Week of Blaine: Day 1

This is the week we celebrate my first born. Now before we go on laughing at all the hilariously cute things he says, gazing at the adorable photos he stars in, and marvelling at how brilliant he is, let us remember that he is a very normal almost-3-year-old boy. He hits. He sasses. He pees his pants sometimes. He squishes his baby brother. He says thing like, "cousins ARE for bonking!" Lest you should forget that you are not alone in wanting to throw in the child-rearing towel every now and then. Lest you should forget that everyone's kid is sometimes a terror. (Terror sounds so harsh. Turkey? Pill? Mischief-maker? Terror is simply the most accurate, in my humble opinion.)

This afternoon as I was packing the boys up in the car to join our cousins for a Sunday meal, Blaine was naming all the members of our family:

"And Rog, and Bane, and Dad is Tay, and AnneMaria."

"Yes, Anne Marie is my name."

"AnneMaria? No! Not AnneMaria! AnneMaria is the kind of poo I did in the toilet!"

(I am not making this stuff up.)(And sorry. That is really gross.)

And after Blaine made a Jackson Pollock-esque masterpiece with spaghetti sauce and strawberry juice on his white dress shirt, he picked up a plastic sword and began chasing his cousin, Ethan with it.

"I'm going to cut his head clean off like a grape!" he declared. (I am still wracking my brain trying to figure out where on earth he heard that--I mean, heaven help me, could that have been an original thought?!)

And after some trike riding, marshmallow consuming, and stick collecting, we came home to go to sleep. Blaine has decided these last few nights that he is a talking baby, and could he please sleep in the pack-n-play? And I say, Why the heck not?

And there he rests, my dirty-faced, potty-talking, sword-wielding angel.