I’ve been lucky to see ten winters melt into springs in this house and three daughters grow a little with each year that passes.

I’ve commented on their extreme personalities and how different they are from each other but last night, I had a moment with Chloe in my arms that confirmed everything I already knew.

When our oldest (now 10) was still a toddler, I would prop her up to watch the birds build their nests in an amazing bird house outside one of our windows, put up by neighbours.

I can’t confirm it was put up by neighbours, it might have been put up by the local Jehovah Witness chapter before we moved in with a tiny camera focused on the inside of our house so they could see what people really do with their literature when we think they’re out of sight.

Hanna would watch the birds carrying small twigs and mud, enter through a number of welcoming door frames into what we as humans might call a high-rise condo tower but the birds would simply call ‘home tweet home.’

She would look at me, then at the birds and smile. She was quiet but knew something magical was happening and would eventually decide she’d had enough of nature and ask me to make her some spaghetti.

Ellie, our second born, was obsessed with the birds and their nests. She would graph the number of birds in relation to the number of twigs and multiply it by the number of worms carefully chosen from a select sample yet totally random patch of earth from around the yard.

She even made the birds a sign that read, “We see you in there Jehovah Witnesses.”

So with signs of spring flying at us all weekend, last night, I glanced out the window and saw the first bird of the year carrying a few sprigs of grass into the house.

I hoisted Chloe up and showed her what was happening and told her the birds were making a home so they could lay eggs and there would soon be babies right outside the window.

My four year old looked out the window, looked at me and said, “Oh Man! This is going to take FOREVER!”