Saying Grace

The Boy is getting too big, way too fast. He just had his first haricut. (WAAAAHHHHH!!!) All those cute little curls...gone.

This is his new "manly" look:

[pic removed by family request - sorry!]

Lest you think he is on his way to the cover of Tiger [Cub] Beat, he was really just annoyed that we wouldn't let him grab and smash Daddy's expensive digital camera into a zillion little pieces.

He still does not have much to say beyond Mamma, Dadda, babba, and Mmmmm!, but he makes a lot of interesting sounds (clicks, screeches, hoots, razzies) that definitely have individualized meanings. ("Eee! Eee!" = "cat"...or, perhaps more mercifully, "Run, Jack, run!") We think maybe he was mistakenly sent to us instead of to some indigenous or aboriginal tribe, what with his penchant for making strange noises and marked preference for nudity/streaking.

Anyway, one thing that always cracks us up is dinnertime, and saying grace. Apparently he thinks that we gather around the table each evening to adore him, because before we get to "Mmmmm!" [food], we all put our hands together for some strange reason. Which means we must all be ready to applaud him. The second we're all sitting down, he grins from ear to ear, slaps himself on the forehead [sign of the cross] and starts clapping ["AAAAyyyyyy!"] waits for us to stop saying whatever it is he thinks we're saying, slaps his head again, and we get the big finish...."AAAAAYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!" we all are cracking up and clapping by this time, and when we're done... "Mmmmmmm!!!" and the lunging toward the table begins.

I think about the next 18-plus years of doing this each night....and that it will likely end up just being the three of us once the girls are off to college and beyond (only 4 years 'til the first one...how does that happen?). So of course I thought of this:

Despite my ongoing efforts to the contrary, I may not be able to resist the waistline in the end, but I will NEVAH give in to the snow on the roof, thanks to my trusty hairdresser and his arsenal of Redken products. And the Beloved may end up with a cane, but he has a much cuter and smaller little snout. (See Boy, above - spittin' image!)

I know I'm a sap, but I love Norman Rockwell paintings.