I couldn’t decide if I should do a big long post of various unrelated stories and pictures or several shorter and topic specific posts. Why decide? I’ll do a little of both!
We got us a little old man…
And a little boy with words for cat, dog, please, cheese, hi, duckie, and shoes. Rusty has a shoe fetish. Not only does he bring me his shoes often throughout the day, but he’ll bring me mine or Kevin’s or any other pair that might get me to take him outside. And he usually tries to put them on my feet for me, too.
(imagine about 15,000 k’s right here … I fell asleep while blogging earlier and I guess that finger weighs more than the rest)
We went to visit Grandpa Chet on Memorial Day. To explain all the crosses and flags, I told Ricky that they were put up to honor soldiers and that Grandpa Chet was a soldier on a boat. Someday I’ll have to explain that he was in the Navy, but he served on land in the South Pacific during peace times. But for now, he can just think of his grandpa as a soldier on a boat.
The big boys took a stroll and looked for some other soldiers…
In case you didn’t know …
I have a thing for Tommy’s little hands and feet. They are just so tiny and I know they won’t be that way for much longer. Soon they’ll be dimpled and chunky and adorable in a different way. So to satisfy myself, I take pictures like these …
Look at the tiny hangnails and fingernails! Poor boy needs a manicure!
Sometimes Tommy does get mad …
Sometimes he just chills …
Most of the time he just sleeps …
Rusty loves his “Baby” (the stuffed lamb that has seen better days). Rusty loves Tommy. Rusty does NOT love Tommy to hold Baby. As we left Grandmama’s house on Sunday, Baby was placed on Tommy’s car seat due to a lack of free hands. As we buckled the kids in, Rusty started screaming and squealing and trying to tell us something. We figured he was just tired until I realized he wasn’t holding Baby. Yeah, Rusty was letting us know that Tommy holding Baby was NOT acceptable!
Is it too early to teach him to text?
Billy thinks he’s a Ninja Turtle. This causes me grief. It wouldn’t if his belief didn’t include throwing “weapons” around my house and hitting things and people with these same “weapons.” I liked it better when he called them his tools, but those days are behind us. Sigh. Anyway, since Billy isn’t a real Ninja Turtle and doesn’t have a nifty ninja belt, his “weapons” end up in his pants. Or PJs. Is that a barrel full of monkeys in your pants or …
