Just when I though Elvis had left the building...

I started this post over a week ago, but I haven't had time to load the necessary pics. I've bolded my new commentary on my old ideas, so you can try to follow along. But seriously good luck with that. I may just start channeling James Joyce. Stream of consciousness is where it's at...no idea what I'm talking about? It's ok. I get that a lot.

I have a bird feeder outside my kitchen window. I've been meaning to post something about it for a few weeks. I put it there hoping we would get the occasional bird to watch. Not only do we get the occasional bird, we get his brothers, sisters, parents, friends, frenemies. We get them all. It is so much fun to sit and watch these birds. We pull the window shade up in the morning and watch them flit around the backyard all day. I have seen as many as 8 birds sitting on the feeder at once! (Even as I sit here and type there are a couple of little guys on the feeder, one hoping along the rock wall and one keeping watch on the fence.)

They go through an absolute ton of birdseed. I've started calling them flying pigs, but its ok. I don't really mind feeding every bird in the greater Salt Lake area. (Flying pigs...hmmm, I may have inadvertently stumbled on the source of the avian/swine flu. lol!)

I guess putting out the bird feeder was a tacit invitation to move in with us because now we are apparently running a birdy bed and breakfast. We came home on Saturday and found this in the wreath on the front door.

Yep, that would be the beginnings of a robin's nest.

The next day after we got home from church it looked like this:

Apparently robins have mad construction skills.

I was sort of less than thrilled about the idea of having birds living in my favorite wreath. But I was even more concerned about the fact that in a few short weeks a little family of helpless baby birds is going to be precariously hanging off my front door. It's partially the wreath, partially the inconvenience, but mostly the responsibility. I worry. I'll worry for these babies. I don't need more worry, so I moved the wreath.

Everyone cried when I moved it, but I said I didn't think it was a safe place for the nest. They would still come to the bird feeder. We would still see them, etc.

Then I happened to be walking by the front window and saw the momma robin standing in the lawn, looking at the front door with her head cocked to one side. If birds could talk I'm pretty sure she was saying "Um, what up?" Oh, then I felt bad! I had displaced one of God's tiny creatures, so I put the wreath back.

It has been three days. I saw both the male and female out in the yard on Monday, looking at the wreath. The male was hopping around on the porch, as if to say "See, its fine. It couldn't have 'disappeared.' Your imagining things. The nest is right here. Let's get to work. Stop worrying. It's fine."

But the cautious momma hangs back in the yard giving the wreath the stink eye. She knows I messed with it. She knows she didn't imagine it. If I came up on my lot and my house was gone, but then the next day it was "back" I'd be hesitant too.

It has been three days now, with no progress and no sign of the momma. I think they have abandoned the nest and moved on. It's for the best. The last thing we needed was a family of injured or abandoned baby robins when one of us, or one of the kids, or the UPS man (who routinely beats on my door like some crazed zombie stalker) knocked the wreath out of its perfect support position. Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll nestle into a crevice in one of the retaining walls.

Update: As of 7:20 AM Friday morning, the robins are back! They are back. Shoot. I thought I dodged a big bullet. Not only are they back, but the girls saw the birds working on the nest and they have taken it as a cosmic sign that the birds are meant to live on our front door. So I give up.

You want my wreath momma robin? Fine. Your friends pluck berries off of it all summer long anyway. Nevermind that it took my three years to find just the wreath I wanted. Just take it. Build your nest, lay your eggs, do what you must and I'll spend the next twelve weeks worrying about the safety of your children and quality of your life hanging there on my front door. Never mind that we actually use the front door, we can just climb out a window, so we don't disturb you. It's fine. We've only been here three years...you were probably here first, anyway. But when the UPS man beats on the door and wakes your sleeping babies, don't say I didn't warn you.