July 7, 2011

my guys

There go my guys, mowing the grass.....

My Farmer, dark from his hours in the fields, one muscled forearm wrapped securely around his boy, the other steering one-handed around flowerbeds and fruit trees, campfire and clothesline and picnic table. He finishes one day of work and comes home to another - children and homecare.  When he heard, this afternoon, that our son was more intractable than usual, he told me "I'll fix him."  Needless to say, he is my hero, again, always.

Lil' Snip (who's got his finger in his mouth and his shirt pulled up to expose his tummy to the air) wiggles his toes and stretches out one arm, feeling the breeze, maybe, or maybe trying to anticipate the direction of the mower.  He is on the cusp of toddlerhood, leaving behind the days of innocent impetuous babyhood, and embarking full-throttle into all the glories of conscious (and thwarted) desires.  I love him; I pity him.

There go my guys, mowing the grass......

[.....thud....thud.....thud.....  There goes my heart, watching them out the window.....]

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