Say hello to my baby.

I know. I know.

He’s adorable, right?

Sorry. Was that a proud mama thang to say? ::snort::

But, seriously. He’s cute.

He’s also the baby of the family. I think y’all know what that means. The lil’ stinker gets his way 98% of the time. He knows how to work the system. My man and I being the system.

Some days he’s the most darling creature. Other days he’s a tyrant.

I find that I’ve grown much more relaxed in my parenting over the last {almost} 15 years. Things I wouldn’t allow my first born to get away with when I was 19, I snicker at with my baby now that I’m 34.

I’ve chilled out.

Or is it that I’ve grown lax? Mmmmm. No need to answer that.

Maybe it’s because I know he’s the last. He’s truly the baby. Maybe that’s it.

Yes, that’s my story. And I’m sticking to it. ::wink::

What about the baby of your family? We’re you the baby of the family {like me} growing up?

I hope y’all have had a fabulous Sunday! xoxo

Love is all you need.

Cheesy, no?

Do you have it?

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My baby’s three now!

Even if his shirt is backwards.

And inside out.

Please note the big boy underwear peaking out.

On Friday afternoon, Cowgirl Princess had a rehearsal in preparation for her recital yesterday.

Don’t the boys look so excited and ready to support their sister? *snort, cough*

I barked out orders for everyone to grab a pair of shoes and loaded the crew up – without checking to see what each of them grabbed. Big mistake.

They did marvelous through the first half of the rehearsal, but when the teacher announced, “Let’s go through it again” – the moans and groans started.

Uh -oh.

“All boys to the hallway.”

The following is what ensued.

“Hey, Junior. Whacha doin’?”

“Shhh. I’m hiding from Blondie.”

“Here he comes.”

“I think I got him!”

“Nah. You missed me.”

“Let’s try it again.”

“Actually, I just want to run up and down the hall.”

“Because I’m fast.”

“Like Dash in The Incredibles.”

“Let’s swordfight, Junior.”

(Never mind the fact that he doesn’t have a sword. Boys don’t actually need the weapons in hand – they’re great at just imagining.)

“I’m not afraid of you, Junior.”

“Take that!”

And just to prove my point further, here’s some shots taken yesterday as we drove to the recital.

“Mommy, I see a bad guy in the backseat. I’ll get him for you!”

“Don’t worry, Mommy.”

“I’ve got it under control.”

“He’s toast. You’re safe now, Mommy.”

Sigh.

Boys.

This evening, after the dinner and bath routine were complete, I called to the crew:

“Family worship time!”

Now typically when this command is issued, members of the crew run into the Great Room, grab their Bibles out of the bookcase and then plop down into their places on the couch.

Tonight, Blondie was the first one into the Great Room, but instead of running to the bookcase to get his Bible . . . . . . he ran to the entertainment center and began to open the TV.

We’ve been attempting to stir up some interest in our two year-old, namely in the art of potty-training. We haven’t tried to make a big “to-do” about it – we just want to show him it can be fun. Everyone will cheer for him if he sits on the potty and tell him what a big boy he is.

Generally speaking, he’s not so interested, so we’re not forcing the issue.

This morning was the typical routine with *cough* . . . . one rather disgusting humorous exception.

Hubby had some suspicions that Blondie needed to use the potty (some unpleasant odor was following him around) and asked him, “Do you need to go potty, buddy?”

“NO!”

Hubby muttered to himself, “Sure ya’ don’t.”

A few minutes later, Blondie came back into the room wearing this on his head:

And guess what . . . . . it was stuck. Yep! My cute little man had a potty seat stuck on his head – and was none to happy about it either.

He had gone into the bathroom to fill his diaper (that’s progress right – at least he’s in the right room) and decided he would use the potty seat as a hat – you know . . . instead of sitting on it.