I'm tired. I'm so tired I don't have the energy to go feed the chickens their evening grapes. Or to make up a title for this mess.
Plenty tired enough to be the mother of a thirty-eight year old.
But it's okay. The boys were so good. Gibson is afraid to walk and that's fine. He crawls some but mostly he wants to be picked up and carried and he is pretty good about staying in one place doing one project for awhile. He painted and he colored and he played cocktail mermaids and monkeys in a bowl of water and we read books and we pretended to sleep and we sat on the porch swing and sang Eensy Weensy Spider quite a few times and I swung him in the swing on the play set for awhile. Owen did all of those things too and other things- big boy things. He went and checked eggs for me all by himself. He went out and found the young chickens out in the wooded border between our house and next door. He played on the tower on the play set and swept it too.
He told me today that someday he wants to stay with me and Boppy for four weeks. I told him that maybe when we have a house in Apalachicola that he can come and stay with us there for long visits.
"But I'm going to live right next to you when you live there," he reminded me.
"Oh. Right. But when you're still a boy, not a man," I said.
He also asked me today if when he has children, if I'll take care of them the way I take care of him and Gibson now. I told him that if I was still strong enough I would try and that he better have nice kids who are easy to take care of.
Later on we discussed that again and he said, "If you not dead then, Mer," and he was so matter-of-fact about it that it just charmed me to pieces.
"Yes," I said. "If I'm not dead."
He better get on the stick with finding a wife, the way I'm feeling tonight.