I keep remarking how a year ago you couldn't walk. You were sort of this little rump roast that we carried everywhere, like some kind of peace offering we would sacrifice to a volcano. Heed the rumping roast of a baby boy! Consume him and be satisfied and pour forth lava no more! I have to strenuously trace my memory for some idea of what you were interested in or something you said because you were such a chill little dude along for the ride. Your imprint was a soft one, which has changed dramatically. You are all bulldozing boy now. You are attentive while reading books, until you want to steamroll my head. Which you do, every.single.time. You have no sense of quiet. Except when you whisper something to imitate me. Like the other day, you patted my waist and said, "I love you. I love you," which is the way I must always say it to you. You are happily occupied with your train table as you have since we poached it from the craigslist seller last year.

Little Man, August 2011

Your verbal toolbox has grown exponentially, even in the last few months. Without your spokeswoman at home during the school year (see also: Baby Girl), you really worked to communicate words, and now you are an active describer and inquirer. "Is Daddy coming? Is Mommy coming? I see trucks as big as monsters. There you go." By far my favorite Little Man-ism is the syrupy sweet voice and look you assume when you want some kind of treat. I am helpless to resist giving you a popsicle when you pull out that card. Sigh.

I believe you are in possession of a sweet spirit that can be quite fierce at times when you want something and are willing to fight for it. I think this is an excellent combination that can be used for good, but certainly it can also be used for selfishness and I consider it my chief duty to steer you toward the former in this life to honor God, your family, and your fellow fella.

Little Man, we cannot wait to find out what you are going to do tomorrow and twenty years from tomorrow but we are so proud of the boy you are right now. The boy who insists on bringing the entire package of too-big Thomas underoos to the gym daycare, whilst wearing a singular pair over his shorts. (If you think that sounds way too indulgent, it was all I could do to keep you from wearing the whole pack at once, so. :))

In other news, Baby Girl started school this week and the memory of this time last year for her was searing. We practically had to bribe her with an Audi to get a picture of her on the first day. What a difference a year makes. Little Man, you were sweating her backpack something fierce so she offered you her Buckeye bag so you could feel a part of this social rite.