Spoiled? Yes. Yes, She Is.

Sometimes the child who is absolutely certain that she doesn't need sleep proves that she is extremely wrong. SHE NEEDS SLEEP.

It took two sleepovers, a party at our house, and a concert all within four days for her to crash and burn. Because she is who she is, however, her version of "burning" is less about GOING THE HELL TO SLEEP and more about destroying everyone around her.

That's all to say, Alexis has been very, very, very grumpy all week long. Did I mention the VERY part of that grumpy? Because really. VERY. The grumpy has been amazing. If the grumpy could be summed up with a movie, it would be SharkNado. Fury and teeth and spinning and chainsaws and GRRRRR!

It took until today -- four days after the last of the chaos -- for the kid to become reasonable again. It took four whole days for me to be able to ask how the concert was without getting my head ripped off by a small human who forgets that I will take away everything that is dear to her. Go ahead and ask her how her Kindle is doing, by the way. She doesn't know because it has been taken away from her for the rest of her life thanks to her little outburst Tuesday night.

ANYWAY.

Taylor Swift. Alexis went to the Taylor Swift concert with a friend. I was nowhere near the chaos because FURRIES. And also because Taylor Swift. No. Not ever. No way. No how. Not happening. Fortunately for Alexis, the friend's dad offered to take the girls. Yes, he is insane. Yes, he did hit his head, but that was AFTER the decision was made that he would take two 7-year olds to a concert.

I can't explain it. I just went along with it by dropping Alexis off and running away as fast as possible.

So I finally was able to get an answer out of Alexis about how the Taylor Swift concert was and I think the basic answer was that Taylor needs to shut up and sing a little more. Also, more fireworks, please. Alexis has been to three concerts in her spoiled little life and she ranked Taylor last. LAST!

Don't tell Alexis this, but I knew she would be a little disappointed by the Taylor Swift concert. Alexis likes dancing and upbeat music that falls into the category of sugary pop. Taylor flirts with some of that, but she pretty much stays on the edges.

Regardless, Alexis had fun at the concert but is willing to provide lots of constructive criticism should Miss Swift want it. Call me, Taylor. I'll hook you up.

The One About The Creek

There is no doubt that had we landed on the hard, frozen ground, the damage would have been worse than it was when we softly plopped into a foot of water. THAT is why I consider the little creek that runs near our home to be a friend.

But today that same creek roared with anger. It spilled out from its home, covering roads and tearing a path of destruction for miles. It joined some other angry creeks and a few furious rivers and together, they waged war on Pittsburgh and the surrounding areas.

The flooding is why Alexis' summer camp had to close early today. The flooding is why it took a very long time to get home today. The flooding is why we found ourselves meandering around road closures and dead ends.

The flooding is why we had to drive by the trailer park I actively avoid.

The trailer park is fine as far as trailer parks go. The lots are large and you can tell that there is a healthy mix of people who are proud of what they've managed to put together and people who want more. There is a carefully placed collection of cat statues on one porch, meticulous potted plants in a yard, and a general aura of care. Mostly. There are a few homes falling into disrepair, but it's not the norm for that particular neighborhood.

It's just like the one where I grew up.

I avoid those things which conjure up the shadows of the past, so I avoid that trailer park. I don't like to remember the days of TV dinners and Banquet chicken, the days of KMart clothes and a torn backpack, the days of struggle and a general lack of understanding. I didn't understand then how my parents could be OK with living in that ratty old trailer, and I understand it even less now.

As I slowly drove through the trailer park of today, the shadows of the past darted to and fro. Alexis asked questions about nothing because that's what 7-year olds do. I gave answers that resembled something because that's what parents of 7-year olds do.

Just as we neared the edge of the trailer park, the signs of the angry creek became more evident. The tall grass looked like it bore the imprint of a giant snake-shaped UFO. It was crushed from the angry water that had poured through the neighborhood earlier in the day.

Some of the water was still standing there. It became deeper and deeper as we drove on, until it nearly kissed the side of the narrow road. I glanced up at the very last mobile home in the trailer park. It was completely surrounded by water.

