It Doesn't Take A Whole Lot To Delight Me

All right. You see that picture? You see that bird at the bird feeder? That is not a crow, folks. That is BABY! She flew right up there this morning and started eating the bird seed. That crazy chicken! I love her more every day. She's had a lot of excitement today and I'll discuss that here in a bit.

Lily and the boys came out and Gibson immediately perked up and wasn't fussy one darn bit

 and his fever was gone and Lily got to take a bath in my beautiful bathtub and I played with the boys and then she got out of the tub and we both played with the boys, or rather, let Owen entertain us which he is so very good at. His imagination is getting better than L Ron Hubbard's and let me just say that when you go on a plane ride with Owen to Marco's Pizza, he will give you a suitcase and he will tell you to fasten your seatbelt and put on your helmet and then, the plane will threaten to crash over and over again but Owen will save you by fixing the batteries and the holes in the plane and all will be well. It's a MIRACLE! I tell you.

And then Lily laid down for a nap on my bed and she slept for an hour and I got Gibson to sleep and took him in to sleep with her and they slept for two more hours and Owen and I had a very, very good time together. I got so many good hugs and kisses and I-love-you's.

Here is Owen making hot lava. I have no idea where he came up with this idea but it involves juice and water and at least three glasses to pour the mixture back and forth in. As you can see, it is a very serious enterprise.

I also have to say that there was quite a bit of hot lava spillage to the point where I took away all of the juice and water and then he did some painting, but mostly on his face.

Later on in the afternoon, I suddenly heard a falsetto crowing which was definitely NOT Elvis and we went out to investigate and there, lo and behold! was Fancy, the banty rooster we'd raised and who'd gone to live with the chickens next door. I think he was trying to recruit Baby or at least trying to fuck her and he did his Fancy fancy dance around her but she was having none of it.

He hung around and acted like he'd never left but when it came time to roost, Elvis chased him off a little way in a sternly authoritarian manner. I wonder if he'll be back tomorrow. We'll see. I was just telling Mr. Moon yesterday that I haven't seen Elvis top a hen in a long time and I don't know if that's because he's getting older or because it's winter or what, but for whatever reason, he's not getting much these days. That I'm seeing, anyway. But he's still a fabulous husband to the sister-wife hens and keeping an eye on each and every one and if we give him treats, he drops them and calls for the hens to come and get them. He is SUCH a good rooster.

And so that was my day which was filled with little boys and chickens and silliness and fun and cuddles and kisses and you can't beat that. Or at least I can't. Hillary Clinton probably got a lot more accomplished than I did today although I did do two loads of laundry and I seriously doubt Hillary did THAT. I've got chicken simmering on the stove with celery and carrots and garlic and onions and I'm going to make dumplings to go in there too and there's arugula for me to make salad from that I picked in the garden.

So I better get busy.

Yours truly...Mer Mer Moon

Holy Heck!

Goodness gracious, it's been a day of plenty. 

I took my walk and after I took it, I could still walk. This, in itself, is a very good thing and one that does not happen frequently. Why is it that after a weekend of eating CRAZY foods and indulging in beverages I feel much better than after a week of eating All Healthy And Shit and being as sober as a little judge?
Don't ask me. But it is something I have noted so frequently that it does make me wonder.

I went to Publix where not only is shopping a pleasure, but where I know half the people who work there due to the fact that Lily works there and I had to talk and catch up with everyone and as I have said recently, talking to people at Publix just about sums up my social life and I ain't complaining. There are some VERY interesting and dear people who work at that Publix. And then, when I was leaving, I ran into a guy I've known since I was about six years old. I am not kidding you. I knew him in Roseland. His father was the minister at Roseland Gardens Community Church where we went every Sunday and where my mother sang in the choir. It was a pretty liberal church and I don't remember the minister ever once mentioning hell and he tried to integrate the church somewhere around 1964 which was pretty radical and I'll never forget the young black fellow I met there who taught me to whistle a tune through my thumbs and I can still do that. Also, this guy I ran into? His mama was my favorite teacher I ever had in my entire life and that's not a lie. If I have one belief in myself, she is at least 66% responsible. My god. She was such a wonderful teacher. And a beautiful woman with a bosom like a ship's figurehead. She got her teaching certificate at the age of eighteen or something crazy like that back when they had "normal school." She was born to be a teacher and there was nothing that ever ruffled her feathers except for when JFK got shot and she cried. She was my 4th grade teacher that year and she was also my second grade teacher and thank god for that. Anyway, her son, this guy I ran into in the parking lot of Publix, is a sweet old hippie man and we had a lovely reunion right there, surrounded by cars, talking about our families and I cried. I just cried, talking about my family and how blessed I am with my kids, my grandkids, my husband, my life. He's never had kids and he's estranged from his sister and we talked about how sad it is when things like that happen. How blood-fucking sad. But he seems to be doing well and I am glad for that. He's a good soul and that's just the honest truth.

