Birds and Turds.

It is truly a glorious spring out there. After months of cold and dead and grey, it is exceptionally wonderful to go out and have it be warm and sunny and welcoming out there. There is, however, one fly in my ointment, and that is the frigging birds.

Normally, I love the sound of birds singing. Sometimes when I'm running or out for a walk, I'll turn off my I-pod just to be able to hear all the chirping and twittering and cheeping, it's so lovely. And there are plenty of birds around here to add to the chorus; you can hear birdsong almost any time you stick your head out the door. I do like it.

But not at 4 in the freaking morning. Seriously.

Even with earplugs in, I can sometimes be woken up by that one stupid bird who insists on perching right outside my window and "to-WHOO"ing up a storm for all he is worth. If I had a gun I would shoot him. I wouldn't even get up out of bed to do it, either. It's a big backyard, I don't know why he has to sit right there and bellow out those two notes incessently. He's probably the one who shits on my car every day, too. Really, it's just as well that handguns are not allowed in Canada.

When Big Liver Girl and I spent a spectacular weekend at her place in Quebec a few years ago, I was awakened every. single. morning. at around 5 a.m. by a bird who was not only unspeakably loud, but spectacularly unimaginative, too. He sang the same 10 notes over and over and over again. No variation in pitch or cadence or timing or tune for hours at a time. We called him "Louis-Needs-A-New-Tune". (Our friend Moe had also been to the condo in Quebec and become aquainted with "Louis-Needs-A-New-Tune", and said later that summer that he had followed her up to her cottage, because he was there, too. )

Also, there is a woodpecker in the vicinity who makes an unholy racket pretty much all the time, but he is particularly vigorous at about 7:15 in the morning. And, you guessed it, his venue of choice is the locust tree closest to our bedroom window. Imagine lying in bed, drowsy and half-asleep, gently getting used to your altered state of "awake" from "asleep", and then hearing the avian equivelent of a jack-hammer revving up 20 feet from your bed. And he's fierce, too...he gives it everything he has, that tree is getting it's ass kicked, I tell you. Most of the time it barely registers, but early in the morning there's no escaping it.

I wish the birdies would come with a volume button. (As a matter of fact, I wish almost everything and everyone did.) I'd enjoy them ever so much more if I could listen to them when I want to, rather than when they want me to. (Interferring with Mrs. Loudshoe's sleep will NOT endear you to her.) When Thing 2 was about 2 years old, and in a VERY bad mood, she heard a bird singing outside at my parents house, and she sternly pointed a finger out the window and said " 'Top it, bird!". Many's the morning I feel the same way.

And I'd love to have them stop shitting on my car, too.

No Worms For Me, Thanks.

Thing 1 had a bus trip to Toronto for her art class today, and that meant a 6:45 a.m. drop off at school by her mother. (They went to see the King Tut exhibit....I'm not quite sure what that had to do with her art class, especially as she had art last semester, but who am I kidding, I'd jump at the chance to skip school and go to Toronto on the flimsiest of excuses too.)

I love going to Toronto; it's about 2 hours away from here. Close enough to make it easy to get to, and far enough that it's a big treat to go. There is always loads of things to see and do, including the art gallery and Royal Ontario Museum and the Bata Shoe Museum, which is way, WAY more interesting than you are probably thinking right now. (When I asked if Thing 1 went there, Thing 2 thought it was called the "Bad-Ass Shoe Museum", which I think it should be called from now on.)

Thing 1 said that the teacher introduced the bus driver to them all by saying "this is our driver, and he is sterile", or at least that's what Thing 1 thought she heard. Turns out his name was "Darryl". The teacher was not making any statements whatsoever as to his fertility.

