The Baby Hummingbird.

A few weeks ago I found a baby hummingbird in our yard.
He was the size of a quarter.
But couldn't have been as heavy.
Small.  Fuzzy.
I thought he was a big bug at first.
But when me and Kole went out to see what was hopping around and making all that fuss...
It was a baby hummingbird.
I didn't touch him.
I watched him try to fly.
He was stuck under a blade of grass.
I wanted his Mom to be able to find him.
So I moved the grass.

Me and Kole went back inside and watched him flitter from the window.

I worried about that little hummingbird.
How did he end up in our lawn?
Did he fall and get hurt?
How will he eat anything?
Should I feed him something?
Like what?
Can he fly?
Is he old enough to take care of himself?
Does his Mom know where he is?
Does he know where his home is?
Is he scared?
Is he making a noise his Mom can hear that I can't?

His Mom flew down and hovered over him.
And I quit worrying as much.

I watched the Mom fly down and hover around him.
She'd wait until he looked up at her, and saw her.
She'd feed him.
She'd hover.
She'd feed him.
She'd hover.
Then.
She stopped flying.
And she rested next to him.
With her head on his body it was like she was saying Don't worry, little guy.  I'm gonna get you home.

Then.
She'd fly away.

In 10 minutes or so she'd be back.
Feeding, hovering, feeding, hovering, and resting.
She reassured her little hummingbird that he would be okay.

After the visits the baby would beat his wings.
Trying tremendously to follow her.
But he couldn't get lifted off the ground.
He'd beat himself into a tired tizzy.
And the Mom would come back and rest by him.

When Ken got home I showed him our little baby hummingbird.
I told him how the Mom had been coming to take care of him all day.
I told him I worried that it was getting dark.
Our yard has a lot of animals.  Something is going to get him.
Ken showed me the baby hummingbird had a bent wing.
Ken built a nest out of a blueberry box and nailed it to the tree.
We placed the baby hummingbird into his new safe home.
I smiled.
He was safe.

But.
After dinner, I was watching out the window.
And..
that Mom came back.
She fluttered right down to the spot in the grass where she left her little baby.
He wasn't there anymore.
We put him in a nest.
I told her.
He's safe!
Fly higher.
You'll find him.
Fly higher.
He's safe.

But that Mom just kept flying down to the same spot.
Right where she had last cared for him.
At first she flew down.
Circled.
And flew off.
Within 10 minutes she was back.
But she landed on the ground.
Then, she flew off.
Her visits became more frequent.
She'd fly in and float.
Then fly off.

On one visit, she flew in and
She just hovered in one spot.
The spot where she left him.
Panicky.
Frantic.
Searching.
She couldn't see him.
5 feet away.
She couldn't see him.
Where is he?
He needs food.
It's getting dark.
It'll get cold.
He's hurt.
Where is he?
This is where he has been all afternoon.
Maybe he is flying.
Maybe he is ok.
Where is he?
He needs food.
It's getting dark.
It'll get cold.
He's hurt.
Where is he?
 
Up until dark (when I couldn't see anymore), every time I looked out the window, that Mom was drifting in the spot where she left her baby bird.


And.
And.
That little baby hummingbird in the dumb new safe nest I made for him.
Was probably terrified.

Where am I?
Where is my Mom?
Why isn't she here anymore?
I'm getting hungry.
And tired.
Everything hurts.
Where is my Mom?
She was coming to take me home...
Where did she go?
She'll come back.
I need her.
She'll come back.
I'm hungry.
I'm tired.
I hurt.
Where is she?

She was 5 feet away and he couldn't see her.
He didn't know how hard she was trying to find him.
How she wasn't giving up.
How she flew and hovered with urgency.
And soon, with desperation.
He didn't know that she quit flying away.
And that she just stayed there.
Floating.
Hoping to see him again. 
And take care of him.
He just...
...didn't know.



It's been nearly a month.
I haven't seen any hummingbirds in my yard since that day.

Give a Little, Take a Little

Back at election time I signed on to help President Obama campaign.  My efforts went as far as registering to vote and pledging to vote for him.  Of course, they asked for my e-mail address and dag nab it I was feeling so patriotic I gave them my real e-mail address.

At first, it was awesome.  I'd get e-mails from local supporters and the Bidens... and every once in awhile I'd get a gem from the First Lady 'erself.  Ol' Mikki and me.  She was always calling me her friend and asking for favors to help Barack.  And, since I consider myself a grade A friend, I was always willing to help out my new famous friends. 
Barack needs help pushing a bill through?  You got it, Sir!
Barack needs me to organize a calling tree and hold town hall meetings?  Anything for you! 
Michelle wants me to share what I love about her husband, the President?  Sure!  What's not to love! 
They need more likes on Facebook?  Why not!  It only takes two seconds. 
The election came, we won and I got a personalized thank you note. The deepest places in my heart, where I hide all my doubt, were warmed. 
Barack and Michelle appreciated me.  They called me Patty and I just felt certain that if I invited them to dinner, they'd show up.  Right on time.  Probably toting along a warm dessert.  And Michelle would compliment me on my outfit and ask to borrow my button up cardigan. 

Things were pretty rose colored there for while.  Barack took time out of is schedule to write me and tell me how much he needed me to stay close.  And I assured him I would be there every step of the way.

But I gotta tell ya.  Since then... you know...since the big inauguration... I haven't gotten as many e-mails from Michelle.  And I haven't gotten any from Barack.  I was getting one every couple a days from a Jon Carson.  Asking me to do this or that.  Pledge money, buy a t-shirt, pledge more money, call my senator or congressman, or pledge more money.  And, you know, he never once called me Patty.  It was always "friend."  Sorry Jon-o.  When it was Michelle calling me friend, she meant it.  With you... it feels a little pushed. 

It's been months since I've heard from Michelle.  Never wrote, never called, never said thanks after I mailed that hand written letter.  Broke my little democrat heart.  And then, last week I get an e-mail every day from Michelle.  All the sudden she needs something.  And she's asking me to step up and do what needs done to help her and Barack.  You know what, Michelle?  What about me?  What about MY needs?  I'm here giving everything all the time and I never get acknowledged.  I stand up for you guys and support you when things are bad and when things are good.  You only e-mail me when you need something.  How bout every once in awhile shooting something over just to check in, huh? Or here's one even better.  Why don't you e-mail me when you're going to do something for me.  Not when I have to do something for you.  Once, just once, send me an e-mail saying:
"Patty Old Friend, I've been doing a lot of thinking.  And you've helped tremendously.  I'm going to implement your idea to get rid of the national debt, send that Nobel Prize your way, and top it off with a Gap gift card as a way to say thanks.  You're the best Patty.  And I love your style.  Love always, Michelle"

Maybe then I would feel like I mattered.  You're the president's wife, after all.  You should be helping me.  Not the other way around, missy.

To be clear, I still love you both.  These kinds of (abusive) relationships are hard for me to let go of.  And I think you're both super hip and you have good intentions at heart.  But I'm just running on empty here. 
Maybe it'd be better if you didn't e-mail me for ahwhile.  I just need some time to think.

Thanks to me.  Good luck being so victorious without me holding your hand every step of the way.