Then I came home and Jason and the boys were already here and I grabbed up Gibson and kissed him soundly and I chased Owen around the house and he showed me his tooth fairy that he'd gotten at McDonald's and the next four hours were a whirlwind of boys, boys, boys. The chickens had come into the backyard and we sat on the steps and fed old bread to them and the dogs and ourselves. It wasn't that long ago that Buster would have chased those chickens and tried to feed himself on them but now he's old and mostly blind and pretends to ignore them and just eats the bread. Gibson will eat anything and in fact, demands to be given anything that he perceives may be food. That boy is growing so fast. He can crawl like a demon and he can pull up on anything and he does. He can hold on to the coffee table with one hand and bend down and pick things up off the floor and he was wearing his blue jeans that are sort of like a cross between farmer jeans and Mom jeans with their elastic waist and his butt was as big as Jennifer Lopez's with his diaper in it and I just kept cracking up, looking at him.

Boppy came home to get ready to go to auction in Orlando and I snatched a few pictures.

These two got a good thing goin' on. Gibson especially likes being kissed by his Boppy due to the tickly facial hair. I hold him and he leans into me and smiles a smile that could end war when his grandfather kisses him. It's sort of like the best thing I've ever experienced in my life.

Jason was here cutting up a deer and Owen decided to step into the big cooler (which was clean- I assure you) to make a new house.

The child will NOT put his shoes on the right feet. But hell- he doesn't care so why should I?

Check this out.

Doesn't Owen look like he's about old enough to get a driver's license and drive that truck home? 

Here's another. 

Boppy and Owen are smushing Gibson with their love. 

After Boppy left we played and played. We played in my office for awhile where there's a fan that when set on high, can lift the rug right off the floor. This delighted Owen tremendously and that was good for at least a half an hour. He wanted to read a book- Anne Tyler's Ladder of Years- and insisted that he COULD read it if he wore my glasses. I let him try. 

He accidentally pulled down the curtains in his grandfather's bathroom and he stood there, enveloped by them and said, "It okay!" knowing that yes, it was okay. His grandmother never gets mad at him. Not really. Then he proceed to strip the curtains off the skinny spring rod they're on and started using that to exercise. He lifted that two-ounce rod like it was a fifty-pound bar, squatting and grunting with each lift. I laughed so hard I thought I'd choke.

It was the best example of a I-meant-to-do-that I've ever seen, him pulling those curtains down. He did, at one point, say, "Boppy going to be SO mad," so he knew that really, he had sort of screwed up. But honestly, there IS no screwing up at Mer Mer and Boppy's and he is aware of that. He gets away with anything and everything and we hug him up and kiss him and tell him we love him, and that's that.

He has a new thing he says which is "Holy Heck!" Now where he got that, I have no idea. Maybe from his fairly religious other grandmother. Wherever he got it, it's pretty funny and thank god he doesn't say, "Holy Shit!" which is what he'd say if I didn't muzzle myself when he's here. 

So Jason finished cutting up his deer and they left and I tidied up the house and Mr. Moon just called to tell me he made it to Orlando safely and I'm going to eat that leftover beef and the roasted red pepper pesto. I just talked to my mother on the phone and she sounded happier than she's sounded in a long time and so all-in-all, I feel pretty good. Tomorrow I'm going to mop some floors because they are so filthy that after Jason bathes the boys tonight he's going to have to clean out the tub but at least there won't be any rose petals to get rid of although the next time Gibson poops there may be oak leaves involved.

And that's the report from Lloyd where a grandmother got her boys and it was a day of plenty.

And I will sleep good tonight. 

Owen And Gibson

My boys. Oh, my baby boys. How they love each other. Gibson will just laugh and laugh at his brother and Owen will do anything to make him laugh. Tickle him, make faces, kiss him.

We were sitting on the couch in the library looking at a Good Dog Carl book and I was holding Gibson and Owen insisted that no, he should hold Gibson, and he did, his arms wrapped around him, tightly and safely, and that's a moment I want to remember.

I was so tired today but sometimes, being tired is exactly what I need in order to slow down and pay attention. I moved slowly through the day, fixing a lunch for Lily and me and Owen and we ate and we changed diapers and we played on the bed and we swung on the porch swing, the mosquitoes mercifully depleted in number. When Lily had to go to work, Owen hugged her so hard and he's growing up so fast. He gets jokes now, or at least simple ones that we come up with, and he is understanding the underlying way of things and he is just so damn loving and so damn sweet and funny. Okay, yes, he still growls like a monster sometimes but when he does that, Gibson laughs and laughs so he's getting a bit of positive feedback on that one. He can't wait to go Trick or Treating and get candy and he told me that a witch monster was going to steal his candy. He has a very rich imaginary world going on, that boy.

