And A Boy Turns Two

That was about the best kid birthday party I ever attended. Lily so very wisely decided to have it at CiCi's pizza and it was awesome! The kids were happy with the menu and the game room and CiCi's did all the work. And let me just say that the guy whom I think is the manager at the Tallahassee CiCi's is a stellar representative of not only his company but of the very elements of taking pride in your job and doing the best job which can be done with grace and good will.
I am serious.

Anyway, here's a little video. As you can see, Owen was happy too. "This is the best birthday ever!" he kept saying.

How cute are those outfits? As Jason's brother said, they looked like little Hunter Thompsons. Good look! 

More pictures. 

Billy and Waylon.

Boppy helping Gibson blow out his candles on the Elmo cake which Lily made. I heard Owen tell May that Gibson loves Elmo. "You used to love Elmo too," she said.
I hate him now," he told her.
A developmental milestone for modern children. Someone should do a study.

Gibson loved the cake. A rainbow cake! And it was not only beautiful, it was very tasty. (Cake is Mediterranean, right? I know pizza is. For sure!)

And so it was a good time. Both his grandmothers, his beloved Boppy, his uncles, his cousin, his aunts, two kid friends, his mama, his daddy, his brother. Lots of love, lots of presents, lots of pizza and plenty of cake. 

Pretty perfect for a pretty fine two-year old. 

And because I can, I want to show you a jacket I embroidered for May a few years ago, back when my hands were still capable of such activities. I am proud of it, even though it's very simple. I had such a good time working on it. 

I wish I could still do that. Maybe someday I'll get my wrist fixed. If it's even possible. I sort of don't think it is. Isn't May a beautiful woman? 

And to make a wonderful day even better, Mr. Moon booked our flights and confirmed our room for Cozumel. We'll be leaving May 15 and I am beyond excited. 

I can't believe the absolute richness of my life. 

Tomorrow the boys are coming and I think we'll move the chicks into their coop home. I am looking forward to that with all of my heart. See you then. 

Love...Ms. Moon

I ended my dreary gray-sky walk today by stopping by the Post Office as I always do and in my box I found a package addressed to me. I brought it home and I carefully unwrapped it to find a most marvelous gift from our Mel. 
Inside was a box, tied with red and white string and inside the box were charms and amulets for keeping the anxiety, the black dog, at bay which she had made with her very own hands. Here is one of the beautiful amulets.

There was also a note and as I read it, as I explored the contents of this box, tears came to me. 

I put the tiny glass bottle filled with blue and green stones, silver charms and pearls around my neck and I wore it all day. Every time I looked down at it, I was filled with such sweetness. I can't even tell you. At night it shall hang from the glass heart beside my bed which another friend gave me a long time ago. I am overwhelmed with this gift. I feel blessed and protected. 

I never expected...

I went to town and Gibson was charmed by my charms. He wanted it, badly, that tiny glass cork-stoppered bottle but as much as I love him, it is mine and although I let him touch it which he did, carefully, I would not let him put it around his neck and he was fine with that. He truly wants earrings, that boy. He fondles mine and says, "Ningnings?" and I ask him, "Do you want earrings, Gibson?" 

"Yeah," he says, nodding from the his hair to his toes. 

"Well, when you get older, you can have some. I promise."

And so he shall if he still wants them. 

But he cannot have my amulet. It is mine and I cherish it, along with all of the other tiny gifts in that box which Mel sent me. 

I sometimes cannot believe the community we have here. It is a joy of my life. 

Lily and the boys and I were going to go take Boppy to get his rental car but Owen had a fit before we left and decided to stay home with his father who was cleaning the house. CLEANING THE HOUSE ON HIS DAY OFF! Have I told you recently how much I adore my son-in-law? My Jason? 

The fit was my fault. I took Owen the loaf of bread he'd formed last Friday and he wanted to eat the entire thing right then and there and his mama and his daddy said, "No, you have to save some for later." It wasn't huge, but it was big enough to have given him a belly ache, had he eaten the whole thing. And because these days we are trying to be somewhat consistent in what we say and do for and with that boy, no one gave in, no one said, "Oh, go ahead. Eat it all." Which is such a temptation- I mean- oatmeal bread. But. The word had been given and it had to be stuck to and so he stayed at home because he was mad at us, even though his papa said that if he stayed home, he would have to clean his room and this is part of learning. 

It is hard to be four. 

It is hard to be any age and each and every age has its difficult lessons to learn. This never ends until death claims us, I believe. And who knows after that? 

Not me, baby. Not me. 

So Lily and Gibson and I had a jolly time of it, driving Boppy out to the west end of Tallahassee to get his rental car to take to Orlando. Boppy squeezed himself into the back seat of my car so that he could sit by Gibson who was completely and utterly happy to have his Boppy to himself.

"Game, Boppy?" he kept asking. He loves playing Wii games with Owen and his grandfather. 

"Fishing, Boppy?" he also asked repeatedly. They pretend to fish from the couch and the bed with a real rod and reel and a stuffed fish that a friend made a long time ago. They can do this for hours, the boys taking turns running the hooked fish into another room, and reeling it in, cheering each time for the great catch which has been made. Boppy promised Gibson that yes, they would play games soon, they would fish soon, and that he would take them to fish for real in a true pond with true fish and Gibson shivered with delight. 

We went to Publix after we dropped off Mr. Moon and Gibson practiced saying "Thank-you," to everyone who did anything which pleased him. I could listen to him say "thank-you" all day long, just as I could listen to him say, "Excuse me," all day long. Such a tiny man with such fine manners. He got to say "Thank-you" some more when we went to Costco and got samples of turkey and veggie straws and wait for it- Cookie Butter! Have you heard of this shit? It's like peanut butter only instead of being made from peanuts, it's made of cookies. What? What? What??!!

And you fucking spread it on cookies. 

I am not making this up. 

I hear it's a best seller at Trader Joe's too. 

So yeah, we sampled that Cookie Butter and did not buy any. I mean- why would you do that? Why would you buy something that would ultimately lead to you, a spoon, and the consumption of ten billion calories in twenty minutes? 

As we walked away from the sampler I said, "Well, I can cross that one off my bucket list." 

And I meant it. 

