MeeMaw doesn't have to work tomorrow, so that makes it even better. Since the grass-cutting is long overdue, that task will take up a large slice of tomorrow, along with other odd jobs around the house. The main thing is that we won't be at work (translation: we will be at Possum Cough, together).
Last night, the Irwins (our pastor and his family) visited for supper. Little Xander is a month old now, and traveling pretty well. The kids were enthusiastic about seeing us; when they piled out of the van, both Micah and Elena came barrelling over to us, chattering about several things, none of which I could really make out.
MeeMaw prepared a feast: chicken spaghetti, yeast rolls, garden salad, and strawberry cake for dessert. Little Elena has the reputation of being a very sparse eater, yet she cleaned her plate. And Micah, who apparently eats less than the average butterfly, snarshed his cake down as if Congress were getting ready to tax it.
After we ate, MeeMaw and Jennifer visited and tended to Xander, while the rest of us walked up to the south pasture and let the kids pick apples. I asked, "Do y'all want to see the mountain?" They responded, "YES!" So I told them to come on up to the fenceline and look. When Micah saw the Clinch Mountains in the distance, he pointed, widened his eyes, looked at me, and said, "I found it! I found the mountain!" Yes, you did, lad.
Ernie came over and I introduced him to the Irwins, and we chatted about deer for a few minutes, and then darkness dropped down on us all of a sudden. It was 8:30, a half-hour past the kids' bedtime, and John mentioned that they needed to be going. So we headed back to the house, said our goodbyes all around, and then MeeMaw and I waved the family down the driveway.
As they were leaving, MeeMaw said, "Did you notice how green those apples were? The ones the kids were eating? They're going to get stomach aches."
"They sure are, Meemaw," I said. "They sure are."
