“Groooooooss!” I called out to my mom, as I got out of the pool at her house the other day. “I think you have mice. Take a look.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it,” she replied, annoyed, as we gazed at what appeared to be rodent droppings on the terra cotta tile.

“But what’s that tweeting I keep hearing?” I asked.

Turns out, hummingbird poop looks a lot like mouse poop. There’s a nest with two baby hummingbirds in the right ficus outside my parents’  kitchen window.

“Gaga, you’re a regular Snow White!” Ray said, cracking me up. It was pretty amazing.

No credit to Gaga — she didn’t even know they were there.

Actually, I take that back. My parents deserve credit for not having cats. This morning I found the fourth baby bird in four weeks, massacred on the kitchen floor. At least this one was dead. The first two weren’t, which was no fun for Ray. He’s on bird-mouse-rat-lizard patrol. I just scream.

This morning, though, I barely flinched. After 10-plus years, I’m finally getting used to it.

This spring, Lulu the striped mutt cat has preferred a mix of birds and mice. The first bird of the season — a full grown, terrified dove, unscathed except for some lost feathers – greeted us from the shelf over the kitchen sink when we arrived home from Easter brunch.

And the onslaught has continued. It usually ends when the first real heat arrives, and that tends to happen in early May. But it’s been eerily, unseasonably cool here, downright chilly at times (albeit in the middle of the night) and so the birding goes on. I really don’t care for birds any more than I care for cats — but still, it’s disturbing, having my kitchen be the killing fields.

At least I know the hummingbirds are safe with Gaga. Er,  Snow White.

My favorite part of Legoland was the sign for the bathroom:

Those are two of the few things at Legoland that are not actually assembled from Legos. Actually, there’s more — I was suprised, it’s a pretty hefty theme park (with hefty prices). I’d been expecting mini-cities built of Legos. They’re there, but the Lego folks were smart enough to put all the components of the the typical theme park in, as well. (The marketing at that place is phenomenal, from the Volvo partnership, including VIP parking for Volvo drivers and a Volvo-sponsored kid “driving school” to the Lego-shaped Jello molds in the gift shop to the gargantuan Lego creatures everywhere.)

Still, Sophie was clearly a little disappointed, given that Disneyland is her one point of reference. (The place I really want to take her is the Sesame Street theme park, but it’s in Pennsylvania, so I don’t forsee an opportunity. Maybe the Beaches all-inclusive in Jamaica, with the Sesame ST. theme? Also unlikely. Legoland is in Carlsbad, convenient for us this week, as long as we don’t get lost, which we did, badly, on the way home, and with no gas. Nice. A scene out of the movie Vacation, our-style.)

Sophie asked for Elmo as soon as we arrived, and was not happy when the Fairy Tale ride didn’t include Winne the Pooh, though Annabelle told her Little Red Riding Hood was Snow White; she seemed to buy that.

The sad moment for me was when she tried to hug one of the life-sized Lego characters — clearly she missed the Furries at D-Land. (They always make me think of that Vanity Fair article from years ago, about people who dress in those costumes to have sex. Or get horny. Or whatever.)

I’d go back to Legoland (right after payday, rather than right before) if only to see Sophie take a lap on a non-Lego plastic but still cute horse in the medieval section of the park we found at the end of the day. She was so proud of herself, though terrified initially, and Ray had to practically bribe the guy running the ride to give Sophie the blue horse she wanted.

As usual, her feet didn’t quite reach.

She also made a friend at the playground, a little girl who walked right up to Sophie in a sea of other little kids, took her hand and asked her if she wanted to pay.

Now THAT was worth the price of admission.

In the end, everyone but me had to be dragged kicking and screaming (slight exaggeration) out of Legoland. I’m just glad I’m the only one who heard another mom talking about the fireworks display. We narrowly escaped before sunset, making it back only 90 minutes late for Annabelle’s birthday dinner.