Out in the garden

It is already the middle of September and a harvest moon rose behind the poplars tonight. The trees are still green, but a hint of yellow is creeping along their shimmering edges.

A year ago I waited for fall the way I counted the days to Christmas as a child. Now Finn is nine months old. He is here with us to celebrate the turning leaves, to taste pears for the first time, to wear a costume and play with pumpkin guts on Halloween. Tonight he stood in the bathroom, holding on to the edge of the bathtub, and watched Oliver play in the water. He holds our hands to walk everywhere, and demands a taste of anything we eat or drink. He crows and claps his hands when he hears music; he tolerates the vacuum cleaner; he cries when I chop nuts in the food processor. He loves to be read to, rides in his stroller with his feet propped up on the toy bar like an executive lounging at his desk, and pets the kitties with glee. When we are out walking and I show him flowers, he gazes at them with great intensity then lets out a little laugh, like the world has offered him the gentlest of jokes. He is not partial to the man who sells goat cheese at the farmer's market. When I pick him up, he plants kisses on my cheeks or chin. He is completely opposed to being on his stomach, and thinks crawling is a terrible idea. He knows Oliver is the funniest thing he has ever seen, and laughs uproariously at his antics, especially when they are in the car together.

And Oliver, my sweet Oliver. "I just turned four!" he tells everyone we see, even now that his birthday is a month behind us. He seems more settled, joyful, a bit more resilient than he did at three. He can swim now, climb trees, help himself to a snack from the kitchen, and carry on a full conversation on the phone. He loves to do science experiments, think of new creations, push the boundaries of his world. He inspired us to coin a new rule: no hanging upside down from anything higher than your head. He remembers activities we did last year at this time and asks to do them again--"Mom, can we go on walk to collect leaves and glue them on paper?" He calls me Mom now, not Mama. We spent over an hour playing board games during Finn's nap today. He sleeps like a rock most nights, wakes sobbing from nightmares occasionally. "I was floating, and then I had the feeling that I was caught." He carries two baby dolls around with him, changes their diapers and nurses them. He was nervous before his first day of preschool, but when the time came for me to leave him he didn't even look up to say goodbye. It takes every ounce of his concentration to remember not to run when it's his turn to leave the circle at pick up time, so eager is he to tell me about his day. He watches old episodes of Mr Roger's and talks back to the screen. He wonders sometimes what Mr Rogers is doing right now, and I tell him I don't know--which is the truth, although not all of it. He want to be called Oliver Mr. Rogers when he grows up.

Back to tonight's harvest moon--I was out in the garden to see it rise, cramming in a few minutes of work between dinner and bedtime for the boys. The chickens pecked and scratched in the bed at my feet, pouncing on bugs and worms as I pulled out the spent corn stalks. I dug carefully to avoid their feet, my mind already thinking ahead to next year's garden, making plans that might be slightly out of reach for someone who still celebrates when she manages to both take a shower and eat breakfast on the same day. Oh well. So my garden grew a bumper crop of weeds this year and my to-do list is gathering dust somewhere. I'm busy watching my boys unfurl their wings, and there's nowhere I'd rather be.