I have to buy crunchy peanut butter because I don't like it quite as much as I like creamy peanut butter. It's the only way to control myself. And that barely works. There is absolutely no excuse for eating more than one bite of this shit in one's entire life and that one bite can only be rationalized by wanting to know what it tastes like. Which is really, really good. 

Here's Gibson, lounging on the kid's lounge chair you can now buy at the Costco. It comes with a kid-sized beach umbrella. 

All right. He wasn't exactly lounging. Kids don't really lounge nor should they. As Lily so wisely pointed out, "That's more for taking pictures than actually using." But Gibson liked posing on it. He and I also pretended to nap on one of the couch consoles (I have no idea what the real name for them is) which they had at the Costco. "Nap?" he would say. And I would close my eyes and pretend to snore for about .5 seconds and then he would say, "Good morning!" and I would wake up and we would cuddle and laugh. 

That didn't suck although his idea of a nap is not quite my idea of a nap. 

So all of that was fun and we bought vegetables and prunes and organic frozen blueberries and plain Greek yogurt and chicken breasts and olive oil and coconut oil and bleach and I don't even know what all. A Star Wars ABC book for Owen whom we felt vaguely guilty about leaving at home. We did not buy cookie butter or lounge chairs for children or orchids or jewelry or flooring or lobster tails or scallops or even delicious pizzas made with lots of fresh basil and mozzarella which you can take home and bake or any of the giant chicken pot pies which look like they would satisfy the appetite of the Giant in Jack And The Beanstalk or wine or beer or chunks of cheese big enough to tide over an entire continent of French folk for a year. 

It was a very successful Costco trip. 

And Mr. Moon is in Orlando and I am here alone in Lloyd with laundry going and feeling loved and cherished and protected and blessed and the frogs are screeching and my kitchen needs mopping and tomorrow I might get hypnotized. Who knows? Not me. Again. 

All right. Billy has finally and at long last started a blog. You may find it here. 

If you are offended by the word "fuck" do not visit. Otherwise, go and see what he has to say about hanging out with his beloved Maw Maw. 

Billy is not like anyone else in this entire world and neither is Maw Maw. I am grateful beyond measure to have both of these beloved people in my life as well as Billy's wife, Shayla and their son, Waylon. Sometimes when I see Billy I just start crying for no reason. That's how much I love him. And ooh boy, does he love his grandmother. 

Life in North Florida. It's been a much better day than I thought it would be. 

Love...Ms. Moon

It Doesn't Take A Whole Lot To Delight Me

All right. You see that picture? You see that bird at the bird feeder? That is not a crow, folks. That is BABY! She flew right up there this morning and started eating the bird seed. That crazy chicken! I love her more every day. She's had a lot of excitement today and I'll discuss that here in a bit.

Lily and the boys came out and Gibson immediately perked up and wasn't fussy one darn bit

 and his fever was gone and Lily got to take a bath in my beautiful bathtub and I played with the boys and then she got out of the tub and we both played with the boys, or rather, let Owen entertain us which he is so very good at. His imagination is getting better than L Ron Hubbard's and let me just say that when you go on a plane ride with Owen to Marco's Pizza, he will give you a suitcase and he will tell you to fasten your seatbelt and put on your helmet and then, the plane will threaten to crash over and over again but Owen will save you by fixing the batteries and the holes in the plane and all will be well. It's a MIRACLE! I tell you.

And then Lily laid down for a nap on my bed and she slept for an hour and I got Gibson to sleep and took him in to sleep with her and they slept for two more hours and Owen and I had a very, very good time together. I got so many good hugs and kisses and I-love-you's.

Here is Owen making hot lava. I have no idea where he came up with this idea but it involves juice and water and at least three glasses to pour the mixture back and forth in. As you can see, it is a very serious enterprise.

I also have to say that there was quite a bit of hot lava spillage to the point where I took away all of the juice and water and then he did some painting, but mostly on his face.

Later on in the afternoon, I suddenly heard a falsetto crowing which was definitely NOT Elvis and we went out to investigate and there, lo and behold! was Fancy, the banty rooster we'd raised and who'd gone to live with the chickens next door. I think he was trying to recruit Baby or at least trying to fuck her and he did his Fancy fancy dance around her but she was having none of it.

He hung around and acted like he'd never left but when it came time to roost, Elvis chased him off a little way in a sternly authoritarian manner. I wonder if he'll be back tomorrow. We'll see. I was just telling Mr. Moon yesterday that I haven't seen Elvis top a hen in a long time and I don't know if that's because he's getting older or because it's winter or what, but for whatever reason, he's not getting much these days. That I'm seeing, anyway. But he's still a fabulous husband to the sister-wife hens and keeping an eye on each and every one and if we give him treats, he drops them and calls for the hens to come and get them. He is SUCH a good rooster.

And so that was my day which was filled with little boys and chickens and silliness and fun and cuddles and kisses and you can't beat that. Or at least I can't. Hillary Clinton probably got a lot more accomplished than I did today although I did do two loads of laundry and I seriously doubt Hillary did THAT. I've got chicken simmering on the stove with celery and carrots and garlic and onions and I'm going to make dumplings to go in there too and there's arugula for me to make salad from that I picked in the garden.

So I better get busy.

Yours truly...Mer Mer Moon

Owen And Gibson

My boys. Oh, my baby boys. How they love each other. Gibson will just laugh and laugh at his brother and Owen will do anything to make him laugh. Tickle him, make faces, kiss him.

We were sitting on the couch in the library looking at a Good Dog Carl book and I was holding Gibson and Owen insisted that no, he should hold Gibson, and he did, his arms wrapped around him, tightly and safely, and that's a moment I want to remember.

I was so tired today but sometimes, being tired is exactly what I need in order to slow down and pay attention. I moved slowly through the day, fixing a lunch for Lily and me and Owen and we ate and we changed diapers and we played on the bed and we swung on the porch swing, the mosquitoes mercifully depleted in number. When Lily had to go to work, Owen hugged her so hard and he's growing up so fast. He gets jokes now, or at least simple ones that we come up with, and he is understanding the underlying way of things and he is just so damn loving and so damn sweet and funny. Okay, yes, he still growls like a monster sometimes but when he does that, Gibson laughs and laughs so he's getting a bit of positive feedback on that one. He can't wait to go Trick or Treating and get candy and he told me that a witch monster was going to steal his candy. He has a very rich imaginary world going on, that boy.

