Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Too Many Words But Cute Pictures Of Baby Boys

Strange day in many ways. Not bad-strange, just different, I guess, and having just written that, I feel like Sarah Silverman in her book The Bedwetter, which I am listening to on CD, illustrating why reading someone else's diary is the most boring thing on earth.

Ah lah.

I am the most boring thing on earth.

Owen and I had some early morning fun but he was soon ready for a nap and of course, would not take one. We'd had oatmeal (meal-meal, he calls it) and dried cherries and played the piano and fed the chickens and the goats.

His technique could use improvement but is quite efficient.

I assure you this is not a face of terror, it is a face of excitement. I think he is speaking with the chickens here.

But the only two chickens who showed any interest in coming outside were Elvis and Shalayla and after they had some corn, they went back into the hen house. And it wasn't even raining.

The goats were of a mood to nibble leaves. They are not always. There is a very large mule who is in another bit of fence right down from the goats and Owen is terrified and fascinated by her. Or him. I don't even know. We could not visit today as the mule was lying down, taking a nap.
I checked.
He wasn't dead.

But then it began to rain and Billy and Waylon came out and why didn't I take a picture of Billy? He is looking so great these days, not that he didn't always, but he's grown a beard and he was wearing new jeans and a snap button cowboy shirt. Fatherhood agrees with him tremendously.

Both of our boys were sleepy and neither one was willing to admit the existence of another baby in the world and so there we were with two hip monkeys and we did take them outside for a little round-the-yard walk and we gawked at the chickens in their house and well, it wasn't the circus but it was what it was and then it began to rain and we brought them in and gave them some lunch and finally, Owen in Waylon's stroller and Waylon on his daddy's chest, they both fell asleep and we put them so carefully and quietly down in the guest room and Waylon slept fifteen minutes and Owen about thirty and then they got up and we went through it all again and finally, they played a little bit.

Waylon is monster-cute. He has little eyebrows that furrow when he's serious and he laughs at his daddy and he is intent when he plays. These ball-thingies were supposed to be some sort of massage tool and I have no idea why we bought them (Jessie probably made me) but now they are baby toys.

And here's Owen, playing with an old remote. Toys stand no chance of being played with if there are real objects around. For the life of me, I don't understand why we buy toys at all. I keep thinking that Owen would have been perfectly happy if he had gotten him a box of sticks for Christmas because
(a) Box
(b) Sticks.

Waylon was wearing his "that's what she said," t-shirt which cracked me up.
If you don't get it, don't worry. But if you do, you know it's sort of funny.

It rained and it poured and at one point, Owen ran away from me and I found him in the mud room, kneeling on the floor and looking out the glass of the door at the rain falling outside. It was so beautiful it almost broke my heart. The tiny boy, looking at the rain.

It finally let up some and Billy and Waylon left with the Christmas presents which have been waiting here since, oh, Christmas, and Waylon finally got his quilt.
Yes. His life is now complete.

And then Lily came to get her boy and he was so happy to see her. "Ma-ma," he says, and reaches out to her and before too long he's reaching down her blouse and she says, "When we get home," and he's fine with that.
After they left I tidied up some and then fell in my bed and slept for a little over two hours. I was that beat, I was that tired. I woke up and it was dark and I was disconcerted and confused and finally I got up and Mr. Moon is out tonight, playing poker and the rain is falling and since I had thawed a piece of deer roast I made soup and I have no idea why. I no more want to eat soup than I want to fly to the moon in this cold rain but there it is- a pot the size of a water buffalo's head on my stove, bubbling away with meat and vegetables and I guess it smells nice. I put lots of celery in it. Celery is the most Republican vegetable in the world, if you think about it. Bland and stringy and full of water but sometimes I like that about it. I doubt anyone ever got heartburn from eating celery. It's seeds are tasty as well.

Mr. Moon asked me tonight on the phone if I have the sausage seasonings taken care of.
Fuck no.

Well, that's why they invented the internet.

I wonder why I can operate a computer when I can't operate my TV remote. I tried earlier and nothing worked and then Owen started pushing some buttons on the front of the TV and well, it's hopeless. And it would be such a good evening to sit and knit and watch something ridiculously mindless, the rain falling down while the soup simmers, a universe in a pot of deer meat and onions, garlic and leftover collards and tomatoes, green beans, squash, lentils, potatoes, corn and celery and carrots.

