I have always had a soft spot in my heart for animals, birds and mammals alike. Back in 2003, as I was running an errand with my then five-month old baby, Benjamin, I watched in horror as a ding-bat on her cell phone drove right over a mother duck, immediately orphaning her ten ducklings alongside a major road. Unable to think of anything else, I flagged down a construction worker to try and help me catch the confused and frightened babies, all the while running around with the twenty-two pound Ben stapped to my hip in a sling. For five hours I stayed in the backyard of this abandoned home, chasing the ducklings away from traffic, waiting for a woman from animal control to arrive (she did, rescued all ten of the babies, and took them to a farm ). My kids, to this day, believe that I am some sort of super-hero for that feat, which, honestly, never hurts- as far as my clout around here goes.

Last Friday, while picking Lily up from her friend Claire's house, a teenage boy came running in exclaiming that he needed a shovel because he'd found a baby bird on the sidewalk. Immediately my heart dropped an inch or two, dreading how crazy I would feel thinking about this tiny being suffering, away from its mother (I also marveled that this adolescent cared enough to stop on a Friday night and worry about a bird-further elevating my hope that my sons will not be spending 100% of their youth in a self-indulgent stupor, as it sometimes seems). Well, after some very quick research by Sara, Claire's mother, we discovered that, according to the Audubon Society, it is a myth that you shouldn't touch baby birds- that, in fact, birds have a very poor sense of smell, so they DO come back for their young and will not reject them if handled by humans. Well, Sara, the teenager, and the girls, walked and got the baby and put it, shivering, in a shoebox. I have never seen something so delicate and beautiful up close in my life (with the exception of my newborns). It was this tiny blue-feathered creature, shaking like a leaf and needing its mother.

To make this long story short, after the kids and I left, the Dougherty family put the bird, in the shoebox, back in the tree, and shortly thereafter, witnessed a mourning dove returning to the nest, and hopefully, its baby.

Here are some memories captured as three of our four children officially went "back-to-school." Lily is now a fifth grader, in her last year of elementary school (gasp!), Liam is in second grade, and Benjamin just started afternoon kindergarten. I, as always, was reluctant to see them go, but relieved that they are in good hands and happy to be there.




Lily and Liam, growing more and more disgusted with their mother's need to photograph them from every angle, embracing one another, on the first day of school. by next year i'm sure they will be sneaking out of the house to avoid this apparent annoyance. It just got worse as I helped them to their desks and covered them in sloppy kisses and "I love yous"- it made them extra glad to be there, I'm certain.




Tom and I look a little too excited for "back-to-school" day I think- and my cleavage is rather offensive (after commenting to my mother that she should have picked a different angle for that shot, Ben replied "Mommy, what cleavage?" Oh, brother).




why do they make shoestrings for children's tennis-shoes four feet long?



ACBifYNfRQ/SLyNWJkczbI/AAAAAAAAA0U/iXcykaTlWM8/s1600-h/beach+and+back+to+school+08+213.JPG"> Ben and his locker, which is the most exciting thing about kindergarten, next to recess.


Ben has had some issues with separation anxiety and poor Mrs. Bozarth has been having to pry him off of my body in the afternoon, but he claims to be glad he's going and seems to be excited to be going to the same place his brother and sister are in everyday.