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I have been seriously delaying ordering Christmas cards. I blame Galit, because I was hoping to win her giveaway and score Minted holiday cards. Maybe next year. But in the mean time I might just pinch from her and Alison this idea and email family and friends something similar:
Loving= because he gives the best hugs and kisses.
Cheeky= because he has an answer for everything.
Stubborn= because he never gives up, even when he knows he is in over his head.
Fast= trust me, he is like Road Runner.
Particular= CLICK HERE. See?
Chatty= because he never stops talking.
Silly= he cracks himself up all the time.
Brave= because he just does it.
Studious= because he is engrossed in his books all the time.
Bright= every mom thinks that right?
Funny= he cracks me up all the time.
Imaginative= listening to him play with his imaginary friend will convince you of that.
Thoughtful= he truly cares about others.
Creative= cleaning up his toys and the combinations he came up with will convince you of that.
Fiery= try making him do something against his will.
And fire engine? It is his thing…
On Tuesday we locked ourselves out of the house.
We were sitting on the front porch after walking the dog, enjoying the sunshine and killing time before Preschool. After I realized the door was locked and checked the alternative three entrances, I called Husband at work and asked for help. I hate asking him to do things for me. Especially when I make a mistake and am in my rare, vulnerable, ‘not perfect’ state. Sure it was bad we were running late and I had to come back home to change into my riding gear. But looking into Husband’s eyes and scrambling for explanation on why I had no key ( do you take keys to sit on a front porch?!) really put a damper on my week.
Fast forward to this evening and Little J and I are having dinner. He does his usual ‘anywhere but sitting at the table’ routine and insist of having to go potty. But this time he says he has to go again a few minutes later. As he reaches the bathroom, he is calling for help. Apparently there is a problem with the door.
Sure enough, the door is locked. He turned the lock on the inside and after closing the door, it locked. I told him to go upstairs, fixed the door while he was gone, then gave him the speech on why never to do that again.
The fact that he did it to the upstairs bathroom so he could not go and brush his teeth before bedtime I will contribute to his sense of humor. I sat him down:
Me: “Did I tell you downstairs never to lock the doors again?
Little J: “I don’t remember”
Me: “What was the number on the fire engine parked on our street last month?”
Little J: “81”
I rest my case.
After I tucked him in and came downstairs I found the bathroom locked again. So I think it is safe to say we have solved the mystery of the Tuesday fiasco. See darling, I am perfect after all, but that son of yours…