I walked into the Glen Den this afternoon after getting Gibson down for a nap to see Owen standing on his head on the couch watching Daniel Tiger or whatever that Mr. Roger's spin-off show is. Which, let me just say, is an awesome show. I've only really watched it once but the message that it was pushing that day has stuck with me and I have remembered and used it more than once and the message was that when you have to go to the bathroom, you need to STOP whatever you're doing, go to the bathroom, flush, wash your hands, and go back to what you were doing. Because no one wants bathroom accidents to happen to them.
Mostly I think about this on my walks and because of circumstances I can skip the flushing and washing of hands but dammit, sometimes I really do need to duck off the path and pee and I now think of Daniel Tiger when I do that. And then I think about Mr. Rogers and what a saint he was and anyway, dammit, where was I headed with this?
Do you think I have early-onset Alzheimers? I'm a little worried about that.
It's Friday night and Mr. Moon and I have had a porch martini and I'm about to go cook our supper. I had a good time with those boys today and if I listed everything we did, it would take about ten thousand words so I won't do that but I will say that at one point I heard myself saying to Owen, "If you can't play by the rules then we're not going to play," and I just wanted to shoot myself but dammit, I meant it.
We were playing Candy Land. He wanted to only go on the red spaces because he is the red Power Ranger and I get that logic but this was Candy Land.
So we eventually did get through an entire game (sort of) and he won so it was a good experience for both of us.
We play lots of games, Owen and I do. My favorite one these days is the one where I'm sitting on the bed and he's standing on it and he's holding his arms up and I say, "NO! Don't knock me over with your love!" and then he rushes towards me and knocks me over and I grab him up and wrap myself around him and we laugh and laugh and then he stands up and I say, "Help me up," and he does and then we do it again. Gibson sits on the bed and watches us. He is amused. Almost everything amuses Gibson. God, I love that baby.
So Owen was also playing that he is dying these days. He throws himself down on the bed or the floor and says, "I am dying!" and I say, "Oh, Owen. Don't do that. It makes me too sad," but he continues to do it and he lays still for a few seconds and then he jumps up with his hands facing outward and says, "I ALIVE," and then he grabs me and hugs me and kisses me and I tell him how happy I am that he is alive and then he hugs his baby brother (who is always right there beside us) and it's a freaking love-fest. I don't know what Owen really understands about dying. We talked today about how Buster is getting old and Owen said, "You need take him to the doctor," and I told him that everything gets old and that doctors can't do anything about that and I reminded him of Pearl, our old boxer who basically raised Owen and who died. I think Owen has a wisp of a memory of that.
It's odd to think that someday Owen is going to have to deal with the fact that I've died. I mean, it's one thing to think of my kids having to deal with that, but it's another to think of Owen having to. I can't get all emotional about it, I'm just thinking that the reality is, it's going to happen.
Here's what I hope- that long after I'm gone he'll think of me and be flooded with the knowledge that he was so incredibly loved by me. Gibson too. And whoever else gets born between now and then. And all of my babies.
I'm not depressed at all. I'm just thinking of these things pragmatically and knowing that hellfire, it's gonna happen. So really? What I'm talking about is living in such a way that the babies remember how much you loved them.
All right. Time to make supper.
Yours truly...Ms. Moon