We took Gibson over to see the goats and the chickens next door and I showed Gibson Miss Flopsie on the nest. He was fascinated. He can scoot backwards now and gets so frustrated because what he really tries to do is not crawl but to stand up because (and I know this is true) he wants to run after his brother. If you hold him up he bounces and bounces and bounces and I can just feel his legs getting stronger and ready for walking. He will hold his arms out for people now and he looks at us with longing, loving eyes, that beautiful little boy, until we pick him up and smooch him fiercely. He ate apples slices sitting up in his high chair while we had our lunch but I think he really wanted our tuna casserole.

Oh. They are growing up. They are getting big. They are so entirely perfect in my eyes.

Yes. This is a grandmother post, pure and simple. I am a fool for those children and when I see the way their parents love them and take care of them, I am humbled and awed. When I see the way my husband loves on them I love him even more.

This is something, this grandmothering, even when I am so very tired, because they are not my babies but they are my babies and when I asked Owen if I could take their picture in front of the big tree, he posed with Gibson and held his hand and the shadows dappled them and the tree dwarfed them but not really because they are pure light and love.

And I am so grateful for them and every kiss and every hug and every smooch and every smile and every puzzle and every game and every conversation and yes, even every diaper and yes, even every POOPY diaper because their bodies are perfect and it is a joy to give them clean bottoms and it is all a joy and I am going to sleep very, very well tonight and I do not feel mean or bitter at all now.
Not one bit.

He Made A Wish

 The child would NOT pose for a picture. Okay. That's a lie. He posed for this one.

Nice, Owen. Very nice. He got new teeth today. A bit horrifying but that's a three-year old for you.

I snatched this one of him tasting the frosting on his cake.

Auntie May was looking on. That's about as much cake as he ate, too. But he was very patient and even suggested that everyone should finish their cake and ice cream before he opened presents. I was not only impressed, but shocked. He really is a sweet boy. 

It was a good party. His mama and daddy, two grandmothers, two great-grandmothers, a grandfather, two aunts, an uncle, a new baby cousin, his best friend Waylon, Billy and Shayla and a few other friends. 

And his brother. Who desperately wanted to eat his grandfather's iPhone. 

He got lots of cool presents and I think his favorite was a Mr. Potato Head set. A giant Mr. Potato Head with Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head inside along with all sorts of new and awesome Potato Head accessories. Let me just say that Mrs. Potato Head is hot, hot, hot these days. She is bangin' in that blond wig of hers. Trust me.

Man. I'm tired.

And tomorrow is Lily's birthday. She and I are going to go get pedicures. I need to go rest up for that.

Night, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

Our Birthday Boy

 Owen is three today. Three years old. How is this even possible? 
And when I ask that question, I don't mean how did he get to be three so quickly, what I mean is- he's only been here for three years? On this earth? In our lives?

When I had my first child, I realized that in some way, in some realm, it seemed as if he had always, always been here. Yes, of course I could remember the time before when he wasn't, but, somehow, once I'd met him, I realized that in some way, he had always been here. Just not palpable, perhaps, but still, very much a part of my universe. And I am not a woo-woo person. It just surely felt that way.
And then did again when each of my babies were born and now, I have the same feeling about Owen and his brother Gibson, too.

Yes, their physical presence is relatively new, but their spirits- well. Let's just say that I recognized them immediately at their births.

Three years ago today. There they were. The brand new family. Don't Lily and Jason look like, "Yep, he's here! Our Owen is finally here!"?

So now, of course, I've just been going through old pictures and my god, the child has been such a happy and beautiful little soul for his entire life. 

Every stage of it. I could put one million pictures in here because that's how many I have. Not so many lately because he's learned to hate the camera. But occasionally he will still pose. Mostly with his brother. 

He's so gorgeous, that grandson of mine and he's brought us so much joy. Not just his mama and his daddy but his Mer-Mer and his Boppy, of course. He snatched our hearts out and kept them in his pocket from his first breath.

And of course, his uncle and aunties all adore him. In fact, Owen's entire life has been about being adored. 

 And I think that has a lot to do with the kind of person he is which is a wild, loving person. A curious and demanding and sweet and funny and glorious kind of person.

Yesterday he told his mama that he loves Baby and that he does not want her to put him back in her belly but that we should keep him always.

We feel the same about Owen.

We shall keep him always and he shall keep us. He and his brother both are the latest and most tangible of the heartstrings which bind us all together because in adoring them, we adore each other and we see the love in ever more visible ways.

