Oh Those Boys

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This is what The Rock Star wore in the garden the other day. He was barefoot and had a complete meltdown when he stood on an ant hill and had a couple critters climbing his legs. "Never fear," The Rock Star thought once he'd composed himself, "I have just the solution.
Snow boots!"


As I kissed him good night and whispered that I'd be back to check on him after I put on my pajamas and brushed my teeth and took out my contacts, the following conversation occurred-

G: Mommy, are you tinky?

Me: I don't know. Am I?
G: Let me smell you. (I lean in close and he buries his nose in my hair.) You tink.

Me: (laughing) What do I smell like?

G: Like berry sausage.
Me: (incredulous) Like berry sausage?

G: Yep. And yogurt. And oatmeal.

I have no idea what berry sausage is. Apparently, however, I smelled like a breakfast buffet. I find it incredibly interesting that I smelled like sausage and oatmeal, especially since I don't like either. Don't bother telling me that I don't know what I'm missing on the oatmeal front. I do know. I know it's warm and filling and perfect for cold mornings. I wish I liked it. I yearn to like it. Problem is, I don't like it.

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The day before Matthew was born, his birth mama gave us two soft, fuzzy blankets. We send her pictures and letters frequently and the last time I spoke with her on the phone she asked if I would take some pictures of him with the blankets. I think, given the fact that she gave us her son after lugging him around for nine months and then having a Cesarean, that it's probably the least I can do.

Here's Matthew, just three days shy of three months old.

Please excuse his immodesty. They were fresh out of infant bras at WalMart.

And this last one is my favorite.

Here is more of Matthew "talking". First of all, beware of the phantom hand. It looks creepy and darts in and out of the shot with near lightning speed. Second, forgive the annoying sounding mommy about halfway through. He talks much better when he's being spoken to (especially when the voice sounds like a total ninny). Third, I am not gagging my son. I promise. He always talks (laughs, smiles, etc.) when his lips and/or tongue is tickled.