Because He’s 6

My son turned a big 6 years old Sunday, and he sure is proud of it. That night he got a craving for eggs, and he ate one after another until he had devoured 3 eggs, said it was because he was 6 now. If he eats 3 eggs now that he is 6, I hate to see how many eggs we’ll have to cook for breakfast when he’s 16! I have a feeling we are gonna need more chickens if that’s the case.

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The Great Preparation

The big freeze we’ve been expecting hasn’t hit yet, but I expect by the time we start pasting this newspaper together, my teeth will be chattering plenty fast. One thing is for sure. When the weatherman said “artic blast” I made sure to ask my husband to start getting some firewood ready. We were stuck without any dry firewood when the great “snowpocalypse” happened, and I kicked myself about that for days. I am willing to bet we are all a little better prepared this year than we were that awful year.

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The Puppy Phase

My little one recently decided to be a “puppy for the afternoon”. As a teenager, I had several younger siblings, and I distinctly remember when they went through their “puppy phases”. I will never forget how hard I laughed as I poured a bowl of milk, and watched my pesky little sister get down on her hands and knees on our kitchen floor to lick the milk up out of the bowl like a dog. If only they had digital cameras in those days.

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Socks and Toes

I asked my teenage daughter (not naming any names) to help get my son dressed. She put a little twist on that when he resisted a little, but he came out dressed.
I learned later that she told her poor little brother that if he doesn’t wear socks with his shoes he will “grow an extra toe” on the side of his foot.
What a sisterly thing to do.

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Happy Feet

Well we went from nice and toasty to freezing cold pretty quickly this weekend didn’t we? I must be getting older, cause I’m talking about the weather like Jerry Beck. But I am not too old yet, because I do not record the amount of rainfall. I’m still one of those young irresponsible children who have to call someone older and wiser to ask how much rain we got. When I start keeping up with that, that’s how I’ll really know I’m old. No offense to any of you rain documenters.

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Talking to Sprinkles

We celebrated a couple of birthdays this weekend, and much to my son’s delight, there were two cakes. He spent most of his time hovering over the one with lots of colorful sprinkles. I won’t lie; the creamy white icing covered in pink, yellow, blue, and red sprinkles is quite enticing.
What really cracked me up is when I saw my little boy hunched over in a chair at the kitchen table, looking down at the sprinkles on the cake. He looked like he was counting the sprinkles, but instead he was saying “I love you and I love you and I love you” as he tried to decide which sprinkle he wanted to eat first. Only a child could be that passionate about sprinkles! Sprinkles are pretty awesome.
I already know I will miss these days. I was telling my little boy as I cuddled him, “Someday you’ll be too big for me to hold you.”
He responded with “Don’t worry, I will hold you.” What a sweetheart he is.