It was hard not to ask what Moonie was up to the other day, walking around with his toolkit.
“I’m building a house!” he shouted.
“You are? Out of what?”
He grinned and showed me.
“Oh,” I said, “I get it. A gingerbread house for Christmas. That sounds like–oh. Um, Moonie? Maybe you should save some of that candy for your house.”
To his credit, he looked a little sheepish.
I have to hand it to the little guy, though, he worked hard. Every time I looked up he was preparing the icing or hoisting up the gingerbread walls.
He put the roof together very, very carefully.
Then he started preparing his shrubs.
And he made a nice little walkway.
I checked in later, and he was patting his house into place.
Look how proud he is of his little log cabin!
His chimney was particularly adorable.
He had fun gathering up some yummy candy canes for decor.
They looked good on his house!
Aw, he was so proud of his work.
Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!
Moonie saw his grandma last week, and it turned out that she had forgotten to give him one of his presents last Christmas.
We knew what this meant, didn’t we?
(We didn’t, but Moonie told us.)
It meant Christmas in July!
The gift was a sweater, and an excited little Moonie immediately donned it despite the 90-degree day.
He LOVES it! (He says he’ll grow into it.)
Now I can’t get him to take it off. He insists that July is perfect sweater weather…But I can’t help noticing that our ice cream budget has tripled in the past week.
Fashionable dudes need to stay cool, you know.
On thing about Moonie: the little guy loves holidays.
And I mean LOVES.
So the closer July 4th crept – or should I say “Ind-whee-pendence Day,” as Moonie loves to add a “whee!” into all fun things – the more time Moonie spent in his little Moonie workshop. I always know he’s up to something when I hear the sounds of hammering and sawing and nailing (even if I have yet to see him produce anything made of wood or nails) through the door.
On July 4th, after a particularly loud morning of workshop preparations, a very triumphant and patriotic Moonie emerged from his workshop.
“That’s it?” I blurted out. “That took three weeks to prepare?”
He winked and ducked back in his workshop, coming out a moment later in full splendor.
He’d also baked dozens of cupcakes and amassed a pile of sparklers.
Yup, that was more like it.
I woke on Sunday morning to a faceful of brightly-colored flowers. A smiling little Moonie was holding them out.
“Happy Mama’s Day!” he shouted. I’d forgotten all about Mother’s Day, and his lovely gift last year of the little dish of jelly beans. He’d continued the rainbow theme this year with an armful of daisies.
“Thanks, little dude!” I said, reaching for the flowers. Moonie grinned. “Hold on,” he said. “I have one more surprise. Close your eyes!”
I dutifully complied, and when instructed, opened them to find this:
I followed the sounds of giggling to find Moonie with three new friends:
“What’s up, guys?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Moonie said, smiling. “I’m just hanging with my Peeps.”
The Peeps giggled.
“We were telling Peep jokes,” Moonie said. “Like this one: Why did the Easter bunny go into the adults-only section?”
“Why?” I asked, along with his three marshmallow companions.
“Because he wanted to see the Peep show!”
I didn’t know candy could laugh, but all three Peeps did.
“Why was the marshmallow chick so popular?” Moonie asked.
“Why?” we chorused.
“Because she was a Peep-le person!” he shouted. His candy friends howled. Read More
This morning, I awoke to a voice in my ear:
“Why don’t you iron four-leaf clovers?”
I rolled over and looked at the clock, which said 5:20 a.m.
“Ugh, Moonie, couldn’t you have waited another hour for the alarm to go off?”
“Because you don’t want to press your luck!” he shouted, undaunted at my morning grumpiness.
He had more.
“What do you get when you cross a shamrock and poison ivy?”
I sighed, stretching. “What, Moonie?”
“A rash of good luck!”
I turned on the light, resigning myself to being up for the day, and was greeted with this sight:
“What is that in your hair?” I asked.
“Saint Patrick’s Day!” Moonie shouted. It was green, and it was shiny. It’s all he needed.
He had more jokes.
Last night, as the walls began to shake and the floor began to rumble, I followed the sounds of live jazz music, horns, and revelry to find this:
Me: “Moonie, what’s going on in here? What’s all that noise?”
Moonie, joyfully dancing: “It’s Mard-whee Gras!”
Me: “Where’d you get those beads?”
He just wiggled his bum in response, shimmying and jiving to the music that surrounded us. Kitty looked at me and shrugged. The band, wherever it was, kept playing, and Moonie kept dancing.
Happy Mardi Gras, folks.