Mama is slacking a little on the blog again, although it's mostly because between you, the house and work, sometimes getting my fingers over to the keyboard is just a little too challenging.
November brought the Memphis grandparents for a visit, and you had a blast bringing them to the edge of exhaustion every day they were here. You were happy to run circles around them at the playground, on walks with The Little Red Plastic Car, at The Discovery Museum, and various eating establishments in the Bay Area. You know that saying, "I need a vacation after my vacation?" Ummm, yeah.
Proving you are your mother's child, you show a little Sharon crank when you get hungry and the din din is taking too long.
And now I am happy. So you can also be happy. In that order.
Showing Bebe the ropes in the train room. Hustling lessons on how to swipe trains from unsuspecting toddlers included for additional fee.
These grandparents train up just as easily as the others! Sweet!
And they know my favorite game! Sorry about that slipped disc thing you might have.
Poppy was trying really, really hard to get a great picture of the three of you. Really, really.
This is my, "Hurry up and get me an organic hot dog" face.
And this is my, "Thanks for trying to keep me quiet in the restaurant with a giant bowl of butterscotch pudding" face.
After a long and unsatisfactory debate between your Mama and Dada (with a majority of your grandparents weighing in unprompted), a haircut appointment was made for our sweet baby boy at The Children's Hair Club. Seriously, it really is called that. Mama talked it up for days as a super exciting event, in the way that parents do for experiences they are hoping their kids will tolerate, but fear they may instead spend the entire time screaming, or at least scowling and ruin their once in a lifetime photo opportunities. Other than the vacuum, I don't think you have ever met an item or experience that actually scared you, but still I find I must gush in an over animated tone at some of this stuff. I think it's in the parent rulebook.
Don't tell Dada, but the entire time we were driving there, I almost turned around and headed home, because cutting that soft, wispy, baby hair and thinking of those blond baby curls hitting the floor really made me want to weep. I love the stage you are at right now, but I miss all the stages that have passed too. Every day you are more of a little boy and less of a baby, and I love it and hate it simultaneously.
Kid has an unholy obsession with sitting in any other seat than the car seat.
Anyway, you of course showed no fear during your little trim, and Eddie The Barber humored me by leaving you a little shaggy, wispy and with some curls. It's not quite the baby mullet it was before, but it's still precious and requires blow drying when the weather is cold...and Oh, how I love aiming the blow dryer at your little wet head while you race back and forth past the air current screeching with joy and proclaiming, "Wind! Wind!"
Who cares about the sharp blades whirring by my head. I have many Matchbox cars to inspect.
Dada said it's a travesty to get your long hair cut while sporting a Lincecum jersey. Touche, Dada. Touche.
I get a sucker, a balloon, and I can still technically be called a no-good-long-haired-hippie? Well thank you very much!
