Maine, Again

One of Owen’s favorite vacation activities was helping Granny and Grandfather pick blueberries and blackberries in their garden.  (He is still learning how to talk, of course, and so picking blueberries and blackberries became picking boobies and blackbabies.  Oh dear.)  Anyway, he really liked the concept of picking food that he could pop in his mouth as well as place in his green bucket.  The blueberries he tended to take a tentative bite from and then hand the rest to me, but he quite enjoyed the blackberries.  Here he is picking berries in a hat borrowed from Granny:

He also helped pick cucumbers and squash and carrots, and was often redirected out of a post-nap tantrum by watering the tomatoes.  Or watering the moss on the front flagstones:

He enjoyed saying hello to my parents dog, Nellie, with a “Hi, Lellie!  Good girl, Lellie!”

Here's Nellie crammed where my feet were trying to be

on the long drive home:

And here's Nellie ignoring Dorothy and Plum in our home

after the journey:

Here is Owen cleaning the bathroom sink:

And stopping to admire himself in the mirror:

I’d have to say that a highlight of Owen’s trip seemed to be when one night Pa dropped a fork on the ground as he was clearing the table.  For reasons unknown, this made a BIG impression on Owen, and for the rest of the week he would hit his hand to his head and say, “Oh no! Pa dropped his fork on the ground!”  (I think this kind of incident OCD must be a 2 year-old trait?  For all this past weekend Owen told me over and over about how “Nanny had apple in her mouth” when he tried to give her a bite of his lunch.)  We are wondering if when he sees my father again at Christmas, whether or not he will bring up the Great Fork Spill of Summer ‘14.  I’m guessing yes, yes he will.