let's not worry Mama Bird

She has been sitting on her eggs for a week,
and we have been avoiding the mudroom door all this time.
“Let’s not worry Mama Bird,” we say, as we carry shoes to the front door.
My five-year-old reminds us, points out the sign we made that says
DO NOT DISTURB.
The three eggs are deep teal,
the nest tucked in under the overhang of the roof,
keeping them dry all this rainy week.
All in all, it will be probably a bit over a month
that we will shift our routine and get mud on the living room rug.
My daughter might remember this for a long time, though.

This is not the most complete poem I have ever written — not even close — but now I just want to finish writing so I can be downstairs to greet my children as they get up. Time to myself is nice, but the best start of the day is relaxing with my children. Her newest magazine came, so I will sit and sip tea while she does the mazes and coloring pages and matching games. The two-year-old will wander around with his music. The rain falls, the mama bird sits, and the day begins.