If dinner tasted good tonight it was a miracle because in the middle of cooking squash casserole, the Fry and Sprout burst into the kitchen shouting "mommy mommy I think we need to help this baby bird!"
They had found a tiny, featherless hatchling that had fallen into the mulch by our deck. While the squash boiled over, I spent 20 minutes getting the baby bird back in the nest under the 12 foot high eaves of said deck. During the rescue, Fry christened the bird "Cuteson if it's a boy, Cutsie if it's a girl."
Cute-son/sie was reunited with a sibling in the nest but I didn't have the heart to tell the kids' relieved faces how nature usually works this out.
Instead I had a flash of insight that this might be a good time to throw in a little bit of faith. Unlike mothers who have it all together, these insights are not an everyday occurence for me so I figured I'd better grab it. We sat on the stairs and asked God to return Cutsie/Cutson's mother to the nest. During the course of this 45 second conversation with God, Fry changed the bird's name 5 times: "it's Cuter mommy, no I said Curter... I mean Curtis and Chris if it's a girl. I mean Chrissy. Curtis and Chrissy. Except I meant Cu...."
At this point I interjected that God probably knew the bird's name. Nevertheless Fry ended with "please bring the mother bird home and make sure she asks You for his name. Amen." So we're hoping for a tiny miracle under the eaves of the deck. A tiny miracle with the correct name.