On Monday, I came home from a neighborhood Bible study around 9:30 p.m., took out the trash and made a quick trip to the grocery for dog food. I lazily left our recycling trash can, which fits under our sink, outside. My hands were full with the dog food. But mainly, I was lazy.
Tuesday came. The trash can remained outside. Wednesday came. The trash can stayed outside.
I thought about bringing it in. I knew I should just go grab it.
But by this point my strange neurosis had kicked in and stood between me and the trashcan.
I couldn't bring myself to actually go get it because I was so guilty about not bringing it in when I should have on Monday night. I tend to avoid situations that I know I should have already addressed (returning an overdue call, mailing a late bill, taking a year-old pile of clothes to the dry cleaner). (If any psychologists are reading this, I welcome your diagnosis in a private message). I have greatly improved in this area when it comes to most major things (work, bills, library books). But still, it can creep up on me ... and in this case, it did.
So on Wednesday morning, the kids and I walked out to the car. I noticed a small bird perched on the side of the recycling trash can. It was just frozen there on the side. I was a little (okay, a lot) freaked out. But I am trying to not raise my kids to be afraid of animals so I bravely marched past it, waiting for it to fly away at any moment. I walked by, Elliott walked by, and even William, carrying a baseball bat, walked by the bird. It stayed perched there. I watched it as we backed away .... still sitting right there.
When we returned a few hours later, the bird was walking alongside the house just a few feet away from the trash can.
Fast forward a few hours, and I took out the trash. I glimpsed inside and THERE WAS THE POOR BIRD in the bottom. I wasn't sure if it was dead or alive because as soon as I spotted it I shrieked and ran away.
I went out later. Flies swarmed. The bird was definitely dead.
I hoped that Tim would take care of it when he got home, but I also thought he might refuse to do it because I had left the trash can outside.
I waited until Tim was finished with dinner to tell him about the bird. As I suspected, he said "Wow, what are you going to do about that?" I half-begged him to take care of it. I didn't know how to deal with a dead bird, not to mention the fact that I was deathly afraid of approaching it. He said he hadn't dealt with a dead bird either. I threaten to hire a teenage neighbor to come deal with it. He didn't say anything. I was a little annoyed, but I felt like this was my responsibility given that I had left the trash can out in the first place.
I called my grandmother for support. I put Kroger bags on my hands and grabbed a trash bag. I stood in the yard gathering my courage. Elliott called me over to look at some broccoli plants. My granny told to quit wasting time and just do it. I walked close and shrieked. Finally, I approached it again, flipped the trashcan over into the garbage bag and let it sit there. I couldn't bring myself to actually shake the contents of the can into the bag and close it. I finally did it, but the bag was kind of disgusting and I knew I needed another bag before I could put it in the trash. My neighbor Joe happened to be in the yard so I solicited his help. He got another trash bag for me and held it open while I put the bird body bag into it. I thought I felt the bird move in the bag. I start to think about my friends who rescue the poor hurting animals they find ... and here I am suffocating a half-dead (half-alive?) bird. What kind of person am I?? But I digress ...
I finally drop the bag into the trash, and catch up a little with Joe. I feel my legs starting to itch uncontrollably. In this time, I have gotten at least five bug bites that were swelling and turning my legs bright red. Then, William comes running up in hysterics. I pick him up, but he wiggles back down. I ask him what is wrong and he starts to pull down his diaper. He has a dirty diaper ... but his reaction was much more intense. I rush him inside - my legs still on fire - and pull down his diaper. He screams when I start to wipe him up. He is bright red in the nether regions ... screaming and thrashing around on the changing table. I call my grandmother back (she's kind of a crutch in this whole story, right?) and she tells me to get him in the bathtub. I run water, rummage for bug bite medicine for myself and realize that my best bet is some Aveeno oatmeal bath stuff. I get William in the tub and start making a paste for my legs with the Aveeno. Finally I get a bit of relief. William, on the other hand, can't even sit down in the water. I remember that I have some A&D ointment for him in his diaper bag ... in the car. Then I hear the rain pounding the window. It is now pouring. I take him downstairs, naked, and put him on the couch with Elliott (who is now eating an apple he wasn't supposed to have and something else that I can't remember now). I scrounge around for a rain coat and shoes, and now William is crying again so I have to take him outside with me to the car.
A while later, we are upstairs and I have everyone calmed down. Tim gets home from praise band rehersal. I recount the past two hours. He looks at me in surprise. He had just been joking about the bird. He had been planning to take care of it all along.
Head, desk.
However, it did reinforce the power of natural consequences when disciplining children. Despite my fear of dealing with animals dead or alive, it was my problem to solve. I will NEVER leave the recycling can outside EVER AGAIN. If Tim had taken care of it for me, I might not have learned my lesson. I know I'll always remember the dead bird whenever I decide whether to bail out one of the kids or let them deal with the natural consequences of their behavior.