We took Gibson over to see the goats and the chickens next door and I showed Gibson Miss Flopsie on the nest. He was fascinated. He can scoot backwards now and gets so frustrated because what he really tries to do is not crawl but to stand up because (and I know this is true) he wants to run after his brother. If you hold him up he bounces and bounces and bounces and I can just feel his legs getting stronger and ready for walking. He will hold his arms out for people now and he looks at us with longing, loving eyes, that beautiful little boy, until we pick him up and smooch him fiercely. He ate apples slices sitting up in his high chair while we had our lunch but I think he really wanted our tuna casserole.

Oh. They are growing up. They are getting big. They are so entirely perfect in my eyes.

Yes. This is a grandmother post, pure and simple. I am a fool for those children and when I see the way their parents love them and take care of them, I am humbled and awed. When I see the way my husband loves on them I love him even more.

This is something, this grandmothering, even when I am so very tired, because they are not my babies but they are my babies and when I asked Owen if I could take their picture in front of the big tree, he posed with Gibson and held his hand and the shadows dappled them and the tree dwarfed them but not really because they are pure light and love.

And I am so grateful for them and every kiss and every hug and every smooch and every smile and every puzzle and every game and every conversation and yes, even every diaper and yes, even every POOPY diaper because their bodies are perfect and it is a joy to give them clean bottoms and it is all a joy and I am going to sleep very, very well tonight and I do not feel mean or bitter at all now.
Not one bit.

Gibson Gets A Gig

Well, Gibson Monroe did something today at the age of approximately three months and a week that I have never done in my life.

The child made money at an acting gig.

Not a LOT of money, but it was money. HE HAD A PAID GIG!

Freddy was filming some baby food commercial (all organic!) and needed a baby. We happened to have one. It was awesome. Gibson appeared to be a natural on camera. We shall see, of course, if the video camera loves him as much as the regular camera does.
I went with Lily and I stayed with Owen who napped in the car for most of the shoot but I got to see some of it. Everyone, of course, loved our baby boy. Freddy was holding him and goo-gooing him and jingling keys for him even when he didn't need a smile for the camera.

"How many babies have you held, Freddy?" I asked.
"Are you kidding? After this one, uh, one."
Then he said that no, really, he'd held lots of babies.

Mmmm...

But before we left, after the shoot was over, he asked if he could hold him one more time. As if he didn't already have my heart by calling me "mama." Then he asked his girlfriend if she wanted to hold him. She did.
Again I say, "Mmmmmm...."

Like I said, Owen was asleep for most of it but when he woke up I played with him outside for a little bit before Lily and I switched places, she outside with Owen, me in the house with Gibson. And I have to tell you that it struck me again how Owen is growing ever more beautiful every day. I'm not just saying that. He is. He is changing so rapidly from baby to boy that it startles me. It's as if he changes literally in the blink of an eye. He's just...oh god. He's gorgeous.
Yeah, yeah. I'm his grandmother but I am not kidding you. That kid is a stunner. Those eyes!

Ah, what can I say? I'm in love. I'm in love with Owen and I'm in love with Gibson and that's all there is to it. I'm a fool for them, I adore them, I love my entire family more because of them because I see all of their genes in these babies and it's like a big ol' twirly-whirly basket of mixed-up glory.

All right. I'll simmer down now.

It was just a darn good day. I had that great sleep, got up early, took my walk, washed a million and two loads of clothes, got the sheets washed and the bed all made up nice, went to the library, watched Gibson be a movie star, went to the grocery store, came home and did some yard work. Mostly I picked up branches and twigs. After two large Rubbermaid carts of THAT, I came in the house and said, "That is too much like work." I hate to tell you how sore I'm going to be from that "gentle" exercise. But every fucking twig you pick up requires another bend to the ground and I've noticed lately that I'm getting very lazy about bending down to the ground. It's not that I can't, it's just...oh hell. I have to THINK about it before I do it! Getting old sucks the big one.
Well, except for the grandchildren part. I guess that's Old Age's reward.
Something sure as hell has to be.

And I'm grateful for this good day. We have power. Lily and Jason have power. We have food to eat and a house to live in and...
Oh you know. I talk about it all all the time.
Do I have problems? Oh yes, I do. Do I have anxiety? You better believe it. Do I wish I was stronger, more flexible, prettier, thinner, a better wife and a better mother? You bet.

But. That's life.

And I am not staring the gift of this life in the mouth. I'm putting the saddle on and riding down the trail as far as it takes me. Yippie Ki-Yay, motherfuckers, as Bruce Willis said in Die Hard.


And I swear to you, I do not curse in front of my grandchildren. Can you believe that?
It's true. Around them I am tender and loving and my language is pure.
My beautiful grandsons, one of whom earned money today at the age of three months and one week.
First a tooth, and now this.

Amazing. Just...fucking amazing.

Guess Who Got His First Tooth?

We're so proud!

Mr. Moon got home safely from his travels and he got a car for a customer and so it's a good day.
I mean, it was already but that makes it better. Any time my husband gets home safely is a good day, no matter what else happens. He spends a lot of time on the road and of course that scares me.
But.
He is fine.

I opened the door to Ms. Flopsy's nursery cage this afternoon and next thing I know she's scratching around in the coop with the three babies dancing around her. Now this scares me. Anything could get in there and grab those tiny puff balls. We haven't even let the teenaged chickens out into the main coop yet because some of them are still small enough to get through the wire.
Not Curly Sue. That girl (I feel sure she's a hen) is a BIG girl (and she could be a rooster) and she looks like her daddy did when he was her age. The bantys vary in size from almost as big as she is to still-tiny but I know they're bored with that cage. I give them plenty to eat and fresh water and greens from the garden but they want to get out and scratch, as chickens do. I'm not a member of PETA or anything but it does make me sad to think of chickens in factory farms who never get to go out and scratch in the dirt, not once, not ever in their entire hormonally-shortened life. I love seeing my chickens scratch around the yard and making little dirt-baths and fluffing their feathers to get all the sifty dirt up into their bodies which must feel good to them. You can practically hear them sigh with the relief of it. The other day one of the hens was calling and calling for Elvis. She'd gotten separated from the flock and I finally went and hunted him down and he was under my office where it was cool, just hanging with some of his ladies and I said, "Elvis, don't you hear that hen yellin' for you?" and he looked at me like, "Gott DAMN! Can't a man get some rest around here?"
And then, as if he'd understood what I was saying came out and crowed and then went and found her and led her back to the others.
They're so funny, these birds we live with.

