stompy run is tipping them off."

Emmi nods, taking note of my suggestion, then turns and tip-toes quietly towards a bird hoping around on the curb. This time she gets a mere foot away, and I cheer for her.

Encouraging my kid to chase birds? Maybe I am not right either.