One of the first thoughts I had when Dale told me we were moving thirty hours from home was, "Who will come to our birthday parties?" Usually we pack the house with blood relatives and a neighborhood kid or two. This year we had some kids I'd never met or even seen before that night- and a mom, too. I never cease to be amazed at the attentativeness of our God to the teensy details in our lives.
The Spiderman party hat/masks were a huge hit, especially for this guy who sang, ate cake, and played tag in his mask all night. Tre was thrilled to have some boys to wrestle with, while the girls bounced and flipped in the front yard. It was thrilling and chaotic.
Exibit A: Heelys. I don't know why I bought them, I guess it was what he really wanted and I didn't think past that thought. But everytime this kid tries to mimic his sister and glide through the grocery store he ends up wailing and screaming on his back. So, mostly he trots around on them, clicking along, complaining that his toes hurt. And they to, they're crowded into the front of the shoes because of the high heel sticking out the back. An ER doctor said there was a 60% increase in head injuries since the conception of these little numbers.
Tre has not adjusted to being five yet; as a matter of fact he just came in and told me that he hated five. I'm not sure if I am using it against him when I say, "You're five now, no more crying." If you this kid, you'd know why I'm saying it. Earlier this week a teenager in our neighborhood lifted him up by the shirt and said, "'Lil boy, you got to quit screamin like a girl!" And he's right. This kid is like a tornado siren every fifteen minutes.
He's a treasure; a little too smart for me to manage sometimes, but a treasure. My brother was a bawler when we were kids, had a little trouble finding his place; he was number four too, following a sister. My little brother was also the light in my universe for most of my high school years; he got me through some rough stuff just by being himself. He grew into the shoes that never seemed to fit when we were kids. He gives me hope for this wild child. Happy Birthday, Tru Dog. *whew* until next year...
One of the first thoughts I had when Dale told me we were moving thirty hours from home was, "Who will come to our birthday parties?" Usually we pack the house with blood relatives and a neighborhood kid or two. This year we had some kids I'd never met or even seen before that night- and a mom, too. I never cease to be amazed at the attentativeness of our God to the teensy details in our lives.
The Spiderman party hat/masks were a huge hit, especially for this guy who sang, ate cake, and played tag in his mask all night. Tre was thrilled to have some boys to wrestle with, while the girls bounced and flipped in the front yard. It was thrilling and chaotic.
Exibit A: Heelys. I don't know why I bought them, I guess it was what he really wanted and I didn't think past that thought. But everytime this kid tries to mimic his sister and glide through the grocery store he ends up wailing and screaming on his back. So, mostly he trots around on them, clicking along, complaining that his toes hurt. And they to, they're crowded into the front of the shoes because of the high heel sticking out the back. An ER doctor said there was a 60% increase in head injuries since the conception of these little numbers. 
Tre has not adjusted to being five yet; as a matter of fact he just came in and told me that he hated five. I'm not sure if I am using it against him when I say, "You're five now, no more crying." If you this kid, you'd know why I'm saying it. Earlier this week a teenager in our neighborhood lifted him up by the shirt and said, "'Lil boy, you got to quit screamin like a girl!" And he's right. This kid is like a tornado siren every fifteen minutes.
He's a treasure; a little too smart for me to manage sometimes, but a treasure. My brother was a bawler when we were kids, had a little trouble finding his place; he was number four too, following a sister. My little brother was also the light in my universe for most of my high school years; he got me through some rough stuff just by being himself. He grew into the shoes that never seemed to fit when we were kids. He gives me hope for this wild child. Happy Birthday, Tru Dog. *whew* until next year...
I love you more than you'll ever know little boy. You make life worth it
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