I think I know why I made the soup- my heart has been all over the place and my soul has been uneasy and if there is anything more soothing than cutting up vegetables and sauteing cubes of deer meat in a pot, then I don't know what it is.
Maybe heroin.
I would not know and for that I am eternally grateful.

Well. That's me tonight in excruciating detail. I would apologize but this is my blog and I write what I want.

Stir the soup. Look up recipes for sausage. Go back to bed and read a few pages of Keith Richard's autobiography. Wake up when the husband comes home. Take deep breaths and be grateful, settle in to the rhythm of his breathing.

Another day.



  1. Those boys.....they are going to be a real handful when they grow up......can anyone say Ladies Man (times two)

  2. I loved that image of Owen kneeling in the mud room watching the rain, broke my heart too, the way you described it and how it moved you.

    That W sure is cute.

    Glad you made soup instead of using heroin. Good move.

    Love you.

  3. Sounds like a good day. I will take my soup without any heroin too.

  4. That does it! I'm gettin' a t-shirt too! If a baby can wear it, I can too! He's a charmer and Owen's cheeks are like, well, I don't know but I want to squish them!

    I can't agree with you on the celery though. I can deal with a hint in dressing or soup but I cannot tolerate it raw. And no seeds. Evil things the seeds. They put them in slaw. Can't stand it.

  5. Rebecca- I have a feeling you're right.

    Bethany- I am watching Owen's body, brain and soul develop and it is amazing.

    Syd- Well, it is easy for me to say that soup is better than heroin, never having done any. Which is why I say, thank God!

    Ms. Trouble- Get the T-shirt!
    As to celery- I never eat it raw. Ever. Must be cooked. And the seeds I mostly use in soups and so forth, too. But sometimes, in a slaw dressing with yogurt and honey and vinegar. I like that okay. But we all have our own tastes.

  6. Catching up and had finally quit snorting with laughter from reading your Walking And Chewing Gum At THE SAME TIME! post when I have to start all over again with

    (a) Box
    (b) Sticks.

    You rock Ms. Moon.

    (Glad Miss Kathleen had a good day - $5 overalls? You've got to be kidding)

  7. Owen looks great in his flannel and overalls.

    You're right, most toys are a waste at their age. They lose interest in an object so quickly anyway. My nephews loved pots and pans more than anything.

  8. Wait. Celery is something Republican? That is so exact, I practically fell over in my desk chair. Except Republicans DO give heartburn -- or "agita" as we Italians like to say!

    And you never, ever bore me. Ever.

  9. What-Ho, Fuck No is now my new mantra.

  10. Yes yes celery is Republican! I love that. It may be my own weird bumper sticker.

    My oldest is hot-glue gunning shells to a cereal box by my feet. It is 6:45 AM. This is totally normal.

  11. Can't believe how grown up they are getting. Walking, running, playing, refusing naps! I can't wait till they're old enough to run for office. I'm sick of the idiots we keep getting.

    RE the uneasiness... I think something is in the air. I feel it too. Although there are actual reasons for both of us to feel uneasy, I don't think this weather is very inspiring either.

    Enjoy that soup.

  12. Oh so many things I love: The overalls, the red converse shoes, how sweet Owen is! That day sounds intense and yet good : ) Soup sounds good actually, I may make some myself.

  13. Totally laughed when I read "That's what she said" on the shirt! Also, I cried when I read the sweet comments from your children on your last post. You've created such a good life around you. Oh, and your soup making rubbed off on me--I made 4 kinds in past week.

  14. Jucie- One should never pay more than five dollars for overalls.

    Mel's Way- And yet, we feel compelled to spend big bucks on colorful, educational toys.

    Elizabeth- I knew the celery/Republican thing was not an exact metaphor but it had to be said.

    Omgrrrl- Glad you liked it. I did too.

    Nancy C- I still don't know how to operate a hot glue gun.

    Ms. Fleur- I don't know if it's the weather. I think it's just the world.

    Amber Elise- Owen is a very smartly dressed little farm boy, isn't he?

    Michele R- My kids are the very best in the world. I am glad you are making soup.

  15. Thanks for the photos of Owen in his overalls. They made me smile.

    Love you, my Mary Moon.


  16. Celery raw is good for the jaw,
    but celery stewed is more quietly chewed.

  17. Don't feel bad. I couldn't operate a TV remote if my life depended on it.

    And, boy, that Owen is getting so very big!

  18. This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.


Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.