Yesterday we found a very tiny baby bird that had fallen out of its nest and died. Margot buried it, made a tombstone, and conducted a funeral (at which she delivered the main eulogy). Claire, in typical fashion, weighed in with a real-time critique of Margot's wishes for the dead bird's spirit.
After Margot finished, everyone else had to place a handful of dirt on the grave and then say a few words. (My comments, along with those of the girls' Nana and Papa, were dismissed as "too short and too modern.") Jane went last and offered the following: "Dear little bird, I hope you will be very happy in your new home . . . underground."
Transcription, in case you can't totally hear the background speakers: After Margot offers her hope that the bird will be joined by its mother, father, brothers, and sisters, Claire says,
"Margot! You're praying for it's whole family to die!!" Jane, with her usual, practical approach, observes, "It doesn't even have a head."
