Last week we buried our first bird. Quite impressive for a three year old, but even more for her mother, who wanted to introduce the death theme in a good-parenting-proof way. I ran to the bookstore and planned a whole ritual including coffin decorating and a trip to the woods. She loved it. She even understood how sad it was for the mama bird that couldn’t find her baby bird anymore (her words). But she also left it. Read: left me with it. Standing in our front yard with the little painted box in my hands. While I looked at her laughing and running at the playground with her friends, all I could think about was how I want to be more like her (and how to get rid of the friggin box). Celebrating life despite the sad things happening around her. They just happen, because that’s what life is too. The bird had to wait until the next day.