Hank's coming out this weekend to take over the chicken chores and Mr. Moon and I are going to take off for a small journey. We are not sure where. Just somewhere where, quite frankly, I will not be in charge of cleaning, cooking, or any other such mundane activity. Not that I don't love my mundane activities- you know I do- but every now and then a girl's gotta go be crazy and stay in a hotel room and use towels she doesn't wash and sheets, the same, and let all that mundane stuff space get filled up with other activities of the more romantic kind. Let her hair down. Be wild and crazy. Or at least, silly.
I am looking forward to that quite a lot.

I hope this is what we do. I seem to be breaking out with some poison ivy and why I thought I could avoid that shit when I spent all that time pulling it on Saturday is beyond me. I did wear gloves and washed up very well after but poison ivy is some strong and toxic stuff and if my hands and arms turn into purulent patches of itchy agony, I will not feel like going anywhere but will be walking around like a zombie on Benedryl and that is not the way to have fun on a road trip. No. It is not. Right now I feel sort of itchy all over my entire body but I am hoping that is merely my hypochondria and not anything based in reality.

Well, here are two more pictures of my boys from today.

 Owen being a monkey on the swing. "I am not a monkey," he told me. "I Owen." Yes, yes, he is Owen. Can you dig the slippers? He chose them himself to wear outside.

Gibson talking with his hands. He's such a goof sometimes, especially in the morning. If he hears and sees his mama, he breaks into huge smiles and he also smiles at shadows on the wall and flirts with them too and he cracks me up. He is wearing his new John Deere onesie that his Boppy got him for one dollar on the clearance rack at the tractor store. Lily says that they drove by there the other day and Owen said, "They have tractors!" and Lily and Jason said that yes, they did, and then Owen said, "I need tractor."

He is is grandfather's grandson.

He told me today that he is a big boy and I agreed that he is but I pointed out that he will be an even bigger boy when he learns to use the potty and doesn't need diapers any more. "Then you can go fishing with Bop on the boat!" I told him.
"No way," he said and he flounced off to go practice his Hai Ya's.

What a rich life I lead.

And now I will go wash the dishes.

Pictures From A Day

 Mr. Gibson Morty McChill Baby.

 Uncle Hank With Gibson

 Owen wearing a willow wreath.

 Owen with a beautiful pony at the Goodwill.

Owen figuring out what a real boy does with a beautiful pony at the Goodwill. He wrestles it to the ground.

My Boys

Yes.

I'm still tired.

Tomorrow will be another day. I am sure of it.

In Praise Of Bunny Babies And Their Daddies

Beautiful Boys

It was a very fine day. I took my walk and when I got back, Lily and the boys had gotten here and were already settled in the Glen Den, Lily nursing Gibson and Owen playing with his toys. I was hot and sweaty and took a shower after I kissed them and Owen accompanied me and took off his clothes and pretended to take a bath while I took a shower and I put my clothes back on but he did not. This was handy in that every time he needed to pee, he went outside and did it.
As Lily says, he is not yet potty-trained but he is becoming house-broken, and we are proud of that.

Before I took my shower, though, we all went to check on the baby chicks. Once again, Owen said he wanted to hold one, but when the little chick was put in his hand, he didn't really like it. He did pose in front of them though, so that I could take his picture.

I think he is the loveliest two-and-a-half year old in the world. Of course, I am his grandmother and so of course I think that and I SHOULD think that but I honestly do.
"Come here," I tell him all the time. "Let me kiss you."
What IS it about humans and our need to kiss?
Sometimes he lets me. Sometimes he says, "Sorry," and runs on to whatever it is he wants to do next. But sometimes he says, "Sure, sure," and runs over and lets me plant one on him. His mama does the same thing but he ALWAYS kisses her. He kisses Gibson on the head a lot, too. He is quite cheerful these days, Owen is. I think he loves having his mama home all the time.

I made a curried chicken salad and felt like a real lady making real lady food. It was a curried chicken salad with apples and raisins and I served it on mixed greens. La-di-dah food. Owen ate Chex Mix and an apple. Oh well. Gibson ate...milk.

After lunch we hung out on the front porch some. I got to hold my youngest grand. He was in a good mood (and he usually is, that blessed little boy) and I took some pictures of him.

Here he is, thinking.

And here he is, sort of smiling.

Of course, I think that HE is the most beautiful two-week-old in the world. And I kiss him so much that I'm afraid his lips might wear off. I remember worrying about this same problem with Owen though, and he still has lips so I guess it won't happen.

While I was holding Gibson, Owen was running around the front yard naked except for his new Scoobie shoes and shooing the chickens. That's what he calls it because we tell him not to chase them. "Shoo, shoo," he says, brandishing his stick which is an old dead branch from the Confederate Rose right by the porch.
"Don't you chase my chickens, boy!" I told him. "You chase my chickens and I'm taking that stick away and we have to go in the house!"

This slowed him down some but not a lot. I gave him some old fruit salad and told him to feed the chickens instead of shooing them and he did. He is such a boy. I love him so much it makes my heart hurt like maybe it's going to explode.

But still- he can't chase my chickens. No one, not even my grandson, is allowed to chase my chickens.

Lily was tired and the boys were getting that way so they packed up and went on home and I came in and tried to pull the house back together and then I laid down and took a little nap. When I woke up, Mr. Moon was home and it was raining a little. It still is. Not enough but maybe the dust will get tamped down, at least. I'm writing this on the back porch and he's sitting across from me, playing poker on his iPhone, coming down from the ride back from Orlando. He's so handsome. I think he's the most beautiful fifty-seven-year old man in the world.
Of course, I'm his wife. But still.

Here's a picture of him with two of the groupers he caught last Sunday. Remember I talked about how happy he is to go fishing? Well. Here's what I mean.


And tonight I'm going to heat some of that grouper up that I cooked on Sunday and we'll eat it for our supper.

