someone's nesting. and it isn't me.

She's a bird. I've named her Molly. And she wants to build a nest in my dryer vent.













We hear her scratching around in there some mornings and then she leaves, which means she isn't trapped. Molly's smart: our dryer vent is the perfect place to build a nest. It's two stories up, with a little hood over it on the outside that would protect baby birdies from rain or sun. It's completely enclosed—and, I imagine, very warm.

Unfortunately, it's also our dryer vent, which means we need to clear it out.

But I feel a delusional sort of sympathy for her. I did some nesting of my own not that long ago. And I probably would have attacked anyone who barged into my little nest and destroyed my hard work. Poor Molly.

Perhaps it's a fitting tribute to her that we decorated baby girl's room in birds.