Happy Birthday, Owen Curtis Hartmann. You are three years old. As impossible as that seems, it is the truth.

You are loved. You are beloved. You are our destiny, our fate, and our joy.

Happy, happy birthday. We'll see you tonight.

Love...Mer Mer

Gibson Gets A Gig

Well, Gibson Monroe did something today at the age of approximately three months and a week that I have never done in my life.

The child made money at an acting gig.

Not a LOT of money, but it was money. HE HAD A PAID GIG!

Freddy was filming some baby food commercial (all organic!) and needed a baby. We happened to have one. It was awesome. Gibson appeared to be a natural on camera. We shall see, of course, if the video camera loves him as much as the regular camera does.
I went with Lily and I stayed with Owen who napped in the car for most of the shoot but I got to see some of it. Everyone, of course, loved our baby boy. Freddy was holding him and goo-gooing him and jingling keys for him even when he didn't need a smile for the camera.

"How many babies have you held, Freddy?" I asked.
"Are you kidding? After this one, uh, one."
Then he said that no, really, he'd held lots of babies.

Mmmm...

But before we left, after the shoot was over, he asked if he could hold him one more time. As if he didn't already have my heart by calling me "mama." Then he asked his girlfriend if she wanted to hold him. She did.
Again I say, "Mmmmmm...."

Like I said, Owen was asleep for most of it but when he woke up I played with him outside for a little bit before Lily and I switched places, she outside with Owen, me in the house with Gibson. And I have to tell you that it struck me again how Owen is growing ever more beautiful every day. I'm not just saying that. He is. He is changing so rapidly from baby to boy that it startles me. It's as if he changes literally in the blink of an eye. He's just...oh god. He's gorgeous.
Yeah, yeah. I'm his grandmother but I am not kidding you. That kid is a stunner. Those eyes!

Ah, what can I say? I'm in love. I'm in love with Owen and I'm in love with Gibson and that's all there is to it. I'm a fool for them, I adore them, I love my entire family more because of them because I see all of their genes in these babies and it's like a big ol' twirly-whirly basket of mixed-up glory.

All right. I'll simmer down now.

It was just a darn good day. I had that great sleep, got up early, took my walk, washed a million and two loads of clothes, got the sheets washed and the bed all made up nice, went to the library, watched Gibson be a movie star, went to the grocery store, came home and did some yard work. Mostly I picked up branches and twigs. After two large Rubbermaid carts of THAT, I came in the house and said, "That is too much like work." I hate to tell you how sore I'm going to be from that "gentle" exercise. But every fucking twig you pick up requires another bend to the ground and I've noticed lately that I'm getting very lazy about bending down to the ground. It's not that I can't, it's just...oh hell. I have to THINK about it before I do it! Getting old sucks the big one.
Well, except for the grandchildren part. I guess that's Old Age's reward.
Something sure as hell has to be.

And I'm grateful for this good day. We have power. Lily and Jason have power. We have food to eat and a house to live in and...
Oh you know. I talk about it all all the time.
Do I have problems? Oh yes, I do. Do I have anxiety? You better believe it. Do I wish I was stronger, more flexible, prettier, thinner, a better wife and a better mother? You bet.

But. That's life.

And I am not staring the gift of this life in the mouth. I'm putting the saddle on and riding down the trail as far as it takes me. Yippie Ki-Yay, motherfuckers, as Bruce Willis said in Die Hard.


And I swear to you, I do not curse in front of my grandchildren. Can you believe that?
It's true. Around them I am tender and loving and my language is pure.
My beautiful grandsons, one of whom earned money today at the age of three months and one week.
First a tooth, and now this.

Amazing. Just...fucking amazing.

This boy astounds me. This boy is learning to do puzzles. The jig-saw kind. This boy is letting me read books to him and he is starting to pretend to read them himself. This boy loves to pretend. This boy helped me wash the dogs today and brushed my hair and gave me a hair-do and played chase with me and he played guitar on his broom while the Rolling Stones CD played and when I danced, this boy DID NOT DIE IN HORROR AND TELL ME TO STOP IT! He just laughed and played his broom some more. Then he played a little piano accompaniment. This boy ran at me today, full speed and grabbed me hard and squeezed and patted me. He fed chickens and helped me pick beans. He washed his own hands and brushed his teeth. 

For quite awhile.

Standing on the step stool that he himself pulled up to the sink.

This boy called out to me when he was in the bathroom, washing and brushing to say, "Mer-Mer! I no hear you. You all right?" which is what we always call out to him when we can't hear him.

He also rode his tricycle down the hallway and pretended to talk on the phone. I think he was ordering pizza. 

