Not A Bad Day At All Until I Mentioned A Woman's Breasts To Her

Gibson is just one of the happiest, smiliest babies I've ever met. He's like, Mr. Goof Ball. He's Mr. Sunny Dude. He's Mr. Silly Funny Boy.
He makes me so happy.

He was the star of the Assisted Living Show today. All the old ladies wanted to make him laugh, ask how old he was. Pinch his little cheeks. So did the ladies who work there. Even one of the maintenance men had a little fit over him. It's just hard not to.

Poor Owen. He was NOT in a good mood today. He obviously didn't get enough sleep and he was, for the most part, NOT HAVING IT! I mean, he wasn't terrible, but he just wasn't on his best behavior either. And it's hard, not being the center of attention. Everyone wants to talk about Gibson and they sort of ignore our big boy and it's not fair and thus, one of life's first lessons in how unfair life just is sometimes, especially when it comes to how old ladies react to you as opposed to how they react to your baby brother who can't do anything but lay there and smile and drink milk, for god's sake!

But we had a good time. Mother seemed extremely cheerful and upbeat and happy to have us there and Owen and I played ball while we visited with Mom in her room and then we all went down to the little playground area. The way the place is set up, you can get most places through and from building to building and so I saw the health center, which is the general hospital-like area for when you're rehabbing from a broken hip or an illness and it was beautiful too. There are cafes and there's a beauty salon and a little indoor pond with two turtles and some carp that tried to nibble Owen's finger when he stuck it in the water and there are lovely paintings and plants and sky-lights and the friendliest people you'd ever want to meet.



Here's Owen, playing on the playground. There were shady benches for us to sit and watch from.



The one and only complaint I have about that place are the elevators in Mother's building. If you want to use one, I'd advise hitting the button and then going to get a snack because it's going to take about that long.

After we walked Mother back to her floor and made sure she got her  lunch (lentil soup with a lovely muffin) we took the boys to the grocery store which was a bit hectic because Gibson decided that he was STARVING and Owen was so tired that at one point he said, "I want to go to my home."

We managed but it was there, in Publix, while we were in line at the deli to get a sandwich for our lunch that I said something to a woman that made me SEVERELY CONCERNED THAT MAYBE I AM LOSING MY MIND.

She was a nice looking sort of early-middle-aged lady who was dressed in an outfit, I'd say with a little turquoise jacket over a sort of camisole that revealed about two inches of cleavage but NOT in a tacky way at all, really, and Gibson couldn't take his eyes off her. She said, "I think he likes my clothes," and then the devil possessed me and I said in a theatrical whisper, "I think it might be your breasts," and as soon as I said it I thought, Jesus God what did I just say? and I think she was a little embarrassed and she pulled her camisole top up a little and when I told Lily she about died and said, "Why did you say that?" and I couldn't tell her, I have no idea and so I guess I'm entering that horrible stage of no filters at all on my mouth and pretty soon none of my children will want to go out in public with me, never again and I will not blame them and they'll put me in assisted living but it won't be as nice as the one Mother is in and it all started right there in Publix today, Gibson in my arms, waiting to get a sandwich.

I'm going to blame it on low blood sugar.

Yeah! That was it!

(Oh god.)