Moonie and I passed by a rare sight: a functional phone booth. He immediately asked for a boost up to the cradle of the phone because he had a “very important call to make.”
Then I heard him asking the operator if she could transfer him to the cookie store.
I pulled him away before he could start in with the knock-knock jokes. She’d already hung up on him, but he would have happily recited them to the dial tone.
I work at a college, which means Moonie also “works” at a college. Meaning he amuses himself while I do grownup things all day.
Today he seems to have found some cotton balls and some art students.
This briefly said “Visual arts.”
Thankfully, Moonie has a special giggle he uses when he’s feeling extra mischievous.
The giggle was a good tip-off; I realized just in time that he was going to switch around some of the cotton balls to say “farts.”
He was a little disappointed I pulled him down before his grand scheme was carried out, but he’ll get over it.
Moonie would like you to know about Project 45, which is dedicated to collecting oral histories from those who remember 45 r.p.m. records. The project will eventually become a film, perhaps even a book.
Moonie is too young to be from that era, but he has a whole lot of oral narratives about his love of cookies if anyone is interested in recording him someday.
Silly neighbors.
I bet they weren’t expecting this when they originally planted their flowers.
Moonie is a badass. He’s been asking for his very own tattoo ever since he spotted mine. He’s been working on the design and everything: a big red heart right on his little bicep. The trouble has been what word to write with it. He’s been going back and forth between “cookies,” “cake,” “Mom” (awww), “flowers,” “rainbows,” and “hugs.”
Like I said, badass.
The other trouble is that Moonie doesn’t like needles. Or pain. So I was thrilled to find a solution yesterday while at the Providence Rock & Roll Yard sale: a henna tattoo!
Moonie was a little nervous, so he watched me get mine first.
He picked it out himself; the moons are for Moonie.
Has Moonie mentioned the Extraordinary Rendition Band lately? Well, as the person who lives with him, let me tell you: yes. Yes, he has. Many times.
Moonie loooooves ERB.
He’s their biggest fan.
Also their littlest fan.
Moonie’s a family-friendly guy, so this is intended to be a family-friendly blog. But sometimes, things happen.
Like when we were passing by the shop “Sweet and Nasty” in Boston in April, and Moonie was immediately mesmerized by the sweets in the window, begging to go inside. It was no use explaining that the shop was only for grown-ups. Cakes and candies, he is convinced, are for Moonies, no matter their shape or content.
He was immediately taken with some lollipops molded to look like, er, something of the male persuasion. And I just couldn’t help taking a couple of photos (later, as the store prohibits any photography) of Moonie with his two favorite choices. They’ll appear after the jump so you have time to scoot the kids out of the room.
Kids gone?
Yes?
OK, here goes.
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Moonie discovered today that when the kitty is hot – and it’s 90 degrees in our apartment – she doesn’t care what he does. Which for him was the perfect opportunity to approach her with a kitty-themed knock-knock joke.
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Back in April, just a few days after Moonie came into my life, he accompanied me into Boston to take my sweet friend Jen out to lunch. I didn’t have my phone on me that day, but Moonie was having such a wonderful time, I caved and bought a disposable film camera to capture his trip.
I’m not sure what the people on the commuter rail thought when confronted with his little face peeking over the chair cushion.
In front of Old City Hall resides a bronze statue of a donkey by artist Antonio Frilli along with a pair of bronze footprints with elephants stamped in them that says “Stand in Opposition.” Moonie couldn’t wait to hug the donkey!
I’ve been sick lately, which for Moonie has been AWESOME. It meant he got to go to the doctor’s, which means climbing on junglerific potted plants.
In a waiting room piled high with health magazines and brochures about exercising, my little dude managed to flip open the one non-health-related magazine to the one picture of cake. That’s my guy.
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