Monday, December 7, 2009
A typical playroom scene.
Carson outfitted to fight the nearest fire, laying on the floor singing and talking to whomever or whatever will listen. (If you sneak in, you can hear streams of thought like, "I haf hel'copter cake...Daddy bwow candles wif Carson!...Hel'copters haf pwopellers...Go to hospital... Doctors hewp sick people...Kate is sick...She in bed...I eat quesadilla!...Yummy dinner, mommy..." He just goes on and on.)
Everett trying to crawl, making it a couple of feet and then sitting back down, looking a little puzzled as to what just happened, often ending up on his hands and tip-toes, bum in the air. Everett nearly always, always, always happy as a clam! An excerpt from my entry in Everett's journal last night: "You may look like me, but I believe you have your father's perpetually optimistic nature... You smile and laugh when others might cry, you are so patient with me, you eat anything I serve you, you make me smile all day long...just like your dad!
We sure do have some sweet boys over here!