Going on FIVE

The Babe is a scant three weeks away from turning five. And I realized, recently, that I'm sure going to miss having a little guy around the house.

I think it is partially because his older brother, the HOO man, has decided that lip-to-lip contact with me is icky. Biggest brother, the DOO man, put the kabash on that several years ago. Delightfully, since spending more time with me recently, he's instigated a couple of quick pecks.

But back to The Babe. He is still in that nirvana-land of talking where he hasn't quite picked up on the sounds in words and hasn't quite mastered definitions, so he doesn't quite always get it right. For example, he "weally, weally" would like me to "wite in wed cwayon" sometimes.

He "achoos" instead of sneezes.

He wears "gobbles" in the pool to keep his eyes from stinging.*

He "frizzies" the frisbee instead of throwing it.

There isn't anything much better than love from your kids. They didn't pick you, they aren't obligated to love you, and they are the object of your constant correction. Yet, they love you as if you hung the moon and the stars. Even when you don't.

I'm going to die an unceremonious death the day The Babe decides "Skidamarink" before prayers is no longer kosher. I may have to enlist Doug or Tex to howl along with me as I sing it.

If you are within earshot of him before he decides this song is uncool, have him sing it with/to you. It will melt your heart.

Cross mine.


*Turkeys everywhere are pausing to take notice and wondering why we're doing something to them off the Thanksgiving schedule.