This was taken during a week we spent camping with Hubby's parents; Son-One was fourteen months old and clearly the boss of everything. He's still just as cute, but twice as cocky.
Some stories to make him blush and squirm:
~~He called doughnuts "dungadoos" for a while when he was small, even though "doughnut" is clearly much easier to say than "dungadoo."
~~When he was four and mad at his brother, he would say, "Mom, I'm going to fire Son-Two." This was years and years (and just, way too many years, and how the hell did time pass this fast?!) before Donald Trump was firing apprentices on a regular basis.
~~Once when he was around seven he came into the kitchen to find me making shepherd's pie (AGAIN). He said, "Aw, Mom, are we having that crap for dinner again?" And I said, "When you get bigger and get a job you can make whatever you want for dinner." He said, "I'm never gonna get bigger if you keep making that crap because I'm not going to eat!"
~~When he was eight or so he became obsessed with the fact that the parrot in Disney's Aladdin had teeth and shouldn't. He would mention it to me, completely out of the blue, a couple of times a day until I finally got so exasperated, I said, "What would you like me to do about it? Write Disney?" And he said, "Yeah, and while you're at it, tell them the lobster in The Little Mermaid wouldn't be that red unless he'd been boiled."
~~We've only had two emergency room visits with Son-One. One of them required stitches and was the result of a perfectly respectable accident in the backyard--the other was when he was twelve and banged his shoulder on the diving board while showing off his back flip for a girl.
This eighteenth birthday thing is kinda freaking me out a little--mostly because I really didn't expect it to freak me out at all. I'm of the conserve energy school when it comes to freaking out and I really try not to freak out about things I'm completely powerless to stop. But I think I can make an exception for this.