This boy is growing up. He is determined and as we walked home from the post office on the railroad tracks he said, "I beat you, Mer-Mer."

Well, as we say around here sometimes, Don't he beat all?

All of that, and he went home with a rock from the rail bed in his pocket and a purple flower that he had picked and also, my heart.

Mr. Moon got home safely from his travels and he got a car for a customer and so it's a good day.
I mean, it was already but that makes it better. Any time my husband gets home safely is a good day, no matter what else happens. He spends a lot of time on the road and of course that scares me.
But.
He is fine.

I opened the door to Ms. Flopsy's nursery cage this afternoon and next thing I know she's scratching around in the coop with the three babies dancing around her. Now this scares me. Anything could get in there and grab those tiny puff balls. We haven't even let the teenaged chickens out into the main coop yet because some of them are still small enough to get through the wire.
Not Curly Sue. That girl (I feel sure she's a hen) is a BIG girl (and she could be a rooster) and she looks like her daddy did when he was her age. The bantys vary in size from almost as big as she is to still-tiny but I know they're bored with that cage. I give them plenty to eat and fresh water and greens from the garden but they want to get out and scratch, as chickens do. I'm not a member of PETA or anything but it does make me sad to think of chickens in factory farms who never get to go out and scratch in the dirt, not once, not ever in their entire hormonally-shortened life. I love seeing my chickens scratch around the yard and making little dirt-baths and fluffing their feathers to get all the sifty dirt up into their bodies which must feel good to them. You can practically hear them sigh with the relief of it. The other day one of the hens was calling and calling for Elvis. She'd gotten separated from the flock and I finally went and hunted him down and he was under my office where it was cool, just hanging with some of his ladies and I said, "Elvis, don't you hear that hen yellin' for you?" and he looked at me like, "Gott DAMN! Can't a man get some rest around here?"
And then, as if he'd understood what I was saying came out and crowed and then went and found her and led her back to the others.
They're so funny, these birds we live with.

Hank's coming out this weekend to take over the chicken chores and Mr. Moon and I are going to take off for a small journey. We are not sure where. Just somewhere where, quite frankly, I will not be in charge of cleaning, cooking, or any other such mundane activity. Not that I don't love my mundane activities- you know I do- but every now and then a girl's gotta go be crazy and stay in a hotel room and use towels she doesn't wash and sheets, the same, and let all that mundane stuff space get filled up with other activities of the more romantic kind. Let her hair down. Be wild and crazy. Or at least, silly.
I am looking forward to that quite a lot.

I hope this is what we do. I seem to be breaking out with some poison ivy and why I thought I could avoid that shit when I spent all that time pulling it on Saturday is beyond me. I did wear gloves and washed up very well after but poison ivy is some strong and toxic stuff and if my hands and arms turn into purulent patches of itchy agony, I will not feel like going anywhere but will be walking around like a zombie on Benedryl and that is not the way to have fun on a road trip. No. It is not. Right now I feel sort of itchy all over my entire body but I am hoping that is merely my hypochondria and not anything based in reality.

Well, here are two more pictures of my boys from today.

 Owen being a monkey on the swing. "I am not a monkey," he told me. "I Owen." Yes, yes, he is Owen. Can you dig the slippers? He chose them himself to wear outside.

Gibson talking with his hands. He's such a goof sometimes, especially in the morning. If he hears and sees his mama, he breaks into huge smiles and he also smiles at shadows on the wall and flirts with them too and he cracks me up. He is wearing his new John Deere onesie that his Boppy got him for one dollar on the clearance rack at the tractor store. Lily says that they drove by there the other day and Owen said, "They have tractors!" and Lily and Jason said that yes, they did, and then Owen said, "I need tractor."

He is is grandfather's grandson.

He told me today that he is a big boy and I agreed that he is but I pointed out that he will be an even bigger boy when he learns to use the potty and doesn't need diapers any more. "Then you can go fishing with Bop on the boat!" I told him.
"No way," he said and he flounced off to go practice his Hai Ya's.

What a rich life I lead.

And now I will go wash the dishes.

Pictures From A Day

 Mr. Gibson Morty McChill Baby.

 Uncle Hank With Gibson

 Owen wearing a willow wreath.

 Owen with a beautiful pony at the Goodwill.

Owen figuring out what a real boy does with a beautiful pony at the Goodwill. He wrestles it to the ground.

This Is What Happened On One Day In This Life

It was an Owen day and it was a good day.
My boy is changing so much and so quickly and I am constantly amazed at what I see and hear and observe in him. He holds his hand out to me to hold and it is a boy's hand now, definitely not a baby's. It is bone and flesh and purpose and the cleverness of the primate, the human.

