One sunny Saturday afternoon a few weeks back we noticed a mommy robin building a nest above the light fixutures on our deck, below the eaves. She was in a pretty big hurry, spazzing and throwing twigs and twine all over the place. (“Flap your wings/just like a birdie!” The Wiggles.) Barking at us when we went out on the deck. Didn’t seem to mind the dog or notice the cats. (But they sure noticed her, from inside the patio door. Bird TV.)

Hockey God was not pleased. The deck was a mess, all littered with debris. “Does she even know what she’s doing?” She started on the light on the right side, then switched to the light on the left. Was looking a little confused. Settled on the left. Flew off. Back. Off. Back.

I told the kids, “We can’t use the light til the babies are gone!” and covered the switch with masking tape.

There is no stopping a robin who’s feathering her nest, and she did know what she was doing! Pretty soon she had mudded up a nice new little condo for herself and the family.

Now we have three or four baby robins, and the mom and dad are flying around bringing them worms 80 kazillion times a day. I think it’s just the dad now — according to Kathy’s Kritters, the mom may have already gone on her merry way to start another family.

Short attention span, those robins.

It’s been cool for the kids, seeing their progress. Yesterday they saw the babies’ little beaks popping up from the nest for the first time. We’ve had to make some accommodations — the cat must stay inside now all the time. This is a challenge. I’ve been turning over the compost more often, so they’ll have lots of worms. I have no pictures, cuz I don’t want to bug them. And I’d have to balance on the railing of the deck to take any — am not that coordinated.

(Kathy’s pictures are great, by the way, and the story, too — her robins resided in a rhododendron, so she got great shots.) Ours will start hopping around the yard soon. There is nothing cuter to me than a homely little baby robin, with the speckled chest that isn’t quite red, trying to keep up with dad and hunt worms. God, I’ve gotten as bad as Tony Soprano and his ducks.