I can't believe the darn bird broke.

Only five days ago, I posted about my knick-knack bird.

Today my soccer-pro three year-old drop-kicked a Sesame Street playground ball over the china closet and little bird apparently took it in the face. I heard the crash from the kitchen and I knew what it was. (Not my keen intuition, it's just that, like I told you, I only have one knick-knack --- what else could it have been?) Seems I've made a big enough deal about this bird being special to me because my seven year-old came out to the kitchen in a split second and gave me a hug. So sweet! Five year-old appeared, too, and asked if I was sad. Guilty-party three year-old went on with her day. My mother-in-law brought the pieces out to the kitchen counter and I just stood there - grieving, I guess. Somewhere "Taps" played. But five year-old inspected the shards and insisted, "Daddy can fix it."

On one hand, this bird is special enough to warrant some attempted glue repair. On the other hand, what is more pathetic than one ill-placed knick-knack? I'll tell you: an ill-placed knick-knack that has dried-glue-ooze sticking out between all the broken pieces. Sheez.

In the wake of this tragedy, I'm reminded of two related stories, and since I'm waiting for my dinner burrito to digest before I attempt sleep, I might as well tell you:

In college, I was in my car on my way to a morning class listening to some song on the Christian radio station. Immediately as the soprano artist finished the line, "His eye is on the sparrow, so I know he watches over me!" I spotted a dead bird in the middle of the road. For Pete's sake! What's a girl supposed to do with THAT? I went to my God-loving, usually-profound friend, told her about it, and awaited her words of wisdom. All she said was, "Uh-oh."

Yep, thought of that very story today when my little bird got broken. And this one:

When I was little, my Nana gave me a set of glass angel figurines. They were Christmas decorations and there were eight of them. One holiday season something ticked me off and I swept my arm along the shelf where they were standing, sending three of them hurling to the ground. Smasharooni. Dad fixed them and I have no memory of those angels before the yellow glue became part of their sweet little charm. For decades now, I have taken them out of their tissue every Christmas and displayed them prominently --- after I re-glue them. Regluing the angels is as much a part of my decorating tradition as hanging the advent calendar and untangling the light strands, because no matter how well I wrap them, they re-break in storage every. single. year. At least I don't have to behold their broken bodies all year long. Hm. Wonder if I could just add little birdie in with them? We've already established I have no real perch suitable for this bird - why not move him in with the angels? They can make beautiful music together.