Dear Mama Bird,


It took one big cup of coffee, one latte, a face mask, eye cream, three separate drop-offs and pick-ups, chewy sweethearts, sweat pants, Uggs, and my favorite furry robe, to get this message out to you.

And for my kids, it took blueberry poptarts, juice three ways, three different kinds of gum, chocolate scones, lots and lots of ranch, lots and lots of milk, pull-ups, big girl panties, blankies, lots and lots of unicorns, tablets, more gum, no baths, and three different kinds of tuck-ins and goodnight kisses, for me to get this message out to you.

I hope this ends up being important.

Being a mama is hard. Honestly, I chose the title of this blog, Mama Bird, because it sounded fitting. I currently have three baby birds that squawk at me incessantly and so all the way around it seemed fitting. Until I realized the real reason that I picked it, just the other day. My subconscious knows me even when I don't know me. Along with Alexa.

Cam turned on the show "Wild China" for us to watch after dinner on Monday night. The "wild" part, pertaining to the wilderness parts of China that civilization has barely changed or altered, which was showing all kinds of animals, people groups, ways of life, and ancient traditions that our part of the world can't even imagine. Through the scan of pictures and scenes the tv show was highlighting, it showed some kind of chrane feeding its young by way of regurgitation or throwing up. And a lightbulb went off inside me, probably my spleen, the only thing not in overdrive right now.

How fitting this imagery is for my Mama Bird self. There are not many days that I feel like I am excelling or doing any sort of my matriarchal duties very well. Whatever the day awakens to us, I simply just do my best as the day plays out, to chomp down on all the bits and pieces we get brought, so that I can puke it right back out to my baby birds and feed them the best way that I can.

Somehow the idea that it is throw up that the Mama Bird feeds her baby birds and not an organic, gluten free, grain free, five course meal, makes me feel like I can face another day tomorrow and maybe even be a better puke-feeder than the day before. I'm no longer so worried about how many baby birds that I have to feed, clothe, and protect, in my nest, because I'm no longer trying to be anything other than the Mama Bird that I am. For now anyways.

I want to enjoy this season... as much as I possibly can. And my hope is that someday, however many baby birds end up in my nest, they will know they can fly. That each of them was born with the God-gifted ability to fly and fly well, no matter what reason life gives them that makes flying seem less real. I will show them their wings 1,000 times a day and then puke on them for as long as it takes.

So I'll finish up with this one last thought and go to sleep in peace tonight (until the first birdie comes calling in the night): Mama Bird, did you puke on your kids today and remind them that they were born with wings? Check and check. Only the best for Mama Bird's babies.

Mama Bird, rest well tonight. There are lots of baby birds that need you early in the morning. Mama. Mama. Mama. Tomorrow is a new day, a new fight.


Mama Bird <3

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Dear Mama Bird,

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© 2018 by Landl Stand.

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