As I shrugged into my coat, I told my daughter, “I’m going out to fill the fird beeders.”
She looked at me, smiling.
“Fird beeders,” I repeated, unable to think how to say it right. “FIRD BEEDERS!” I tried again, then started to laugh, too.
Jenna got up from the piano bench.
“Do you heed a nug?” she asked.
I did.