Monday, October 24, 2011
In Which Owen Gargles, Sticks His Fingers Up His Nose And I Proclaim My Love
Owen was especially delightful today. I am not sure why but he was. He let me hug him and hold him a bit more than usual for one thing. Two-year-olds don't have all the time in the world to indulge their grandmothers' needs for constant kissing and it is with great patience and forbearance that he usually tolerates such silliness but today, he was more open to the idea of it all.
We took a walk which we haven't done lately. The idea of the stroller hasn't appealed to him as much but today he got in it and told me that he wished to go to the post office. So we did. He told Miss Joanne, the postmistress that he was going to be a cowboy for Halloween but he pronounces it "toe-boy" and he also pronounces football as "butt ball" and so lately, his Bop and I have taken to calling him the Toeboy Who Plays Butt Ball.
I am sure he will not appreciate this when he is older but he does not seem to mind now.
After we stopped in at the post office, he said he would like to walk up the road a bit and so we did but I noticed that he was being so very still and I checked, and yes, he was falling asleep so I hot-footed it on home and kept him awake and when we got in the door he said, "Bed," and so we made our way back to the bedroom and got out Big Bear and he picked Mother Goose from the stack of books on my vanity and before we had gotten through the entire book, he was asleep.
He took a good nap and when he woke up he ate some yogurt and some Chex Mix and some popcorn and then we went out and sat on the steps and fed the rest of the popcorn to the chickens who love popcorn as much as any movie junkie and I had another one of those perfect moments of peace and awareness in the golden sunlit fall air and why these always occur with Owen and the chickens I do not know but I have a feeling that it's at these moments that I am living my destiny most profoundly, my DNA completely satisfied with the clucking hens and the rooster and my grandchild by my side.
I thought about how I have been tending children since I was twelve years old and how I don't really think of myself as someone who likes children that much and it came as sort of a shock to me to realize how much of my life has been taken up with them. And how it has been, of course, the most satisfying aspect of my life.
Something to think about as I sat there, Toeboy Owen beside me in his jeans and flannel shirt. He pulled at the strap of my overalls and said, "Overalls," and when Ozzie got too close for Owen's liking, he jumped into my lap and said, "Scary!" the way he does but like I said, he isn't really scared. Or maybe he is, just a little.
I know that one of the reasons Mr. Moon fell in love with me is that he was ready to be a daddy when he met me and I was proven breeding stock and was obviously a loving mother, albeit a crazy one. He'll deny all of that, or maybe he won't, but it's true. It was the mother-thing and the way I shoveled chicken shit off the back of a truck for the garden AND the biscuits AND a few other things too which caught his attention. But come on- it's not just women who have biological clocks ticking away and he was twenty-nine and ready to settle down and make a family and there I was and before I knew it (like in two days) he'd essentially moved in and we were married less than a year later and had Lily a year from that. Well, eleven months from that.
And tomorrow will be our twenty-seventh anniversary.
We will have been married for twenty-seven years tomorrow and I can't even imagine how that has happened any more than I can imagine how I have achieved the age of grandmotherhood but it would appear that both are true.
And you know me- I completely believe that lust is nothing more at the beginning than womb calling to sperm and vice-versa and so he and I have done our part in fulfilling the role which nature provided for us but at this point- when we are not apt at all to conceive another child- we are still married and still, quite frankly, in love and speaking for myself, I would wish nothing more than twenty-seven more years with this man.
He's gone tonight to hopefully buy a car at auction tomorrow for a customer and so we'll wake up on our twenty-seventh anniversary in separate beds, separate towns, but that's okay. We have a broad perspective at this point and we know a little about life and love and anniversaries. We know we're going to be celebrating all of it when we go to Cozumel in December and we know that we celebrate it all every day. We never end a conversation on the phone without saying, "I love you," and we often cry when we talk about our life together. There's a whole lot of glue that binds us and Owen is the newest part of that and this new baby coming will be even more. We look at each other frequently and say, "Can you believe....?" and we know we're talking about this next one.
Twenty-seven years of marriage and we met because a friend of mine wanted some pot and he knew I had some in a bag up in the closet with cat hair and pine needles in it and he brought over the guy he was painting houses with and that guy was so ridiculously tall that I didn't give him a second thought as to a possible love-interest and besides, the tall guy was dating another woman.
But one thing led to another and one night he saw me in a bar and I was wearing my friend Sue's blue angora sweater that kept slipping off my shoulder and within a week from that, I knew he was going to ask me to marry him.
And he did.
And here we are.
Kids and grandkids and chickens and a thousand biscuits later.
Here we are. And I always keep buttermilk in the refrigerator for emergency biscuit-making.
And I love that man and I am still, STILL amazed at how tall he is but mostly, amazed at the fact that he still loves me.
And he still surprises me all of the time.
Well, that's that. I'm going to go pick some tiny salad greens for my own tiny salad for tonight's supper. And tomorrow night, for our anniversary, I am going to cook some venison tenderloin with heirloom potatoes and garlic and onions. And biscuits.
We may not wake up together tomorrow, but we'll go to bed together and I will sleep under the quilt of the years of our love together and I will remember so many things and I will hope for so many more even though that is selfish, selfish, selfish.
How much can one girl ask for? How many gifts can one old woman receive?
So far, too many to count and no one knows how many to come.
I am the luckiest woman in the world. I have tended children, I have loved and I do love and I have been loved and I am loved.
There you go and there you are and honey-darling, Mr. Honey Moon, if you are reading this, please know...I love you. And isn't our Toeboy Who Plays Buttball gorgeous?
Yes. Yes he is.
Yours truly forever...Mrs. Moon