History

Grayson, my sweet,

You won't remember this night. The night you danced in your brown and white jungle print glow-in-the-dark jammies to Melissa Etheridge on YouTube singing "Give Peace a Chance," (Mommy missed C-Span's early evening coverage of the Democratic convention last night while she was driving home from work and had to catch up this evening).

In many ways, it is like so many other nights in your life. You had your bath. You ate some green beans and applesauce. You whined about the teeth which are poking their way through your bottom gum (for which we gave you ibuprofen), or the intestinal distress from eating too much cantelope (for which we gave you baby simethicone). You will have your bottle later. You will fall asleep clutching your cloth diaper. You will listen to one of your many lullaby CDs, which you will turn on by yourself because all hell breaks loose if you don't.

And, yet, the world is turning all around us and tonight will be a night, I suspect, that we will one day tell you about. Tonight Barack Obama will accept the Democratic presidential election on the night so many years ago when Martin Luther King gave an historic speech at the March on Washington. Tonight an African-American man will be nominated as president of the United States, a man with hope and vision and courage. Tonight our nation makes its own brilliant history, and while you don't know it, while you won't remember it, while the most important part of your universe consists of sisters who hang on your every syllable, two fat cats and a long skinny dog, this nation will be celebrating a milestone.

I hope that you live in a world where this simply doesn't matter, in a world where, as MLK said, "people aren't judged by the color of their skin," or where it simply is not noticed. I hope that you are racially color-blind as you grow and that the sweet toddler across the street with an African-American daddy and a white mommy is not seen as anyone different than you. I hope that one day people will be horrified that a world existed in which certain people had to sit in the back seats of buses, and certain people drank out of different water fountains. I hope that you will experience life as a minority at times, so you know that there is absolutely nothing which separates us from one another and it is hard to be seen as "the other." Mostly, I hope we are creating a new world for your generation.

Your mommy truly believes that a symbol of this new world rising happens tonight in Denver, Colorado.

I love you, and I want the world for you...and for your comrades as you grow to become the next hope for America.

Mama

Months 15/16

Dearest Boy-Boy,

Time has gotten away with your Mama. It's been a busy summer. There was your great-grandpa's death, and subsequent memorial service/family reunion time. There was the trip to visit Mamaw Amy and Aunt Lois and Uncle Vayden in Texas and subsequent long-ass car ride home. And then there were the in-between days in which you continued to morph from babyhood to boyhood right in front of our eyes.

Last night you took your first steps. Your very first solo steps. You walked, with hesitancy at first and then with triumph between Grandpa and me as we sat on the floor of the parlor. You started with two steps, and moved to three, and then four, and then five, and by the time Daddy and Brynn got home from Brynn's ballet lesson, you were confident enough to venture six and seven steps on your own, grinning and laughing all the while.

I delight in this new skill. And confess that I wept a few tears in the bathtub last night after putting you to bed. It's hard for me to say goodbye to my baby. And yet, I can't wait to see who you become. I suppose this is the eternal paradox of parenting. If we do our job right, you separate from us.

No offense, Gray, but sometimes cats are easier to parent.

And speaking of cats...(notice that nice transition? I was an English major, after all...) you have become the master of all things gentle in the cat world. You are a pro at petting gently, and walking gently toward Cooper and Moses, and gently and softly saying "Caaaa" as you head in their direction. I'm hoping that you'll become one of those little old men who wear their pants pulled up beyond their navels and collect cats in their old age always naming them after Old Testament prophets.

You delight me. Even as I say goodbye to my baby, I delight in the new chapter of Grayson the boy.

I love you more than the stars.
Mama

Space Filler

This blog has not been forsaken. The blogger has just been mind-numbingly busy. And antsy. And grieving. And sort of strange overall.

But will be back here within a few days.

And didn't get attacked by wild armadillos in a whole 'nother country.

Blowin' this Popstand

...I originally thought I'd title this one, "Blowin' this Jo*int" (notice what I've learned about "coding" search words...I'm getting pretty computer savvy) but couldn't imagine all the intriguing ways that would be misconstrued in a search engine as people were trying to learn how to smoke marij*uana (see that added asterick thing again, pretty impressive, huh?). Hell, people still find my blog because of the creative way I spelled Ernest Ainsley (it's Angeley, friends, sorry for the screw up...).

Anyway...

We're getting out of Dodge, friends. Flying the coop. Running for the border. Vamoosing. Folding up shop.

The posse is headed down to Tex-ASS for a big 'ole family lovefest (as opposed to a love feast where we'd all wash one another's feet and grow Brethren beards). It's the annual Texas trip...the interminably long car trip whereby we remark on the different states on license plates which pass us on the road, and rate public restrooms with a ten point scale, and I assume my best Snooty-Titian-Colored-Haired-Sleuth voice for dramatic reading (that would be the annual Nancy Drew book we finish on the way there and back), followed by our arrival and welcome by the kindest, most generous kin-folk west of the Mississippi.

Look for possible remote postings...or not. Depends on how much time I spend chasing a toddler, or swimming in the pool, or having good scotch offered to me in liberal amounts, or delighting in the laughter of my step-daughters, or gazing at my beloved.

I desperately need this time. I'm worn out.

So, lest you feel bereft...I attached the latest pictures of the wee ones (one of whom is taller than me, now). Grayson is celebrating his upcoming getaway with chocolate...as the picture may demonstrate.

Don't leave the light on for us...