He immediately wanted to go see the baby chickens when he got here. I had made oatmeal cookies- I finally did my baking- and I thought he'd want one but no, he HAD to go see the chicks and since I had one last batch in the oven, his daddy took him outside to see them. One of them escaped and was running around the little coop and I went out and helped them scoop him up and put him back.
"Chicken running around!" Owen said. He was delighted by this. "Running around EVERYWHERE!"



We did everything together today. We fed the goats some bolted collards and we played Hai Yah! or however you might spell that. We pretend-fished off the porch and I showed him how to hold a stick in his toes. He observed this and then did it too. We were monkeys with our toes. We looked at books, he washed dishes, standing on the step stool that he dragged into place all by himself, he played with his toys, we took a nap with Big Bear. I took him for a wheelbarrow ride, bump, bump, bump. We fed bread to the chickens and Cheerios too. "Here, Elvis, here!" he said, and threw the food. He can say everything. He asked for his Bop and I told him he was off fishing with Aunt Brenda in the boat.
"Nice," he said.
He asked me whose car was in the yard. He knew it wasn't one of ours. I told him it was Brenda's.
"Oh sure," he said.

He knows so much already. He is learning and retaining and he is loving and he is funny and he loved being here. When it was time to take him home, I said, "Owen, your mama misses you. It's time to go home to your house."
"No!" he said. "I stay Mer-Mer's."
Finally I got him ready to leave. He took a bag of cookies with him and a bar of soap that he wanted in another bag. He talked about taking his horse home with him but then he said sadly, "Too big."

On the way home I said, "Owen, Mer-Mer loves you so much."
"Uh-huh," he agreed. He knows.

When we got to his house, he ran in and kissed his mother, his baby brother. Lily asked me to hold Gibson and said, "He needs changing..."
She knows how much I love to change that boy. I took him into the bedroom and Owen raced in. "I help," he said. He perched on the end of the changing table, overlooking the process. He keeps a good eye on his brother. Gibson watches the mobile overhead that his Aunt May made which he loves. It has hearts and birds and bells and it fascinates him. Owen watches Gibson.

When I left, I stuck my head back in one last time to say this:

"Lily, you are such a good mother."

She is. Her house smelled of lentil soup that she was cooking and the cookies she'd made earlier. She had one son at her breast and another by her side.

I came home and tidied up. I rewashed dishes and put away toys. I called Bop at the island. I took Flopsy off the nest and put her out with the food and the water. I do this twice a day. The sun's last rays have changed from gold to silver. It is quiet here in Lloyd.

Listen- there is deep imperfection in this world and doubtless in me as well.
But.
It was a good day filled with many moments of what I can only describe as perfection. They were so small and so prosaic that I wonder if anyone but me would even have noticed them, would have registered them as such.

I do. I did. I am.

It was a good day. It was an Owen day. And he soothed my soul and he made me laugh and you know, for the first time ever since I've been writing this blog, I honestly think about that and hope that one day when he is grown, he can come back and read this and know how much joy he gave his grandmother. How beautiful she saw him to be. How fine.

That's all.

Yours truly...Ms. Moon

My Boys

Yes.

I'm still tired.

Tomorrow will be another day. I am sure of it.

We Are Not Amused

That is a picture of Owen at his first library preschool story-hour.
It did not go well.
As you can see, he is lying under his chair on my sweater but let me add that he is facing away from the story-teller lady. I don't think he was expecting the sort of foolishness he encountered in that room today. I am not sure what he expected, but it was not the horror of what he found there.

First off, there were other children there. Polite children who sat on their chairs and paid attention. Mostly. They trained their eyes on the story-teller lady as she led everyone in songs with attendant hand-motions and so forth. This, to Owen, was the horror of which I spoke. The songs. The singing. The flying of the hands through the air to accompany the songs like birds, like bunnies, like the wheels on the bus, oh my god, the sheer horror and mortification!

When we sing, Owen does not like it. If we try to dance in his presence, he will die. "Stop! Stop!" he will beg us. And we will laugh because it's so funny but I guess it's not funny to Owen.
At the library, he took one of his mother's hands and one of mine in his own hands to prevent us from making the hand movements. Literally. There was nothing he could do about the rest of the people- the polite little girls, the goody-two-shoes little boys, the chortling babies who bounced up and down on their grandmother's laps, the other mothers all sitting in a semi-circle and being serious about the singing, the bunnies, the birds. But he could prevent his mother and me from wiggling our fingers. Oh yes. He could. And he did.

One song ended with the question, "Can you sit very still with your hands folded in your lap?" or something like that.
Under her breath, Lily said, "Probably not," and Owen repeated her loudly. PROBABLY NOT! he said and I think that is when he crawled under the chair.

