He's a honey man

This is what Jamie said this morning as he was scraping out the bottom of an almost-empty honey jar that he had pulled off the counter.  I told him it was fine, but that I'd like him to ask me next time.

His response: "I'm a honey man. I just love honey!"

He's five years old and as cute as ever.

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I have a hard time comprehending where I am at in life.

Done having babies.
Four boys.
Youngest almost three years old.
Aging.
On the brink of adolescence.
No more babies.

It's confusing.  I don't know how to feel about it.  Most of the time I feel settled, not feeling the mournful sense of "being done"; but it is a roller coaster.  It is almost a sense of loss, to know that I will never mother a newborn again, that my own babies are growing and moving quickly toward leaving fat bellies and sweet morning breath far behind.

But I can hold babies without feeling desperate.  I can hold them and hand them back and it feels right.  It is just such a strange place to be.

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Our vacuum finally bit the dust this spring after the plastic turning mechanism broke.  We bought it the year we were married with absolutely no research and lucked out.  We just got the replacement last week.  It's good, a definite improvement: lighter, better suction, more convenient.  This morning while we snuggled, Diego wondered when the new vacuum would need to be replaced. 

"Well," I said, "I don't think you'll have to worry about it. The last one lasted sixteen years."  Sixteen years!  I am old enough to have had a vacuum for sixteen years.  It boggled my mind for a brief moment.

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Diego found a baby pigeon last month.  He knocked down what he thought was an "old nest" (or so he said) and caught it easily.  It was fully feathered, but wasn't yet able to fly and still had a bit of baby fluff poking through.

Blaine, who evidently harbors a secret affection and fascination for birds, forgot himself and bought a bird cage immediately. (Ha!) (It totally cracks me up.) And now we have a pet pigeon.  Mr. Squealy. Within a half-hour of having him, he was hopping back up on Diego's lap when he set him down.  He went unnamed for a couple of weeks, but finally developed the name Mr. Squealy for the gentle baby-squeals and flapping he does when you feed him or go to pull him out of the cage.  We've read that baby pigeons are sometimes called "squeakers" for this very behavior trait.  Think baby birds' excitement when mama bird comes back to the nest with a fat worm.

Who knew pigeons were so wonderful?!  Seriously, he is the best.  Gentle, quiet, tame, so pleasant to have around.  He rides around on Diego's shoulder, indoors or outdoors.  He hangs out with us outside and has flown off short distances, but always returns.  His poop is usually dry enough that it just rolls off your back. (Though we've had plenty of turd-shirts too.)

He may yet fly away and that's okay.  But for now, we are all enjoying our pigeon interlude.