Bringing Thing 1 to the school so early meant that I was up and starting on my day about an hour earlier than usual. I LOVE getting up early, especially on a day off work. I wonder why I hardly ever do it. (I guess I like sleeping in more.) Seriously, I felt like Wonder Woman when I had dropped off Thing 1, gone for a run, had a shower, woken up Thing 2 AND had a cup of coffee, all by the time I normally would get up. It felt like I had accomplished all kinds of things and I still had a whole day ahead of me. It helped mightily that I don't work on Fridays, and had nothing pressing to do, and knew that a nap was in the plan for the day. I think getting up early and then having a nap later in the day may very well be the secret plan to a full and happy life. It is certainly seems to work for Toby.

When my dad was working on his PhD, he regularly got up at 5 a.m. and went down to his study to write. He said he could get more done between 5 and 7 than almost the whole rest of the day. I'd love to do that, except it meant that he went to bed at 8:30 some nights, often before sundown. That part I'm not so sure I'd like.

Big Liver Girl gets up and runs at 5:30 every morning, which I admire and completely reject as sane in equal parts. Her running partner, Erin, has fourteen children, all under the age of 7, which she home-schools, so I get that if that woman wants to have any time to herself whatsoever, her only hope is to get up before anyone else and hope they never catch on.

I might try making a point of getting up earlier than usual on my days off, just to feel like a superhero once a week. I know Toby will approve of the nap thing.

Good Morning!

The Mister and I did not live together before we got married, which meant that our honeymoon was probably the longest continous time we had ever spent in each other's company up to that point. Even though we had known each other for years, even before we dated, there were still things that came as a complete surprise, like, the Mister does not eat breakfast. I LIVE for breakfast, it's one of my favorite meals of the day. On that honeymoon cruise ship, where they had a big, beautiful breakfast buffet, where you could eat all the eggs, bacon, waffles, fresh fruit and hash browns you could possibly want, the man I had recenty pledged to spend my life with, suggested that we skip the buffet and go straight onto shore. I was speechless with horror, and wondered how I would return all the wedding presents before I got home.
The Mister was able to calm me down with some pancakes and Eggs Benedict, and we've gotten along very well ever since. (The Mister's motto is "1. Get Up, 2. Feed Mrs. Loudshoes, 3. Go About Your Business")

I take my breakfast very seriously.

My favorite breakfast these days is Steel Cut Oats. I adore oatmeal of almost any stripe, but the steel-cut stuff is chewy and nutty and filling and feels like I am eating the most righteous food ever. Seriously, I can eat that at 7:30 and not be ready for lunch for at least 4 hours. (With Rice Krispies, I could eat a second breakfast about an hour later, like a hobbit.) Just to tell you, you can cover the steel cut oats with water the night before, and then they microwave up in about 3 minutes. Almost instant.

When I was a kid, my brother and I would demand fluffy, sugary cereals, which, surprisingly, my mother would actually buy for us. I say surprisingly, because it was totally unlike her to give us such nutritionally-dubious, expensive food, but my mother is decidedly NOT a morning person, so maybe it was just so that we would be quiet and leave her alone.

We liked Alpha-Bits and Frosted Flakes and Corn Pops, which were all designed to make your blood sugar levels take off like a Japanese bullet train for about 20 minutes, and then leave you to crash and burn right before you left for school. We didn't like Cap'n_Crunch(it shreds the insides of your mouth so that you can't eat anything else for days.) or Cheerios (too boring) or Corn_flakes (ditto). Occasionally we would get Raisin_Bran, which I can't believe, because of my hatred of all things raisin. Mostly I remember flicking the raisins at the cat.

Probably we got the Raisin Bran because of the prize that came in the box. My children look at me with awe and wonder when I tell them that cereal used to include prizes in the box, like little whistles and glow-in-the-dark spoons and a submarine that you added baking soda and vinegar to and it swam around in the bathtub. I know, it's kind of hard to believe even when you lived it. They could be totally worth eating a whole box of Raisin Bran for.

I love eating breakfast out, and luckily, Thing 1 concurs. We usually go out for breakfast every couple of months or so. The Mister and Thing 2 do not share our enthusiasm. I'm glad I have a breakfast buddy, otherwise I might not be married.