It's been that kind of day. Nothing out of the ordinary and yet, one perfect moment after another, each in its own way.

I'll take that. And kisses. All the kisses I can get.

But don't chase my chickens. I'll take your stick away and we'll have to go in the house.

Come here. Let me kiss you.
Thanks.
I mean it.

Potty Training, Public Praying And Even More!

It was a splendid day for an outing with Lily and my grandson, Gibson. We went to Target and wandered around going, "What are we here for?" and it was a different Target than the one we usually go to so that compounded our confusion but we managed to find quite a few things that we really did need such as a new outfit for Owen of cargo shorts and a nice red polo-type shirt and some overalls which will fit him next winter which were marked down to eight bucks. We also got him some Toy Story big boy underwear in hopes that he will take an interest in wearing them and keeping them dry. At this point he is mostly interested in confounding all of our efforts to get him potty trained although I am quite certain that he is more than ready. If he is naked, he can pee outside at will, not unlike a dog marking his territory and when he poops, he gives us detailed instructions as to how far away from him we must stay while he does it.
He disdains all offers of any sorts of treats which could be given to him if he pees or poops in the potty as if he did not care for M&M's at all and no, thank-you, he would not like a cookie, either.
He did like the underwear we got him but whether or not he will wear it is another question.
We shall see.

We also went to a local "natural foods" type place where they sell the little device that allows Lily to give Gibson a bit of formula through a tube while he nurses. She had already bought one but Owen pulled it apart last night and it is unfixable.

Please do not think I am speaking ill of my grandson. He is two-and-a-half. His behavior is entirely appropriate for a boy of his age and especially one who has just been blessed with a baby brother to whom he is being extremely sweet. And he says, "Please," and "Thank-you," or, more frequently, "No thank-you," to the questions we ask him like, "Would you like to use the potty?"

Gibson was on his best behavior. He stayed asleep in his little seat in the cart for the entire Target jaunt. He did wake up while we were having lunch but you know that mothers have a button on their butts which alerts babies to the fact that their mothers are sitting down to eat and which causes them to want to eat as well. This is an anatomical fact.

Lily and I eavesdropped on two different conversations which were going on at the restaurant beside us but neither one was of any interest whatsoever. I told Lily that this was a shame. That they were not "blogworthy."
"Well, you could write about how boring they were," she said.
"Yes, but that's pretty subjective," I said. She agreed but we both knew that they WERE boring and so there.
She had noted while I was ordering our food at the counter that both tables had said grace before eating. This is something you see more frequently today. I don't know why. I guess that Christians are coming out of the closet although as I recall, Jesus himself instructed people to stay IN their closets to pray and not to do it out in public like the "Publicans," which...well. The more things change...
We discussed this more frequent public praying and I said that it did not seem to me that it has led to any better behavior on the part of society. At least not our part of society. But maybe someone could do a study.

So it was a nice time and when I got home I decided to do something to punish myself, I suppose, for having had such a nice time, so I thought long and hard and then determined that the best thing I could possibly do would be to clean out the closet where the Giant Rodent had been living before Mr. Moon caught it in a rat trap.

Hoo-boy.

In doing so, I learned a few things such as: rats can carry dog food and stash it in closets. Rats also seem to want to poop in one place. The "toilet area" I suppose you might say. This leads me to believe that rats are pretty smart but I still don't want the fuckers in my closets. Or anywhere else in my house for that matter.
But what the hell? I cleaned it all up and threw away two trash bags worth of stuff that were of no use to anyone on this planet plus the poop and the dog food. They are now in the trash place and gone from my existence.
There- I am duly punished and yet strangely rewarded at the same time.

And now Mr. Moon is home and I'm going to go soak some cube steaks in milk in preparation for cooking them. I do not know why you are supposed to soak cube steaks in milk but you are and it is supposed to be specifically Pet milk and again, I don't know why and I don't have any anyway. These are cube steaks from that grass-fed beef that Mr. Moon brought home from Tennessee and I'm pretty sure they'll be good, no matter if I have Pet milk or not.

Here's another thing I'm pretty sure about:

That is one fine looking boy.

I believe he is pondering the mysteries of the universe, both large and small, which means he takes after me.

There's a lot more I could talk about but I believe that's enough for now.

Babies. Chicken And Otherwise.

Well, there's Curly Sue and Unamed Banty. We've got another banty in the incubator, hatched and drying and there's like three more cracked and workin' on it. Mr. Moon is planted firmly in front of Central Operations. He's enthralled. He is the chicken mama, far more than I.



Curly Sue is so named due to the little curl on her head. Or his head. Chicken sexing is something I don't even attempt. If they grow up and start crowing- it's a boy. If it grows up and starts laying eggs, it's a girl. An even more advanced form of determining the sexes is to watch who mates with whom.

Meanwhile, I'm exhausted. We stayed up way too late and then got up periodically to check the birth progress. And then I woke up at three-something with hay fever and had to take an antihistamine and so I'm still groggy from that. I keep drinking coffee and walking back and forth across the house aimlessly and texting my kids.

It's going to be one of those days. I have a feeling that if I found any dog poop on the floor, I'd fall down and weep. I don't do well with tired. This is seriously the main reason I decided not to go into midwifery. If three baby chick hatchings can do this to me, you can only imagine how smart and peppy I am after an all-night, all-day, into-the-night-again birth.
Not someone you want making life-or-death decisions.
It is good to know your innate limitations. Too bad more politicians don't.
Just because they tell you that you can grow up to be ANYTHING YOU WANT don't make it true.

Lily says that Gibson is doing well this morning. She went to a lactation consultant yesterday, worried that Gibson wasn't getting enough milk and that he was losing weight. She never did make quite enough milk for Owen and had to supplement but we were hoping that the second time around would be different. Sadly, it does not appear to be. But she knows that she's not doing anything "wrong" and she also knows that you can nurse and supplement with formula and have a thriving child who loves to nurse. She's giving him the extra feedings with those little tube things that the baby actually gets while nursing. I am so proud of her for working so hard at it instead of just giving up and giving her babies the bottle. Owen nursed until he was almost two and he still loved it. Long after the need for formula is gone, babies still need the breast occasionally. Or often, depending on the child. So she's my hero, that Lily girl.

