nine months for littlest muse :: {personal}

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Littlest Muse turned nine months today.

While we ate dinner, we looked at the clock and reminisced about what we were doing at that time nine months previously. At 6:10, they had just broken by water. (Fifty-five minutes later, at 7:05 p.m., Littlest Muse would make his appearance.)

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These pictures were taken with the quilt half-covering the sofa and half on the floor, in the sitting room; the part of the house that gets the best light.

I can’t put him on the floor without The Cat showing up almost immediately.

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He actually was really not happy with having his pictures done, today.

I tried to tell him it was because he was nine months old, but I am not sure he believed me.

Secretly I am glad he doesn’t like to have his picture taken, sometimes. It is a good excuse to practice.

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Mr. Drool. That tooth is almost here.

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What worked for us? Peek-a-boo under blankets; singing songs; some toys.

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The Cat didn’t really help too much.

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Here’s to the next nine months.

a woodsy walk, v. 4.21.13 :: {personal}

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It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, and we had just spent the last couple of hours listening to Elder Muse chatter through his nap.

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“We should go somewhere,” I said.
So we did; I packed a dinner for the kids, and we went someplace we haven’t been in a while.

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We knew this place seven years ago, when we first moved to the city, and had friends that worked in the complex. Back then, this little spot was not much, and the building that now houses the coffee shop was, as I recall, abandoned and about to be condemned.

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Thankfully, someone had a better plan for it.

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While the grills, pool, and outdoor fireplace are for residents of the community, the coffee shop is open to the public; visiting affords you the right to meander the breathtaking grounds. Trees, flowers, ferns, rock cliffs, winding paths and the Chattahoochee.

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“This could be our backyard,” I say. He agrees, and we both start dreaming. That’s the one big part of our house that we’ve not quite begun work on, yet. We don’t have a river, but we do have a creek.

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We all slept better for our excursion, last night.

clive and mims: a love story :: {personal}

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Strange companions I must name them
Strange to see their friendship blossom
When she hated little persons,
Or–at least–the ones that toddled.

Long his brother she avoided,
Once he set to crawl and holler–
Once his interest fixed upon her–
Never mind his gentle nature.

But the younger one she shadowed,
Sought him out wherever he rested,
Longed to partake in his rituals,
Photobombed his monthly pictures.

She was here for years before him,
Watched his heralded homecoming.
Many months he passed in ignorance,
Without knowing she existed.

Now he sits upon the carpet
Busy with his toy-inspection;
She will be his close companion
Even though he fuss, and push her.

How is it her patience lingers
While he pulls her tail and whiskers,
While his hands are full of cat-fur,
Laughing at the way it tickles?

Faithfully she waits beside him–
Or sits on him, if he lets her–
‘Till his Mama comes to get him,
Takes him upstairs for his naptime.

Do they know the bond between them?
Can each understand the other?
Does she know when he’ll return, and
Does she miss him while he’s napping?

Does he realize he lacks
Her furry, feline, loyal presence?
Does he hope, while sleep is coming,
She’ll be there when he awakens?

Softly down the stairs he’s carried,
Sweetly starts excited babbling;
Swiftly from her seat she hastens,
Just to sit beside his Boppy.

Solemnly the hours are passing
While they sit and smile together,
Theirs a love that’s fit for lasting–
(‘Til he learns to crawl and holler.)

-e g allis

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