Above and Beyound (Essay)

It is amazing what a parent will do for a child. Oftentimes the actions that we take are comical, no matter how frustrating the situation may seem at the time. As adults we look like complete idiots, going to such an extreme to please the whines coming from our
beloved children.

I recently had the opportunity to pull off being the greatest mom in the world to my children. Yet, to everyone else, I most likely appeared to be the biggest joke of the century.

Around 8:30 one night, Kristin and Tyler, my two youngest children, begged me to let them get the parakeets out. We have two parakeets: one two-year-old baby blue male named Sky and one three-year-old green female named Petree. It is normal for the kids to play with them in the living room while I do my chores, homework, or whatever else I need to do.

This night proved to be different. Sky, our baby blue male parakeet, decided that he did not want to be held. In an attempt to escape from the children, he flew under our gas stove. The kids were all hollering, and I was at a loss as to what to do to retrieve this stupid bird. Mind you, this bird cost only $14.99 at the local pet store. But according to my children, this bird had become a part of our family.

In a half-minded attempt to coax Sky out, I grabbed the broom and began to run the handle under the stove. The bird proved to be smarter than I am. Every time I swiped the broom handle under the Kenmore, Sky just jumped over and ran farther back. In the
meantime, I was dragging out piles of sand from only God knows where.

After about thirty minutes of trying to outwit the bird, anger and frustration set in. To be honest, if it were not for my kids, the bird could fry under the oven.

While I was rolling on the floor, which had become the indoor sandpit, trying to rescue our precious birdie, the kids were running back and forth between the living room and kitchen, crying hysterically. With the best intentions, my children decided that they would help me retrieve our beloved pet. In an area barely big enough for an adult, there were then four children and me.

Losing what little patience I had left while I attempted to work around the uncontrollable, sobbing, yet helpful little ones, I got the brilliant idea that putting birdseed down would solve our dilemma. As I poured birdseed on the floor, my eldest son, Kevin, grabbed the oversized cage, which contained Petree, and set it near the stove. In a child's world, once the female parakeet started chirping, her husband would naturally come running back.

So, at that point, not only was I plodding and rolling in the sandpit that had consumed my kitchen floor, I was attempting to work around eight helpful eager little hands, a Frigidaire side-by-side refrigerator, an extremely large birdcage while slipping on the birdseed, with Petree squawking away noisily in my ear.

While I attempted to clear a path and get the kids to bed, I got the great idea of turning off my gas and moving the Kenmore stove. So, there I was, yelling at the kids to go to bed and calling my ex-husband Brian to come turn off the gas. Of course, all I accomplished
was to cause four already crying kids to scream even louder.

Finally, I reached Brian and he immediately thought that someone must be dying since the kids were screaming hysterically. While he was freaking out and demanding answers, I was attempting to keep the kids
away from the open gas stove. I hurriedly explained my little problem and begged his expert assistance which, in fact, was like calling the plumber when you needed a mechanic. He hesitantly, grudgingly agreed to come over and try to help me rescue the poor creature
that was turning my household into complete chaos.

While I waited for the "expert" to arrive, I noticed there were two small screws on the stove that I could take out to remove the bottom plate. Ah, yes, such wisdom. I quickly retrieved a tiny Phillips screwdriver that Kevin had found on his way home from school and, in desperation, began to remove the screws. Yes, it worked! I was then able to remove the bottom covering and see the remainder of my sandpit. The only problem to this little ordeal was that the bird was nowhere in sight.

So, there I was: no bird in sight, piles of dirt all over the kitchen floor, everyone in the room, birdseed all over, the kids howling even louder, Petree squealing as though I had just tried to kill her, my ex-husband reluctantly on his way over, and pieces of the Kenmore all over my kitchen floor. What was a girl to do?

I did the only thing I could do. I grabbed the broom and dustpan and began to clean. If nothing else, at least I would have all the dirt removed from under the stove. As I swept away and scooped up what appeared to be ten tons of dirt, I noticed movement inside the back part of my stove. Yes, indeed, it was our long lost pet! But I had no idea which method I should use to capture our loved one.

Truth of the matter, I had no choice but to reach up and grab the one blue feather I saw. Pluck. I got a feather, but no Sky. And the kids were screeching that I had hurt their brother. I yelled at them in frustration to go to bed. I noticed that I had become more determined to catch that damn bird just to silence those little monsters that were quickly directing me to the nearest crazy farm.

As I crawled on my hands and knees, frantically searching every inch under the stove, I noticed a glimpse of blue. Not just any blue, but baby blue. Could it be? Oh, yes, it was! Finally, I saw the creature that had been causing Holy Hell within our family, inviting me to play superhero, knowing full well that I could not resist, motivating me to destroy my kitchen beyond recognition, and distressing me so much that I even had called Brian, the man I would love to kill.

Yes, that tiny six-inch bird had come into my view and he WAS not getting away. I quickly reached up and grabbed what little parts of his squirmy, fragile body I could and yanked. Yes! I succeeded. Mom saved the day! I retrieved that now despised parakeet and returned calmness to my yelling brats (who were cheering) before that jerk I once married was able to arrive at the door.

I spent an hour and a half fighting to outwit that two-legged creature, but in the end, I caught the bird, condemned the kitchen, and came out looking like the hero to my children. If asked whether or not I would do it all again today, I will gladly say, "Let the damn thing fry!"