Owen scared the CRAP out of me today. In this house, this big old rambling house which has dozens of closets and trillions of doors to the outside and rooms that wend and wind their way for miles (okay, maybe a LITTLE hyperbole is at work here, but NOT MUCH!) I keep my eye on him pretty much every second. If I can hear him playing in the next room, I might do something like wash a dish and then run go check on him. But today I lost sight of him for maybe an entire minute and a half while the guy who was here to fix the well pump was talking to me and in that amount of time, he'd disappeared. I was FRANTIC and could not find him. I was looking in every room under beds and in closets and checking outside and running around calling him, pleading with him to come out and finally I found him crouched in his grandfather's closet with his hands over his eyes, knowing at that point the plan had gone horribly awry and that no real good was going to come out of it.
I knew, even as I ran from room to room calling him that he was fine. I knew it and yet, my mind could not help but go to all of those insane places that minds go to in such circumstances.
Lord, Lord, Lord.
When I found him I caught him up to me so tight. I smooshed him to me. He spilled his grape juice all over me and said, "Sorry, sorry," and I said, "No. Don't worry about the grape juice but OWEN! you cannot hide from Mer-Mer like that! It scares me so!"
I talked to him. I tried to explain. How do you explain such fear to a two-and-a-half-year old? How? You can't. They cannot understand. Especially if they've never had the experience of not being able to find YOU or their mama or their daddy, ever in their lives.
We settled down in the bed, him a bit chastened and yet, also a bit cocky about it all. He'd caused Mer-Mer to have a huge reaction. He knew it. It wasn't exactly good but it sure was interesting. I told him the Mr. Peep story, he fell asleep. I did too.
Oh, that boy.
Lily's midwife appointment was great. I know I keep saying this but I just adore her midwife. She's not all new-agey and weird about it. She's as sensible and down-to-earth as anyone you'll ever meet. She instills confidence and faith. Bless her. The baby sounded great, Lily is doing great. The midwife did an internal check and the cervix is starting to dilate. Could happen tonight, could happen in a week. Who knows? Not us. But it is good to have encouragement that the process is working. Lily's tailbone feels better and so we believe it is not broken and a little more time for healing would be good.
Also, Jessie is coming in on Thursday.
What a party we are going to have!
A baby-being-born party! What a joyful event it's going to be.
She went on cheerfully to work. Thursday is her last day. Thank goodness!
And so it goes.
It is so still here in Lloyd right now. I mopped the kitchen and although the rest of the house is in dire need of cleaning, at least that one room feels good. Smells good too, like Fabuloso and white vinegar. But it's crazy-sky out there, still as a moment paused in time. Gray and not just with coming-night. One bird calls. The rest are silent. I have rugs in the dryer. Not one leaf flutters. The bees that were here earlier to sip from the blooming wisteria seem to have gone home to the hive. The chickens are scratching for their last tasty bugs and roots before bed. I gave them a styrofoam take-out container with hummus in it and tabouli. They ate the hummus as if they'd had spoons. The tabouli did not interest them so much. Chickens are interesting creatures. When I get the egg cartons out of the recycle thing at Publix, I think it's funny when I see that certain eggs come from vegetarian-fed hens. My hens love bugs more than anything. They are not vegetarians, I'll tell you that.
When I went to take the trash about an hour ago, I saw the goldey hen in the little shed thing where the attendant watches TV and hangs out on a discarded Lazy Boy. He and the hen were hanging out together, having a snack. It made me laugh.
Speaking of chickens, Mr. Moon candled some of our eggs today and saw life for sure (he thinks) in some of the banty eggs. Oh my. They are due to be born on the 25th. First a baby, then baby chicks. I see that some of my cucumbers are sprouting.
Life is happening everywhere. New life popping up and old life continuing on. It is a flat-out miracle. I think of Roseanne and when it was exactly that I fell in love with her. It was when I saw her do stand-up somewhere on the TV and say, "You get home, these kids are alive, I've done my job."
Every mother in the world knows that although that line is funny, it's got more than a germ of truth in it. Someone had spoken the truth.
You get home, these kids are alive, I've done my job.
That is our job, isn't it? To create life and then maintain it.
That pretty much sums it up. The rest is gravy.
Well, the kids are all alive. I've spoken to Jessie and May, and Mr. Moon who is playing cards at the bar where Hank is doing trivia tonight sent me a picture of the two of them and of course I've seen Lily and just talked to her again. She was just getting home from work and I'm sure that right this second she is hugging up her boy to her.
It's still still. I need to go shut up my chickens so that they too will be safe. I do not think it is the calm here before the storm. I think it is just calm.