The book-readings were not quite as agonizing as the songs but frankly, he didn't care much for those either. "Look- a dog!" Lily and I would say and Owen would glance up at the page being pointed to and look away as if to say, "Oh please. You call THAT a dog?" No, he didn't care about the dog or the sunflower or the sheep or whatever the hell the other book was about. Not. One. Bit.

He may have been rolling his eyes.

And then, as if to say enough is enough, he got up and went to the door and opened it.
Lily and I gathered our things (Gibson slept through it all in the little pack thingee on his mama's bosom) and followed him out while all the other children were still paying attention, still being good little boys and girls.

I tried to interest him in the library in a book about a chicken but again, he had no interest whatsoever. I was telling Hank about this and he said, "Why would he need to read a book about chickens? He HAS chickens."

Quite frankly, I was completely amused by the whole experience. I thought it was great. When Lily was Owen's age, she would have acted the same way, except that instead of quietly going to the door and opening it, she would have thrown a leg-kicking tantrum in the middle of everything and I would have had to lift her bodily and haul her from the room myself, feeling judged unfit as a mother by all of the other mothers and the story-teller lady AND the other children.

So I just thought it was funny and an indication that my grandson is not like all the other children, which I already knew, and Lily wasn't upset either. It was, after all, his first experience in a room full of other kids and throw in the mortification of GROWNUPS SINGING IN HIS PRESENCE and well, it just wasn't his cup of tea.

Later on though, we asked him if he'd like to go back next week.

"Oh sure, sure," he said.

I can't wait. I wouldn't miss that for the world.

Beautiful Boys

It was a very fine day. I took my walk and when I got back, Lily and the boys had gotten here and were already settled in the Glen Den, Lily nursing Gibson and Owen playing with his toys. I was hot and sweaty and took a shower after I kissed them and Owen accompanied me and took off his clothes and pretended to take a bath while I took a shower and I put my clothes back on but he did not. This was handy in that every time he needed to pee, he went outside and did it.
As Lily says, he is not yet potty-trained but he is becoming house-broken, and we are proud of that.

Before I took my shower, though, we all went to check on the baby chicks. Once again, Owen said he wanted to hold one, but when the little chick was put in his hand, he didn't really like it. He did pose in front of them though, so that I could take his picture.

I think he is the loveliest two-and-a-half year old in the world. Of course, I am his grandmother and so of course I think that and I SHOULD think that but I honestly do.
"Come here," I tell him all the time. "Let me kiss you."
What IS it about humans and our need to kiss?
Sometimes he lets me. Sometimes he says, "Sorry," and runs on to whatever it is he wants to do next. But sometimes he says, "Sure, sure," and runs over and lets me plant one on him. His mama does the same thing but he ALWAYS kisses her. He kisses Gibson on the head a lot, too. He is quite cheerful these days, Owen is. I think he loves having his mama home all the time.

I made a curried chicken salad and felt like a real lady making real lady food. It was a curried chicken salad with apples and raisins and I served it on mixed greens. La-di-dah food. Owen ate Chex Mix and an apple. Oh well. Gibson ate...milk.

After lunch we hung out on the front porch some. I got to hold my youngest grand. He was in a good mood (and he usually is, that blessed little boy) and I took some pictures of him.

Here he is, thinking.

And here he is, sort of smiling.

Of course, I think that HE is the most beautiful two-week-old in the world. And I kiss him so much that I'm afraid his lips might wear off. I remember worrying about this same problem with Owen though, and he still has lips so I guess it won't happen.

While I was holding Gibson, Owen was running around the front yard naked except for his new Scoobie shoes and shooing the chickens. That's what he calls it because we tell him not to chase them. "Shoo, shoo," he says, brandishing his stick which is an old dead branch from the Confederate Rose right by the porch.
"Don't you chase my chickens, boy!" I told him. "You chase my chickens and I'm taking that stick away and we have to go in the house!"

This slowed him down some but not a lot. I gave him some old fruit salad and told him to feed the chickens instead of shooing them and he did. He is such a boy. I love him so much it makes my heart hurt like maybe it's going to explode.

But still- he can't chase my chickens. No one, not even my grandson, is allowed to chase my chickens.

Lily was tired and the boys were getting that way so they packed up and went on home and I came in and tried to pull the house back together and then I laid down and took a little nap. When I woke up, Mr. Moon was home and it was raining a little. It still is. Not enough but maybe the dust will get tamped down, at least. I'm writing this on the back porch and he's sitting across from me, playing poker on his iPhone, coming down from the ride back from Orlando. He's so handsome. I think he's the most beautiful fifty-seven-year old man in the world.
Of course, I'm his wife. But still.

