Rain, a full-fledged disaster of a house to stumble across far too early to seem fair. The after effects of a long weekend sleepover with all the neighborhood kids tearing about these walls, tossing pillows and dumping toys; the wet weather trapping them (and me) indoors for 2 days straight. A pathetic attempt at clean up, 2 cups of coffee, followed by an online treat to my weary eyes - a sweet poem sent by a dear friend. Inspiration for the start of a baby book I've been meaning to do for months now. Our 3rd boy happened to be born on the brightest, bluest moon in ages. A fact he should know (and retell) when he is 30. This unexpected poem proving the truest, very best fit to frame the fact of it. So begins the start of Rex's baby scrapbook, and all the joy in pulling little clippings and newborn footprints from an old linen box to fix just as nicely as his brother's books before him. The perfect rainy day endeavor. . .
The moon? It is a griffin's egg,
Hatching to-morrow night.
And how the little boys will watch
With shouting and delight
To see him break the shell and stretch
...And creep across the sky.
The boys will laugh. The little girls,
I fear, may hide and cry.
Yet gentle will the griffin be,
Most decorous and fat,
And walk up to the milky way
And lap it like a cat. -Vachel Lindsay
Thank you M.B. The house is still a frightful mess, but the baby now has the start of his very special one year book. xxo