The drama of daybreak, a dead bird and "what ifs"

This morning, of their own volition, my peepers popped open at exactly 5:45 am.

I got up, put the coffee on, chatted briefly with the other early risers in our household, and then headed out the back door to my studio to read my e-mail.

It seemed an ordinary sort of beginning to an ordinary sort of day....

Within a matter of minutes, I was happily reading my brother in law's email; when suddenly, to my absolute horror, I had a dead blue jay plopped into my lap.

Unbeknownst to me, my four year old had slipped out to visit me in the studio. Somewhere between the five feet that separates the house from the studio, she had found the "present" which the cat had left for us over night; and joy of all joys, had carried it in for me to see!

Well, when that dead jay hit my lap, I shrieked, "Get it off! Get it off!" which totally freaked out my four year old, who was soon crying just as hysterically as I was screaming "Get it off! Get it off!"

My poor husband, who is already more sleep deprived than the law should allow, staggers out and in that half scary, half silly voice of someone half asleep he literally shouts, "What's going on out there?"

About that time, the light in our neighbor's kitchen window pops on and I hear our neighbor shout through the screen, "Jerri, is everything ok over there?"

I'm still so transfixed by the jay's lolling head and death glazed eyes that it is all I can do to reply, "Uhhh, we're fine. Everythings fine."

Ugh.

The last thing I want to do before I've even had a sip of my morning coffee is to deal with a dead bird, and a big one at that. Of course, judging from my reaction you'd think that I'd just had a maggot infested bald eagle dropped into my lap. Oh well, let's just chalk that one up up to a lack of adequate sleep, a lack of caffeine and mid life hormones, shall we?

Anyhow, by 6:15 am we were holding an informal bird burial. Not an elaborate affair mind you, just your garden variety, dead jay wrapped in royal purple tissue paper tied with raffia, kind of funeral.

Was I naive to think that this would be the end of our family's dead jay tragedy? Oh but I must have been, because for the next two hours, I had to listen as my 7 year old son fussed and worried that we had buried "that poor bird" while it was still alive. "But Mom," he kept repeating, "I don't think that poor bird was dead. I think it was just in a coma."

He staunchly proceeded to advocate for the bird's immediate exhumation; while I of course refused, very much desiring to just let the dead jay stay buried. Of course, the price I paid for that decision, was having to listen to an endless barrage of "what ifs".

What if "that poor bird" wasn't really dead?

What if "that poor bird" woke up and couldn't breathe?

What if the worms tried to eat "that poor bird" alive?

What if, what if, what if....as if all the other "what if's" in my life aren't enough to drive me crazy?

So, that was the beginning of my day.

How was yours?