He likes to sleep in his underwear. He strips out of his p.j.'s at bedtime and slips between the covers in his underpants. Why do boys do that? My girls never want to do that. Anyway, he picked out some new underwear at Kohl's the other day. Transformers boxer briefs. So he says, "Mommy, can I sweep in my twansfowmuhs boxuhs?" When he wakes up he gets dressed first thing. This morning he slept late. He came downstairs in jeans and a Buzz Lightyear T-shirt. His hair was a mess and his eyes looked sleepy. And the first thing he said..."We should go to da pawk...And weah ouw coats." I suggested perhaps we should have breakfast first.
The other day he reminded me of a few occasions when I was "mean at him". It went like this:
Him: Do you wemembuh when we went to the big Chick-fil-a and I sat in my ketchup, then you cleaned it up and you and daddy were mean at me.
Me: Yeah...Why were you sitting on the table?
Him: I don't know but daddy was weally mean at me.
Me: Are mommy and daddy mean all the time?
Him: No, just when I hit my bwuthuhs and sistuhs.
He tells me all the time that he is not my baby anymore. He is Ian. I-A-N. He can't wait to go to school next year. And let's be honest, I can't wait either. I have had a baby or toddler (or both) as a constant companion for almost sixteen years. But as that registration date gets closer I'm starting to think, "what's one more year?" One more year of messes, of tantrums, of constant chatter, of snuggles, of hugs and kisses, of stories and puzzles. I could have one more year...
1 comment:
I love this post. Really?? whats one more year ?
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