Well, baby chicks are born knowing how to eat and drink and have funny huge feet to get them around from feeder to waterer and thank god for that.

I swear. I don't even have the energy to figure out how to end this thing so I'll just say, "Happy One Week Birthday, Gibson Monroe!" and "Happy Birthday, Curly Sue and Others!" May you all thrive and grow up to be big strong whatever-you-are's and let's all have a happy life.

Oh My.

It has been a splendid day with boys galore. Okay, mostly Owen but Gibson came over for his first visit and even had supper with us.
Okay, okay, he didn't eat but he slept while we ate.

Of course I only let him stay in that little seat for a few minutes before my body took control of me and I reached down and scooped him up and ate with him cradled in my left arm. It made no difference to him but it gave me great joy and contentment.

Owen was such a good young'un today.

He seems so big now that Gibson is here. We sat on the kitchen steps and fed the chickens some biscuits from yesterday's breakfast and when it came time to eat our lunch he wanted to eat out there too. I said, "But Owen, let's eat on the back porch where we have a table."
"'Tend table!" he said.
"You want to pretend we have a table?"
"Uh-huh!"
"All right."
"Whoo-hoo!"

And so we did. He ate watermelon and pizza and we fed Miss Ozzie a few bites of fruit too, which she enjoyed tremendously and we discussed Mutant Ninja Turtles and their love of pizza and I tried to be hip and remember their names but all I could come up with was Michelangelo and Leonardo and I wasn't really sure of those two.

He took a nap with me on my new sheets which he proclaimed to be cozy and when I'd gotten him down with the Mr. Peep story, I discovered that one of the incubator eggs was actually doing something. Rocking a bit and there was a tiny hole in it and I could see a beak working at the shell. It was pretty darn exciting and I had to call Mr. Moon and the process is still going on now, hours and hours later and Mr. Moon is sitting in front of the incubator, watching the baby try to peck its way out. Another egg has a cracked shell and is moving a bit and yet another one is rocking. So...
We shall see.
If we get one real live peep, I'll be so happy although I would hope that there would be more. We'll just have to see. All of the instructions say to leave them alone and let them peck their way out- that if you don't, the muscles will not have developed enough for the babies to stand up.
Survival of the fittest and so forth and it seems cruel but so is nature and that is just the truth. It has its own system and it's best not to fuck with it. You can already hear the little guy in that shell chirping away. We chirp back, hoping to encourage the chick to continue with his or her struggle for freedom, release, life.

So it's been a very good day with lots of playing and painting and coloring and bathing and sleeping and pecking and chirping and cooking and laundry and laughing and Mr. Moon got home in time to play too and then were were puzzles and bamboo kicking and the hitting of trees with bamboo and then there was supper and baby-cuddling and now the little family has gone home and here we are. The kitchen is cleaned up and I am tired, tired, but a good tired.
A deserved tired.

Now I have to decide whether or not to stay up and watch this baby come out of its shell. I need to do a little studying to determine whether or not it can stay in the incubator. The information on the internet is so conflicting. And the information I have in my chicken book has yet a different opinion.

Ah-lah. I know far more about the birthin' of human babies than I do of chicken babies.
I suppose this is a good thing.

Well, I'll report in tomorrow. You can count on that.

Tomorrow. Gibson will be one week old. Bless his little heart. And he's already been out to Mer-Mer and Bop's house which his big brother knows better than anyone. When I bring Owen here I always ask him who lives here and he always says that Mer-Mer lives here and Bop lives here and Owen lives here.

I like that. And before we know it, Gibson will be considering it his house, too.

This sweet old house where chickens are born and there are hiding places for boys, and goats next door and a garden to help in and trees to climb and bamboo to kick and porches to play on and beds to nap on and where life just keeps on happening.

Night from Lloyd, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

UPDATE: The chick is out of his shell. Early moments and we shall see if he survives.
Wow.
Just...wow.

So Much. I Have Been Given So Much

It is the most beautiful evening in Lloyd. The sun is making everything golden and the new green everywhere is full-to-bursting with life and the dogwood is still in bloom and the Japanese Maple is red as it can be. The Ash Magnolia that I planted about six years ago and which was about as tall as a cat is taller than me now and about to flower, it's big floppy leaves spread wide like something Dr. Doolittle would have recognized in Africa.
I have the sprinkler on the garden and the potatoes are coming up in my crooked rows, my beans are looking good, the zinnias coming on and the rest of it all is waiting for the sun to really warm the dirt to optimum temperature.

There is a peace.

I planted my hollow log with impatiens today and also a mulberry tree in the back yard and I watered the porch plants and cleaned out the nests in the chicken house and oh, there is so much more to do but it's slow work, never really done, and there is no point in trying to make it so. Mr. Moon and our neighbor started ripping out the rotten decking between my office and the house this afternoon- a job that has needed to be done for some time now, finally begun, and again, what's the hurry?
We can make ourselves crazy or we can just take our time.

This reminds me of my favorite joke which goes like this:
There are two bulls at the top of a hill. One of them is an old, wise bull, the other, a young and most eager bull. They stand there at the top of that hill and they look down into the pasture below them where a herd of lovely cows are grazing.
"Let's run down there and fuck one of them cows!" says the young, eager bull.
The old bull muses for a moment and then says, "Let's walk down there and fuck 'em all."

Take your time, you'll get it done and enjoy it all a hell of a lot more.

I went into town and picked up my mother at the assisted living place. Two days before Gibson was born, her next-door neighbor in the home died. She was Miss Mabel, the woman who did the little garden on the porch at the east side of the floor. Miss Mabel was over a hundred years old and sharp as a tack up until the moment she died. My mother misses her. She admired her. She had been my mother's neighbor and her friend.
She talked about her some on the way over to Lily's, mostly about what a blessing her death had been- so easy, she hadn't been sick at all. She just...died.
Mother was so excited to see Gibson. She does love a baby. She got to hold him for a few minutes before he started wanting his mama again and she admired him tremendously.

Gibson nursed some and then he fell asleep and Lily's milk must be coming in fine because he was really asleep and let Jessie hold him and me too.