A dream in the middle of a unwanted sea.

The old white trailer was in need of some work, and that was well before the water went crashing up against its walls. Its siding was dented and the windows dirty. Ragged curtains hung in the windows and a rusty swingset sat off to the side. The thing that stood out most, however, was seated right in front of the door. At the top of the stairs sat a man and what I presume to be his son. The man was perhaps my age and the son perhaps Alexis' age. They just sat there, atop the stairs with visions of devastation running through their minds.

Today they were the unlucky ones.

Sometimes the creek gives. Sometimes it takes.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

Don't ask me what day of the week it is because I DON'T KNOW.

What? Who? Huh?

Four-day weekends seriously screw with my little brain, especially when the four-day weekend is so full of living that it seems impossible that it all happened. It's a really very good problem to have, especially because some of that living involved these little guys.

These itty bitty birds were born June 26th in a tiny little nest right outside the front door of our house. I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that birds don't communicate with one another because it should be common knowledge that a peeping tom lives in our house. Any yard is safer than ours.

Unless you think it's fun to watch your babies get tormented by a giant human and her camera phone. In that case, carry on, birds.

It only took two days to figure out that these particular baby birds were fast-tracking their way to grown-up status.

In fact, they went from quarter-sized to silver dollar-sized in less than 36 hours.

Which probably means I should have been prepared.

But I wasn't.

I walked out the front door to take a photo of the little guys on July 6th and maybe-sort of-definitely caused this.

And I do mean CAUSED.

I should know by now that baby birds will go from totally chill about my presence to HOLY FREAKIN LARGE HUMAN RUUUUUUUUUN in an instant. I should, but I keep forgetting. So, when I opened up the door and pulled back the branch of the rose bush to say hi to the baby birds, they MORE than said "hi."

They went nuts.

In what can best be described as explosion of feathers and bird poop, three tiny birds launched themselves out of that nest so fast that none of us had any idea what to do. One little bird flew to the right and somehow found its way into a tree.

Which, cool. That's a good place for a little bird.

Another of the little birds flew across the street. That's even better because if you leave my yard, I leave you alone. So long, little bird!

But the third one. THE THIRD ONE.

After pooping an impressive trail all across the front yard, it found its way to the side of our house. It fluttered and it flew and it eventually decided it would try to go back to the rose bush.

But that's not a rose bush because WALL.

That goofy little bird either is really bad at retracing its route or is blind or is just plain stupid because it launched itself directly at a wall. PLOP. BIRDY FALL DOWN AND GO BOOM.

Fortunately, it seemed no worse for the wear, other than the fact that it landed in a tiny little crevice between our basement window and the box around that window. When I say "tiny" I mean TINY, for what it's worth. That gap is maybe 1/2 inch wide.

Little bird.

Little brain.

Little hole.

All of this adds up to one unsure human. I stood there trying to figure out if that bird needed help or not for a good ten minutes. Was it brain damaged? Did it have a brain because, you know, WALL? Should I leave it alone? Should I help? WHAT DO I DO?

I asked the husband what to do. His bachelor's degree is in zoology, so OF COURSE he is the resident animal expert. If an animal poops, that's who I call. That bird pooped A LOT, so it was time for that expensive college education to serve a purpose.

He who didn't understand that these things require much thought gave the situation exactly NO thought. He reached down, grabbed the bird, and stuck it in a rose bush.

HOW IS IT THAT WAS SO EASY? 

If I had decided to help the bird, I would have needed a lot of equipment. Gloves, a bucket, possibly a net, and definitely some protective eyewear for both me and the bird. Safety first, people.

But noooooo. The husband used his bare hands and absolutely no protective eyewear.

And nothing bad happened.

I'm confused by this. I had brain damage just from watching the birds explode out of the nest. Surely touching one of them can only lead to bad things.

Or not.

Anyway, I think the moral of the story is that four-day weekends are pretty fantastic, especially if you want to stalk some feathered friends who are determined to give you a heart attack.