He has an impressive vocabulary. Last week he asked me what a killjoy is. He has called me one four times since then. Each time I was, in fact, being a killjoy. He has also picked up on a not-so-nice word his daddy likes to use when discussing certain politicians. It both mortifies and impresses me that my little guy has used this word in context now and then. I’m not going to say what it is, but let’s just say that if he is caught using it on the playground at his church-run preschool, I will insist he is calling the other kids juice bags. 

 

He is a bear when he is tired. He gets that from me. Now that I realize what is going on, I’m a bit more empathetic with him. However, things go downhill quickly when we’re both tired. I mean fast—really, really fast. 

 

He is a worrier. He has a double dose of the worry gene in him as his dad and I are both worriers. My little guy is still asking about his daddy’s kidney “bones” that landed him in the hospital six weeks ago. He is also distraught that Percy took a plunge into the ravine. Remind me not to let him watch the Spills and Chills Thomas DVD again. 

 

He is all boy. He likes to play rough and get dirty. This makes my hubby proud. It makes me proud, too. It also means I buy a lot of Shout and Oxi Clean. He likes to figure out how things work and he has an endless stream of questions. I’m grateful he still thinks I can answer them all. 

 

He is drawn to water. The hose, the kitchen sink, the bathroom faucet and the bathtub all call his name. So do puddles. I’ve learned to be patient and I go through more towels than I would like during the course of the day. That said, I can’t wait to see how he reacts to our lake trip later this summer.