Friday, June 24, 2011

My sons

I've been a very bad mommy.

My sons turned 2 years old last month and we didn't throw a party or give gifts or anything. It's quite possible that we completely forgot it was their birthday, and didn't acknowledge it whatsoever.

They don't seem to have noticed.

This is Simon, mid-yawn. Sometimes when he yawns, I blow on his face and then he gives me this cocked-head look of mild surprise. 


A little bit like this. Simon hates the dishwasher. When I turn it on he walks around the house yelling MEOOWW. MEOOOW. MEOOOW. Simon wants as much attention as he can get, but doesn't want to be held, nosirree. That doesn't stop us from holding him, though. And he never scratches or bites. He's a lover, not a fighter. Unless he's doing battle with Murray. Or if he's biting through an electrical wire.


This is Murray. He's my little one. That's what I call him: Little One. Or Sweet Muffin Crumble Cakes or Honey Sugar Baby. Murray licks my feet and curls up on my lap and loves nothing more in this world than the tiny strip of paper you peel off your Netflix envelope when you're going to seal it back up and send it off for more True Blood DVDs. I plan to catch his love of Netflix paper on video soon, for your viewing pleasure.


What is it, Mother? Murray wants to know. I was in the middle of a twelve-hour nap. You are dismissed.


Don't go! Simon says. This is what he does when he wants me to scratch his belly. He knows I am powerless when he casts this spell of cuteness.

Happy Friday. I hope you and your beasts have a lovely weekend.

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