What a gorgeous day it is! Happy March, Dear Ones! It’s only nine a.m. and already almost 60 degrees. The sun is shining and the birds are singing.
The birds are, of course, doing other things too. This morning, as my nine-year-old was looking out the window, I heard him exclaim, “Oh, my goodness! What kind of bird is that?” Afraid of what I would see, I moved over to survey his view. What appeared to be a two-headed bird was thrashing around on the lawn. I had a flashback to when I was about Jeffrey’s age, witnessing the coupling of our old farm dogs. Country girls learn the facts of life in the most peculiar way.
“Spring is really on its way,” I proclaimed. “The season of the birds and the bees.”
Nine year old looked quizzically at his odd mother. Eleven year old just grinned.
“They’re making baby birdies.” I explained further.
It wasn’t how I originally pictured our sex-talk going. In the first place, I fully expect my husband to handle the particulars. That’s the advantage of having all boy children. In the second place, I didn’t want it to be initiated at age 9. He isn’t even prepubescent yet. But two birds having sex on the back lawn should not be the introduction to such a delicate subject.
Or should it?
He nodded knowingly at my last statement, studying the flopping birds with increased scrutiny. This frightened me a little. No questions. No mock shocked indignation. Just nodded.
I’m going to need debriefed later. I’m still processing the whole thing. Before I could question his nonchalance, it was time to head off to school. Seems like another bedtime conversation is in store for this evening.
Maybe I’ll let Jeff tuck them in tonight.