I know it looks like I've been nursing him myself, but I swear I did not. He's such a squishy little bundle of a baby right now. I could have held him for hours but after awhile, Lily missed him and wanted him back. I remember that. I handed him over. He's hers. He's all of ours, but mostly he is her boy.

It was a good visit. Mother got to talk about her babies and her births and she had a huge piece of the cake I'd made for Lily, and Jessie was there and it was nice for us all to be together. When Mother is funny, she is really funny and we had some good laughs.

Jessie had to come on home for a photo shoot she had planned with her bandmates- The Cicada Ladies- and Mother and I left shortly after she did. We went to the Walmart and she got her watch battery changed and she got a few things she needed and I got my impatiens. I took her home and then went on to Bed, Bath and Beyond where I realized that there sure a lot of things that I don't need. I wish I'd taken a picture of the "Performance Sheets." They guarantee that with those sheets, you can sleep like a pro. Is there really such a thing as a professional sleeper? If there is, I want to send in my resume.
I did not buy Performance Sheets. I bought some other ones and they cost more than some beds I've bought but hey- sleep is important. I did not buy anything but sheets and some extra pillowcases, not even any As Seen On TV stuff but I have to admit that I was a bit tempted. Mostly by the chocolate at the check-out but I didn't even buy any of that.
Going to town and shopping is such an amusement to me. If I'm in a good enough mood, it mostly cracks me up. If I'm in a bad mood, all I can think about is all the CRAP out there, most of it made in China and then shipped over here and which will end up in a landfill within a year at the most.

When I got home the men were ripping out that deck and the Cicada Ladies were getting their pictures made and I put everything away and changed into my overalls and got out in the yard. It was a good balance to As Seen On TV.

After the girls and the photographer left, Jessie got all her stuff packed up quick-quick and loaded it into her car. She misses her boy, her Vergil, and she wants to get home tonight and she knew I was about to get all drama-queen on her so she said, "Tell me good-bye like I'm just going over to Melissa's," and so I kissed her and said, "Have a good time at Melissa's," and then she said, "Hey! I'm not really going to Melissa's," and I kissed her better and hugged her tight to me. My god. What a week it's been!


We got that baby here. Oh sure, Lily helped, but Jessie and May and I did all the hard work.
Haha!

And her daddy hugged and kissed her and checked out her car and she's gone now.
She's on the road to North Carolina, us at this end, Vergil at the other. She wants to get in her own yard, plant some flowers, some vegetables.

It's beautiful in Lloyd tonight. It's real quiet. It's been a hell of a week. One of the best of my entire life. Things are settled down and the baby's here and safe and healthy and it's Saturday night and our neighbor brought over some chicken and dumplings and I'm going to make a salad and take those new sheets out of the dryer and put them on our bed.

I hope we sleep like professionals tonight. The eggs in the incubator are due to hatch tomorrow or at least soon. I hope some of them do. We have no idea if any of them will, but we're ready with chick feed and a clean waterer and a place in which to put them. Every time I walk past them I stop and look at them, those eggs so neat and tidy and wonder if there are mysteries and magic contained within them.

Life, I mean.

Ain't it something?

Have a good evening, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

I Just Had To Share

I cropped this picture because I didn't want Owen to grow up and be mad at me for showing all his privates online which is sad because if I hadn't cropped it you could see his feet are not touching the ground.
That's Owen, swinging from his mama's arm while she's holding Gibson in the other arm, nursing him.

That's my daughter. Those are my grandsons.

Really? I can't even believe it.

All right. I have to run. Gonna take my mother to go see her youngest great-grand and then take her to get the battery in her watch changed and then I have to buy new sheets because there's a hole in the only fitted sheet I have and well, for me, that's an entire and full day.

I hope you're having a good Saturday. Mine looks to be mighty fine.

Love from Lloyd where we grow 'em big and strong and beautiful....Ms. Moon

One Day Old

This is Gibson and his mama and his daddy. He is having his first outdoor-outing. He liked it okay.
What he mostly likes...what he really ONLY likes...is his mother and her breasts. I don't think I've ever met a child who was so preternaturally aware from the get-go who his mother is. He can be asleep and she'll pass him over and he'll wake right up and start gnawing his little hands and then when that proves fruitless, he'll start rooting around all over whoever is holding him and then when that doesn't work, he starts to mewl and fuss and refuses to be comforted until he is handed back to his mother and then he immediately quits crying and she gives him what he wants and he is happy again.
He is a tit-man, for sure.
I mean, they all are but he KNOWS where the tit comes from and that is the only place he wants to be. Which is fine with Lily. She is as natural at this part of the whole deal as she is at being pregnant and then giving birth. I swear. They should give her a grant to be a mother. Maybe something under the auspices of the National Park system. She's that grounded in it, that much a force of nature.

Owen is handling it all pretty well. He kisses his brother now and seems resigned to the fact that yes, he is there but he realizes that his needs are still going to be met and that his mother still loves him and cuddles him and that his father is also there and that, too, is a comfort and a good thing. He seems to have absolutely no love left for his Mer Mer but I understand. I know he does still love me. He just...well, has other priorities right now. Being charming to me is not one of them. "Go away," he will tell me if he has Aunt Jessie where he wants her. "Go back inside."
Sigh.
He'll be my boy again when he comes out here. If his grandfather isn't here. Or his aunt.

Speaking of his aunt, I brought Jessie home with me. I think she is tireder than anyone at this point. She took care of that new little family all day and all night and all day today and believe me- taking care of Owen takes a lot of energy. She's such a good auntie and I'm going to make her some soup and let her relax. I told her not to lift a finger. I think she can handle that.

And all I've done today is make the food for Lily and Jason

(The Official Post-Partum Meal Recipes)

and take it over there and try to hold Gibson and frustrate him and try to get Owen to love on me and frustrate myself. I did take a small ramble into the garden to see that the potatoes are coming up and all of the beans are up and that I need to replant some cucumbers.
So much to do. Always so much to do and none of it of earth-shaking importance, thank god, and yet, all of it god's work, if one looks at it like that and it was lovely today, being alone in my kitchen and making bread and cooking meat and a cake with spices and prunes in it and opening the screen door to throw scraps to the chickens, noting the amaryllis blooming so dramatically. I cut it later and took it to Lily in a blue bottle.

There are more about to bloom so it wasn't a huge sacrifice.

