Four and a half
Surely that number is wrong. Can't believe we're here.
My first baby. Oh, how I love the boy. This tall, skinny, energetic, super-talkative, creative, silly little angel. The one who turned me into a Mama.
What shall I say of this delightful, complex fellow? Mr. Trey Isaiah is, after all, oh-so-delightful and oh-so-complex.
Still babies his lovies, the doggie twins. Carries them around by their necks, which have long since run out of fluff.
Hates to sleep with covers on.
Likes picking out his own clothes.
Mentions Abby the Dinosaur less and less. I suppose this is what happens when an actual person of comparable size is there in the flesh to play with you.
Bosses Aden around like nobody's business. Also sings with him, rassles him, clotheslines him, Nascar-bumps him, gives him arm-length hugs when apologizing, banishes him from certain rooms, tickles him in the car, wakes him up from naps, helps him to obey the rules.
Doesn't obey all the rules.
Sasses me, refuses to do something I've asked him to do, waits until at least the second request to stop doing what I've asked him not to do. Gives me ultimatums, such as "If you tell me to eat my dinner one more time, I will lay on the floor."
Eats, on average, 1.4 meals per day. Lunch is the only guarantee.
Loves, loves, loves preschool.
Demands Respectfully requests that his CD of 40 college fight songs be played every time we go somewhere in the car. Every single time.
Pretends to swim in the bathtub.
Can read so many words it boggles our minds. Can read practically any stage 1 book, with a little help.
Can now beat both me and Brandon at Mario Kart on the Wii.
Gets quite the kick out of making funny faces.
Occasionally remembers his dreams in the morning, and goes into great detail to describe them.
Thinks trains and airplanes and tractors are great, but not as great as numbers.
Got a miniature basketball scoreboard, complete with clock and very audible buzzer, from his Daddy for Christmas. Never has there ever been a more suitable gift for a person.
Continues to hold elaborate basketball games in which he is every player, the coach, the trainer, the announcer, the play-by-play guy, and the color commentator.
Refuses to dribble. (The basketball.)
Seems incapable of blowing his nose or spitting while brushing teeth. Not sure how to teach either of those things.
Has moments of great wisdom.
Has moments of obnoxious whining.
Tells me he doesn't love me. On most days, would rather hang out with anyone but me.
Wipes off kisses.
Loves board games, be still my heart. Insists that we read the "constructions" (instructions), but stops following said instructions should he start losing the game.
Sleeps about 9 hours at night, with no nap or even rest time during the day.
Has the most comfortable bed in the house. Refuses to let anyone sleep with him, though we beg.
Loves to help in the kitchen.
Actually plays with other kids. Plays well, too. Cooperatively, peacefully (er, relative peace), happily, willingly! Hooray!
Challenges us every day to become better, more Godly parents. As trial-and-error as our parenting relationship with him has been, he seems to have turned out just fine so far!
Is so very sweet. And smart. And funny. And handsome.
Trey, sweet baby boy, the original little man, you are so precious to us. Happy four-and-a-half, buddy. We pray for you every day, that you will grow in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and men. That you will be strong and humble, and become exactly who the Lord made you to be. So very excited about the next year for you, to watch you grow in many different ways. Just do us a little favor, and slow down a bit. Love you forever.
My first baby. Oh, how I love the boy. This tall, skinny, energetic, super-talkative, creative, silly little angel. The one who turned me into a Mama.
What shall I say of this delightful, complex fellow? Mr. Trey Isaiah is, after all, oh-so-delightful and oh-so-complex.
Still babies his lovies, the doggie twins. Carries them around by their necks, which have long since run out of fluff.
Hates to sleep with covers on.
Likes picking out his own clothes.
Mentions Abby the Dinosaur less and less. I suppose this is what happens when an actual person of comparable size is there in the flesh to play with you.
Bosses Aden around like nobody's business. Also sings with him, rassles him, clotheslines him, Nascar-bumps him, gives him arm-length hugs when apologizing, banishes him from certain rooms, tickles him in the car, wakes him up from naps, helps him to obey the rules.
Doesn't obey all the rules.
Sasses me, refuses to do something I've asked him to do, waits until at least the second request to stop doing what I've asked him not to do. Gives me ultimatums, such as "If you tell me to eat my dinner one more time, I will lay on the floor."
Eats, on average, 1.4 meals per day. Lunch is the only guarantee.
Loves, loves, loves preschool.
Pretends to swim in the bathtub.
Can read so many words it boggles our minds. Can read practically any stage 1 book, with a little help.
Can now beat both me and Brandon at Mario Kart on the Wii.
Gets quite the kick out of making funny faces.
Occasionally remembers his dreams in the morning, and goes into great detail to describe them.
Thinks trains and airplanes and tractors are great, but not as great as numbers.
Got a miniature basketball scoreboard, complete with clock and very audible buzzer, from his Daddy for Christmas. Never has there ever been a more suitable gift for a person.
Continues to hold elaborate basketball games in which he is every player, the coach, the trainer, the announcer, the play-by-play guy, and the color commentator.
Refuses to dribble. (The basketball.)
Seems incapable of blowing his nose or spitting while brushing teeth. Not sure how to teach either of those things.
Has moments of great wisdom.
Has moments of obnoxious whining.
Tells me he doesn't love me. On most days, would rather hang out with anyone but me.
Wipes off kisses.
Loves board games, be still my heart. Insists that we read the "constructions" (instructions), but stops following said instructions should he start losing the game.
Sleeps about 9 hours at night, with no nap or even rest time during the day.
Has the most comfortable bed in the house. Refuses to let anyone sleep with him, though we beg.
Loves to help in the kitchen.
Actually plays with other kids. Plays well, too. Cooperatively, peacefully (er, relative peace), happily, willingly! Hooray!
Challenges us every day to become better, more Godly parents. As trial-and-error as our parenting relationship with him has been, he seems to have turned out just fine so far!
Is so very sweet. And smart. And funny. And handsome.
Trey, sweet baby boy, the original little man, you are so precious to us. Happy four-and-a-half, buddy. We pray for you every day, that you will grow in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and men. That you will be strong and humble, and become exactly who the Lord made you to be. So very excited about the next year for you, to watch you grow in many different ways. Just do us a little favor, and slow down a bit. Love you forever.
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