Poor mama cardinal.

I have a new friend. Meet Mister Cardinal:

Hi. I’m mister cardinal. (Photo my own.)

His lady friend (“lady friend” – I sound like my late grandmother!) likes to hang around too. But she is a little bit shy. I don’t see her as often. (The cardinal, that is. Although I suppose the same is true for my late grandmother!)

Maybe mama cardinal is busy dealing with the rambunctious toddler cardinals. Who refuse to let you comb their hair. Please for the love of baby cardinals, let me comb your beautiful hair. 

Remember when you were little and would comb your baby doll’s silken hair with a little pink plastic dolly brush…wasn’t that fun?

Doing your three-year-old’s hair is nothing like that.

If nations were like three-year-olds we wouldn’t need nuclear weapons. All we would need are purple no-tangle brushes that we could whip out at any time as threats and send them running.

My daughter has curly, frizzy hair that is as wild and free as her personality. I must approach her like a feral horse, with low monotone cooing and sugar treats in my hand.

There will be a day where she will be hogging my bathroom, twirling her hair with some type of heated curler device for hours on end. It’s hard to imagine it.

Until then, you can find mama Cardinal and me busy behind the scenes. Tending to our fast-growing baby birds.



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