In the name of honesty and of truth I will admit to you that I am so tired.
So is the grandfather.
We're just not as snappy as we were even a few years ago.
I thought that last night was going to kill us. By the time bath time rolled around and we'd put in a very full day already and there was still the kitchen to clean up and Gibson and Maggie to bathe, put in pajamas, read to, get in bed, and then hopefully coaxed into relaxing enough to sleep we were overwhelmed.
I did not have the ingredients for purple cows so I put them in the bathtub and gave them each a cherry popsicle. This seemed perfect to me. They could relax in the warm water and eat their frozen confections and not have to worry about the inevitable drips. It worked out very well.
"Have you ever eaten a popsicle in the bathtub?" I asked them.
They looked at me as if perhaps I'd lost my mind but, whatever, and they ate their popsicles.
Okay. Here's something that Gibson said last night at supper that cracked me up so hard.
"When I grow up, I'm going to live in London!"
He made this announcement the way Gibson makes all of his announcements which is to say as if there would be no doubt as to the veracity and seriousness of his words.
"Why do you want to live in London?" I asked him.
"So I can listen to Big Ben!" he said.
He was being completely serious.
When he heard that his Boppy had lived in London for about six weeks once he was thrilled.
"Did you hear Big Ben?" he asked, astonished. Hear, not see, mind you.
"I did," said his Boppy.
Gibson was blown away. I told him about our friend Steve Reed who lives in London. This, too, astonished him. His dream was possible!
I think he's recently seen Mary Poppins which may have been the impetus for this life goal.
Whatever, I would not be surprised at all to see him move to London some day. Gibson will find a way.
He is reading very, very well. He read Professor Wormbog to me last night and today he read me Corduroy, one of his favorite books. There's no stumbling or hesitation. I'm a bit amazed.
Maggie "read" Five Little Monkeys to us last night. There is nothing that her brothers do that she cannot do, at least in her mind. The girl knows that story backwards and forwards. I was proud of them both.
I got Gibson tucked into the bed in the guest room with his water and a fan because he says that he always "overheats" at night.
He also needed a light and I left one on and I promised I'd come and check on him in a little while. I did and he was fast asleep. I pulled the sheet off of his head and kissed him and put the sheet back over his head and when he asked me this morning if I had indeed checked on him, I told him that yes, I had and it was the truth.
Maggie did not want to get in her bed at all.
"I want to cuddle you, Mer!"
"Not now, Maggie," I told her, being cruel and heartless out of sheer exhaustion. "It's time to get in bed. I love you."
And I kissed her and gave her her sleeping companions- the lamb and the big bear and by golly, she fell asleep too.
She woke up around one, crying, calling my name and she said she had to go pee so I got up and tried to shake my old creaky body awake enough to take her to the bathroom and we did that and then she begged me to lay down with her and so I did but after a little time had passed I told her that there just was not room on that little bed for me and I got up and she said, "I want my mommy. I want to go home," and I said, "Well, I'm sorry, you can't. Go back to sleep."
And she did.
Both children were awake by eight this morning and so I got up and gave them each a little glass of smoothie left over from the one their grandfather had blended up this morning (I make it the night before and he whirls it before he goes to the gym) while I had some coffee and went from Stage Zero (dead asleep) to Stage Three (barely functional) and then I made them some pancakes and the day had begun.
After breakfast Maggie helped me with the chickens and gave them their scratch and then we went to visit the goats next door.
In case you're wondering- she was carrying books in that suitcase. The goats did come over finally and we fed them some leaves. She kept calling them donkeys. I would correct her and say, "Honey, they're goats," and eventually she just called them "animalys" which was fine.
We had a tea party a little later on.
We played matching game and both Gibson and Maggie played with themselves with toys and they also played a rousing game of tag and oh, god- I wonder where they left the flashlight. I meant to ask them that before they left. Whoever was "it" got to use it.
Lily sent me this picture.
Her happy big boy with his new hoodie. I showed the picture to Gibson and asked, "Have you missed your brother?"
"Yes," he said. "I even cried a little last night in bed."
I'm pretty sure that this is not even remotely true but it does sound good.
When I knew that Lily was getting close to picking up her younger two on her way home I told them that they were going to have to help me clean up all of the toys. Maggie completely ignored me but look what Gibson did-
He cleaned up the entire Glen Den in a matter of minutes and when I tell you that the thought of simply picking up all of the Lincoln Logs made me want to weep, I am not kidding. I was SO proud of him and he was, as you can see, quite proud of himself.
He is the sweetest boy and honestly, Maggie is a cupcake herself. She tells me out of the blue at least once an hour, "I love you, Mer!" and comes and hugs me. She is just so dang beautiful with that curly hair and those intense brown eyes. She is completely at home in her own body and spent a good part of the day naked except for perhaps a hat.
When Lily got here, Gibson and Maggie ran outside to hug Owen and when he hugged Maggie he said, "I love you!" and she knows that. She knows without a doubt that she is loved. As do all three of those kids.
Owen hugged me too and thanked me for the card I'd sent him and said it was awesome. I'm glad he got it.
After they drove away I did a little more tidying and then I went and laid on my bed and read some and then I put the book down and closed my eyes and I was gone into sleep.
It is horrible hot and hideously humid and tomorrow is the 4th of July. The Dick-tater is getting his show of military force parade in our nation's capitol, making a joke of what the holiday is all about. Not that he understands that.
Not that he cares.
Meanwhile- well- you know.
Kids are still in cages.
I won't be wearing red white and blue tomorrow, I can assure you. Nor will I be making a 4th of July cake with strawberries and blueberries arranged as the flag. Or grilling out or going to the beach (oh god- can you imagine the number of people who will be there?) or even the river (same-same). I'll just be here in Lloyd, hoping that a mighty storm obliterates all traces of Trump's homage to himself and that all of the people who bought tickets to that ridiculous and horrifying event are drenched with rain and traumatized by the thunder and lightening.
And I'm absolutely not ashamed to say that either.
Y'all all be safe.