Owen's imagination is growing faster than his body. Which is fast. He is doing a lot of play by himself with his Power Ranger figures where he plays the role of all the characters and he can do that for hours. He and I get into long pretends about things. We pretend he's going to take my house and I'm going to have to live outside. We pretend he's my father. We pretend he's Santa Claus and is giving me presents. We pretend we're pirates. We discuss all sorts of things. Movies and mermaids and animals and...Power Rangers. That boy does love Power Rangers. His dad gave him one of his childhood Power Ranger figures and Owen told me today that his daddy was really sweet to do that.
And Gibson wants to do everything that his brother does. He adores Owen and Owen adores him. If Gibson has a hurt, Owen rushes to comfort him and tells me if he thinks I'm not paying enough attention. Gibson loves the swing on the side porch. We sat and swung for a long time today while Owen happily played with his Power Rangers a few feet away. Gibson and I talk too. Long conversations and I'm not exactly sure what they're about but it doesn't seem to matter. And does that boy love his Boppa? Oh my god. If I were a jealous woman...
Well, I sort of am.
They are precious to me, those boys, which is the most vast understatement of the year.
When they were about to leave with their sweet daddy, Owen said, "We forgot to check the eggs!" and so we ran out to do that and when we were coming back with our brown egg and our green egg, Owen said, "Mer?"
"Yes?" I said.
"I love you," he said. So seriously and so simply.
"I love you too," I said. "As big as the world."
That much. That's how much I love those boys.
Every sort of love is different. Love for parents, love for siblings, love for friends. Romantic love is a completely different thing and yet, not really. But we go through life and we always think, "Oh, so this is what love is," and then, if we are lucky, we find there are more ways to love and to be loved. And when we have children, if we do, well- there you go. Yet another sort of love and I am sure that I cannot adequately describe it or any other sort of love. Is anyone really able? And isn't our love for each and every person that we love different? Even as to our children? And isn't love always evolving as things change, as we change?
And then, just when you think you've experienced all the sorts of love there are, all the flavors, perhaps, all of the joys and heartbreaks and comforts and sorrows...you might have grandchildren.
And it all becomes something else again.
More love makes more love.
That's all I have to say tonight. I'm pretty sure that's enough.