Here's a picture of him with two of the groupers he caught last Sunday. Remember I talked about how happy he is to go fishing? Well. Here's what I mean.


And tonight I'm going to heat some of that grouper up that I cooked on Sunday and we'll eat it for our supper.

It's been that kind of day. Nothing out of the ordinary and yet, one perfect moment after another, each in its own way.

I'll take that. And kisses. All the kisses I can get.

But don't chase my chickens. I'll take your stick away and we'll have to go in the house.

Come here. Let me kiss you.
Thanks.
I mean it.

Oh My.

It has been a splendid day with boys galore. Okay, mostly Owen but Gibson came over for his first visit and even had supper with us.
Okay, okay, he didn't eat but he slept while we ate.

Of course I only let him stay in that little seat for a few minutes before my body took control of me and I reached down and scooped him up and ate with him cradled in my left arm. It made no difference to him but it gave me great joy and contentment.

Owen was such a good young'un today.

He seems so big now that Gibson is here. We sat on the kitchen steps and fed the chickens some biscuits from yesterday's breakfast and when it came time to eat our lunch he wanted to eat out there too. I said, "But Owen, let's eat on the back porch where we have a table."
"'Tend table!" he said.
"You want to pretend we have a table?"
"Uh-huh!"
"All right."
"Whoo-hoo!"

And so we did. He ate watermelon and pizza and we fed Miss Ozzie a few bites of fruit too, which she enjoyed tremendously and we discussed Mutant Ninja Turtles and their love of pizza and I tried to be hip and remember their names but all I could come up with was Michelangelo and Leonardo and I wasn't really sure of those two.

He took a nap with me on my new sheets which he proclaimed to be cozy and when I'd gotten him down with the Mr. Peep story, I discovered that one of the incubator eggs was actually doing something. Rocking a bit and there was a tiny hole in it and I could see a beak working at the shell. It was pretty darn exciting and I had to call Mr. Moon and the process is still going on now, hours and hours later and Mr. Moon is sitting in front of the incubator, watching the baby try to peck its way out. Another egg has a cracked shell and is moving a bit and yet another one is rocking. So...
We shall see.
If we get one real live peep, I'll be so happy although I would hope that there would be more. We'll just have to see. All of the instructions say to leave them alone and let them peck their way out- that if you don't, the muscles will not have developed enough for the babies to stand up.
Survival of the fittest and so forth and it seems cruel but so is nature and that is just the truth. It has its own system and it's best not to fuck with it. You can already hear the little guy in that shell chirping away. We chirp back, hoping to encourage the chick to continue with his or her struggle for freedom, release, life.

So it's been a very good day with lots of playing and painting and coloring and bathing and sleeping and pecking and chirping and cooking and laundry and laughing and Mr. Moon got home in time to play too and then were were puzzles and bamboo kicking and the hitting of trees with bamboo and then there was supper and baby-cuddling and now the little family has gone home and here we are. The kitchen is cleaned up and I am tired, tired, but a good tired.
A deserved tired.

Now I have to decide whether or not to stay up and watch this baby come out of its shell. I need to do a little studying to determine whether or not it can stay in the incubator. The information on the internet is so conflicting. And the information I have in my chicken book has yet a different opinion.

Ah-lah. I know far more about the birthin' of human babies than I do of chicken babies.
I suppose this is a good thing.

Well, I'll report in tomorrow. You can count on that.

Tomorrow. Gibson will be one week old. Bless his little heart. And he's already been out to Mer-Mer and Bop's house which his big brother knows better than anyone. When I bring Owen here I always ask him who lives here and he always says that Mer-Mer lives here and Bop lives here and Owen lives here.

I like that. And before we know it, Gibson will be considering it his house, too.

This sweet old house where chickens are born and there are hiding places for boys, and goats next door and a garden to help in and trees to climb and bamboo to kick and porches to play on and beds to nap on and where life just keeps on happening.

Night from Lloyd, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

UPDATE: The chick is out of his shell. Early moments and we shall see if he survives.
Wow.
Just...wow.

I Just Had To Share

I cropped this picture because I didn't want Owen to grow up and be mad at me for showing all his privates online which is sad because if I hadn't cropped it you could see his feet are not touching the ground.
That's Owen, swinging from his mama's arm while she's holding Gibson in the other arm, nursing him.

That's my daughter. Those are my grandsons.

Really? I can't even believe it.

All right. I have to run. Gonna take my mother to go see her youngest great-grand and then take her to get the battery in her watch changed and then I have to buy new sheets because there's a hole in the only fitted sheet I have and well, for me, that's an entire and full day.

I hope you're having a good Saturday. Mine looks to be mighty fine.

Love from Lloyd where we grow 'em big and strong and beautiful....Ms. Moon