Well. Someone is going to be getting a phone call that is going to change their life and I am sorry for that. It is never good, any situation requiring all of those rescue vehicles.
My husband called me today but the call was dropped twice and I got so frustrated I didn't even do the "are you there? are you there?" thing but simply hung up. Fuck it. I hate talking to dead space. We're going to be FUCKED when we let go of all of our land lines- trust me on this one. Cell towers will never be as reliable as copper wire and when those towers go down, which they do and they will, we'll all wish we had land lines with phones that plug directly into them with no electricity involved.
I had a good day with the boys. Owen is almost entirely using the potty now. He is even staying dry through the night. And he doesn't like to be reminded to use the potty. He just wants to go when he needs to go and god bless him. He also does not want me to witness his efforts but always wants a hug of congratulations afterwards. He is proud of himself. And rightly so. Of course my bathroom smells a bit like the men's room at the Texaco station but a little Fabuloso takes care of that.
And Gibson is crawling. He can go wherever he wants to go.
Lily told me that last night when they told Owen he was coming to my house today he said, "After bed, then I go to Mer Mer's?"
"Yes," they told him.
"And I watch the sun come up at Mer Mer's?"
"Yes," they said.
He points out to me when the sun rises. "I told you!" he tells me with great delight. "I told you the sun come up!"
He's always right about that. It does.
So yes, we watched the sun come up together and Gibson, too, and Owen ate Chex Mix and smoothie for breakfast and then Chex Mix and sliced apples and string cheese for lunch.
He played with the duckweed-filled pond some and dropped a big rock in it and I thought he'd fallen in and I freaked out but he had not. This is the second time he's done this to me. You'd think I'd learn.
The flamingo still floats on the bed of duckweed. It's a "feature" now, I think. A garden feature. Indicating not good taste or even whimsy but pure and simple laziness.
After Owen dropped the rock, the duckweed splattered him all over. He looked like this.
Tiny petals of green ornamenting his perfect skin.
When his daddy left this morning, he wanted the hug and kiss he always gets and he said, "You no kiss me and hug me at Grandma's yesterday."
Jason said, "But I didn't leave you there. I stayed with you."
"Oh yeah," he said.
Kisses are important to Owen and so are hugs. They are part of the ritual. They are what makes his world safe. He has no idea how lucky he is.
I know how lucky we are.
Here's a rare picture of Gibson being serious. Could you die over those eyebrows? Oh, my little monk-man.
We fed goats and chickens today and played chase and walked through the bamboo forest and found camellias and played in my office and on all of the porches and he laid out a game of cards.
He has no interest in the sides of the cards with numbers and faces. He only wants the lizards and I admire the way he lays them out. I have no idea what the rules of this game are and I don't think he does either but one of the main ones seems to be Don't let Gibson get them.
Around one-thirty, we all fell asleep on the couch. I got Gibson to sleep and then Owen leaned up against me and he fell asleep and that was a sort of heaven. All of us huddled and cuddled together. We were all there when Lily came to get the boys and they woke up and were in a different sort of heaven- Mama's Here Heaven. I gave Lily some chicken pot pie (or, as Owen called it, chicken poop pie) and some of the hippie apple cake I made last night as therapy. So full of fruit and fiber one can hardly call it cake but it is good anyway and my house still smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg and apples this morning so it has served its purpose.
And after all of the good-bye kisses and hugs were given and the Gibson hand-wavings were done and his buh-buh's were said, they left and I came in the house and slowly cleaned up and washed dishes and watched Some Of Those Real Housewives Of Beverly Hills and let me just say this- Gelsey Grammar is a hard-hearted son-of-a-bitch. Yeah, sure, his ex-wife looks like a lolly-pop stick with boobs but still. He keeps marrying the same women, over and over and having kids with them and one of these days, he's going to swell up like the toad he is and explode and what good are his Grammys, his Tonys going to be then?
Who knows? Not me. Who cares? Not me either.
I don't really know shit.
I do know that I hope that whatever accident occurred out near Highway 27 tonight did not end in death or deaths or even horrible injuries. I hope that whatever happened was not fatal.
Life and death just keep on happening, don't they?
I'm okay today. It was good for me to have the boys here. I'm not great, but I'm okay. And tomorrow I'll take the dogs to the groomer and I might even have a rehearsal at the Opera House tomorrow evening and on Wednesday I have the boys again for a little while and on Thursday I get my teeth cleaned and will take my mother back to the eye doctor. She had an appointment for today but I'd forgotten to write it down on my calendar (Calling Dr. Freud!) and of course she forgot. She called me to tell me that we'd forgotten it and as she almost always does and has done, for years and years, called herself my daughter. "Hello, Mary, this is your daughter."
I say, "Hi, Mom!" and we go on from there.
Anyway, see? My week looks fairly full from here and I am just like a normal person, which, I believe, is a mythical creature not unlike the fairy, the ogre, the mermaid, the angel, the leprechaun, the alux or Keith Richards.