Backblog #3

Adam has been wanting to play soccer since he was a year old.  This year is finally the year!

These shots were taken a couple of weeks ago, before the cracked collar bone incident.

His coach insists on his jersey being tucked in.  Which looks...odd.

I love this face!!!

Blackblog #2

I can't believe my little man has finished preschool.

Since Daddy is in the military, Adam was chosen to hold the flag during the pledge of allegiance.

I have one word about his growing up so fast.

WWWWWAAAAAHHH!!

One day he's going to grow up and leave me and then I think I will just die.

And his sister?  I'm going to never let her out of the house.  I'm going to have hubby guard the door with a shotgun, and she is never EVER going to go away, because when she does, I'm going to shrivel up.

Just shrivel, I tell you, until there's nothing left.

And I'll only revive when she gives me grandchildren.  Which I refuse to think about right now.

The end.

My Adam

This is my Adam-Bean.  Our cheerful sunflower child.

Before he was born, when we told Julia about her new sibling, we said we didn't know whether the baby was a boy or a girl, because it was only the size of a bean.

It stuck.

Which could be a problem someday.  Especially since Julia sometimes calls him Beano. 

Adam has been, from the very moment he arrived, a happy, lively soul.

He smiled earlier than most.  He giggled earlier than most.  This picture, with the smile?  Is typical.  As is the fuzziness, since this kid is ALWAYS in motion!

He loves taking things apart, dumping things out, and building things.  Wrap, paper, cardboard, leftover ANYTHING is a treasure that needs to be kept and used for some sort of building project.

He's the loudest kid I know.  And he talks constantly.  At a high decibal level.

He's my cuddler.  He gives great hugs.  At night, when he's giving me a goodnight kiss, it can be painfully enthusiastic!  My glasses always end up askew as I try to keep from being too roughly tackled.

He's gentle with the cats and rough with the dog.

In the kitchen, anything goes.  In a bowl could be sugar, all the vanilla in the bottle, and a bunch of oregano.  Presented to me with flair.  All the paper in the computer is taken and covered in pictures and the "writing" of recipes, which MUST be placed with the other recipe books.  I have no peace in the kitchen, having constant help whenever I so much as set a toe in through the kitchen entry, and nothing, absolutely nothing, is sacred there. 

He's the most grateful child I know.  He says thank you for EVERYTHING.  Sometimes I'll do something without even thinking about it--nothing much, really--and he'll be all smiles and "THANK you, mommy!" as though I've just done the best thing in the world for him.  I love the positive reinforcement.

He likes playing dress up, pink, hotwheels, trains, getting his nails done (!), drawing, building, taking things apart, making forts, going to preschool, collecting toilet paper tubes, opening mom's mail, leaving the end off the gluestick, squeezing out mom's toothpaste, playing board games (as many as mom or dad will sit with him for--all day if possible), digging in the dirt, and snuggling with mom reading story after story.

Every night he asks, "Why do you love me, Mummy?"

And every night I ask myself:

How could I NOT love this child?

Boy treed: News at 11.

"Hey Lynn, you're OK that Adam's up in the trees, right?  He's getting quite high."

I look out the window.  Yes, he IS quite high in Grandma Jing-Jing's willow tree, and I'd really not have any broken bones while out of the country.  But first one must take a photo:

Afterwhich, the boyo realizes that he's quite far from the ground after all, and that he can't get down by himself.  Scared cries ensue, but Uncle Les races to the rescue, and soon those little feet are planted once again on terra firma, to the relief of both himself AND his mother!