All right. Here's one more picture of the newest boy, happily asleep. In his mother's arms. Of course.

He is still wearing the shirt they put on him after his birth, which was one of his mother's I think. I know I dyed it. It was either hers or Jessie's. I told him, "Gibson, you haven't changed your clothes in your whole life."

He didn't care.

Not one bit. And we don't either. We know that clothes don't make the man. Titty milk does.

Amen.

A Middle Name And What Grandmothers Do

Well, Spring continues to rush its way through our world, catching us up in it and here we are, here we are.
They have given Gibson the middle name of Monroe and if he does not grow up to be a poet as Madame Radish King suggests he will, he will surely grow up to be a grand bluegrass musician. Or something fine.
Gibson Monroe.
And now old Mer is going to make some food to take over and the flowers are blooming and the birds are singing and I hear that Gibson slept well last night and nursed well and that Owen is being a monkey boy and we are all still amazed, still grateful, and I am going to cook.

Make Way, World. Gibson Is Here

What a day. What a beautiful first-day-of-spring day and what a day.
We all just keep saying, "I don't believe it."

I went to bed last night fully expecting to be woken up in the middle of the night but no, the phone didn't ring until a little after seven this morning and Lily was crying. "I just can't do this anymore," she said.
"What's going on?" I asked her.
"Just the same thing. I can't sleep but they only last a minute and I have to get out of bed and this could go on for days and I can't do it!"
And so forth.
She was so afraid she hadn't made any progress. She'd slept some until about three- thirty when she could sleep no longer and she'd done all of her contractions by herself and honestly, I thought she was probably still prodroming and I asked if she'd called the midwife and she said that no, she was coming at 10:30 anyway and I said, okay, we're coming.
I woke up Jessie and I packed up clothes and a toothbrush and books and crocheting stuff and food and well, I was just prepared for a long, long day. Hell, I packed a pillow!
We got to Lily's and she was outside, and yes, crying, and yes, she'd called Diana and I tried to comfort her and from the looks of things, I had no idea where she was at, despite all of my experience. Yes, she was crying but Lily cries. She was saying, "I can't do this anymore," but her contractions were short and she was still doing things. She wasn't in that far-away place that women in transition usually are. We went in the house and Owen was eating his breakfast and Lily didn't want to let him go anywhere but she knew she had to. She hated upsetting him when she had a contraction. He wanted her, he wanted to comfort her. He didn't seem too upset, but still. He just wanted his mama.

We made the decision to call Bop to come and get him and then Diana got there and Lily said, "I feel all this pressure!" and Diana got her on the bed and checked her and said, "Well, honey, you're feeling so much pressure because you're nine and a half centimeters dilated!"
Oh boy.
Oh boy.
We called May to hurry. We got things set up. Diana's assistant was far away. May got there. Bop came just in time because one of us was having to be outside with Owen and no one wanted to miss the birth. This is how selfish I am: As Diana was setting up she said, "I think I'd like Jessie to help me and I said, "Actually, I did birth assisting for years. Jessie is a mama-baby nurse in post-partum."
HOW MEAN IS THAT? But true, although Jessie always attends the deliveries at her hospital too. But it was all okay because Bop got there and grabbed the boy and took him off. Lily was already pushing and so Jessie was there and Jason and May and me and in about ten minutes, so was Gibson.
Yep. That's his name.
Gibson. Which is my middle name. My great grandmother was Mary Gibson. And I also gave that name to Jessie as a middle name. It's a fine name. It's also the name of a company which makes very nice guitars which pleases Jason. They're not sure about the middle name yet but they're honing in on it.
Anyway, Gibson was born with a minimum of fuss or blood although the cord was wrapped around his body but Diana just unwrapped him and let Jason finish the delivery of the body and then he was handed off to Lily and well...there you go.
A perfect, fast, beautiful home birth.



Here's Jessie doing her nurse thing:


Oh god. It was just so perfect.


He hardly cried at all, that boy but turned spring-rose-pink in a few minutes. His breathing was fine, his heart rate was fine, his reflexes, all good. He latched on right away like he knew what he was doing and he was just so chill. Just so...here.

My goodness.

After the midwife's assistant got there and Gibson had nursed well and we'd all talked to him and loved him, Diana helped Jason to cut the cord and they did the newborn check and Lily took a shower and then we called Bop to bring Owen home.

Oh my. That boy is in for some changes but it's going to be good.

He wanted his mama to put the baby in the baby's bed but he did hold him and Bop got some great video of all of that on his phone.

And that was it- the baby was born at 9:03 this morning and I left the house around three-thirty. Uncle Hank had come over to meet him and it was just so lovely, everyone at home and no one coming to take the baby to "clean him up" (he was perfectly and beautifully gorgeous and needed no cleaning whatsoever and most babies don't, despite what they tell you) and when I left, Jason was holding Gibson who was sleeping and Lily and Owen were cuddled on the bed together, getting some Mommy-Owen time and Jessie's spending the night with them.

Oh. He weighed 9 lb., 2 oz. and he is 20 inches long. He has a lot of black hair and perfect little bow-lips. He has peed and he has pooped. I think he is also talking. I am sure I heard him say, "Ma," and also, "nurse."

I hope Lily gets some rest. She's going to need it. I hope that Gibson (it feels so weird to call him that) continues to be a good nurser. I hope that Owen falls in love with the baby and goes to sleep sweetly tonight.

After it was all over, Lily said, "Some of those contractions really hurt."
I about cracked up. I told the midwife that and she laughed, too.
Lily was born to have babies, obviously.

I feel so incredibly grateful and blessed. It was such a perfect birth.
I told Diana after it was over that when I met her, I knew that everything was going to be wonderful and she said that when she met Lily, she knew the same.
I can't say enough about the joy of having a home birth. Of the bliss of a baby being born at home with his mama and his daddy and his aunties around him and a good, good midwife.


I asked Jason if he liked the home birth. He said he did. That it was awesome to be able to catch the baby himself instead of having to sit up by Lily's shoulder and having to wait until some doctor told him he could touch his son.

It's that and it's so much more.

My baby had a baby today on the first day of spring and it was as prosaic and as miraculous as anything you have ever imagined.

Welcome, Gibson. You are loved.