I was in a great mood today and I went to Lily's house and Gibson said, "Mer car!" so I drove us around which the boys like for some reason. It's a change, I suppose. We went to the library and I played with the boys while Lily looked for books and by "playing" I mean we rode the elevator up to the second floor and Owen pushed the "Help" button but no one called us out on it and then we climbed the stairs to the third floor and then we rode the elevator back down to the first floor but no one pushed the "Help" button. We went to the kids' section where the boys climbed up the steps to the treehouse thing where two little girls were looking at books. One was eight and one was six.
Let me just say this- eight-year old girls could rule the world.
This one could, at least. She told me that the six-year old was her niece, and that she was the girl's aunt. "Her mother, who is my sister, and I have different fathers," she told me matter-of-factly. "So we are half-sisters but really, we're sisters."
Gibson and Owen weren't truly interested in the family connections but they liked the girls.
Hey kids!" Gibson said, over and over again. And then proceeded to converse with them in long strings of words, some of them intelligible only by him. Owen had a good time talking to them too, and all-in-all, it was fun times at the library.
While we were there, Gibson pooped and Lily's change bag was in her van. So. Off we went to the brand new downtown Walgreens to buy some diapers. It was a crazy Walgreens! We were greeted by at least half a dozen people who all offered to show us where everything was and they had food and drugs and cosmetics and candy galore and yes, diapers and there was a liquor store too, although we didn't go in there. While Lily took Gibson to the restroom to change him, Owen and I perused the nail polish and picked out our favorite colors. But we didn't buy any.
We got back into the car and navigated our way through the downtown traffic to Fanny's for lunch where we met up with Hank. We had, as always, a terrific lunch made by Taylor and had a marvelous time. Hank had brought me a present. Here is what he brought me:
And dammit, I am going to listen to some of it (at least) tonight. It has three complete albums in it, six sides of purely good music.
It touched my heart that Hank got it for me.
Here's a picture of Hank and Owen:
My boys. This picture makes me so happy I can hardly stand it.
Owen told May a joke when we got to the cafe. She told it to us later and Hank said, "I'm totally going to start telling that joke," and I said, "It'll be on the blog tonight."
Here it goes-
"Why didn't the squirrel gather nuts for the winter?"
"Because he was already dead."
Oh yeah. The boy has it going on.
He's really into telling stories these days. Long, long stories that are broken up regularly by the words, "And then you know what happened?" and as you answer, "No, I don't. What happened?" he figures out the next part and they are some spectacular stories and involve monsters and dinosaurs and his family and natural disasters and oh my god. Today he was telling Hank one of these stories and then Hank told Owen that he was going to go home and hang out with pirates and then take a rocket ship to another planet and then go to a Rolling Stones concert.
Story-telling is in our blood, obviously.
Lily was too exhausted after all of this to go to the store and so I dropped them off at their house and went to Publix, came home to find my husband already here and I never did take a nap but I didn't feel as if I needed one anyway and here we are.
Today at the library Owen asked me how I would feel if my husband left me and got with another wife and had ninety-two more babies with her.
I told him I would be heart-broken.
And then I asked him if he really thought that Boppa might do that.
"No," he said.
"Yeah, I don't think so either," I said.
And to myself I thought, At least not the part about ninety-two more babies.
I better go love that man up so he doesn't leave me for another wife.
But here's one little bit of lagniappe. Have I posted this before? Probably. It bears repeating. One of my favorite cartoons ever in this world. From the New Yorker, of course.
Talk to you tomorrow.