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.