The Good Son

I'm not sure why I was expecting anything different, but I continue to be surprised at how easy it has become to dress my son. Don't remember if I had a bad babysitting experience, or just have so much trouble dressing myself, but I have an unconscious sensation that it would always be a struggle (my issues with his winter clothes snaps and buttons notwithstanding). You stick his head in the hole of a shirt, say "arm number one" and put his wrist in the slot and schwoomp up it goes. Stand him up and he's already leaning with his hands on my shoulders, lifting a leg to put on his shorts. I sure as heck didn't teach him that. Perhaps someone else cute has been working with him.

He's still slapping at the dogs, which is troublesome. We're having to get him to say "I'm sorry" way too often, and before I believe he even understands the concept. As long as he gets it (and the no-hitting rule altogether) before his sister comes around.
We're still working on names for her, with each of us having our favorites. Still in the very early stages, though. Some names are good on their own but not necessarily with any of our middle name choices. And as Ainsley points out, there are many others she likes but "not with our last name."
You gotta dance with the one that brung you, I told her.

Or "da-da-da" with shoulder shimmies, as Ryan says that word.
Still amazed by Ryan parroting of everyday words and some phrases. And he is on the precipice of starting to sing on his own, beyond a random "la la la". His first song is going to be "Head, Shoulders, Knees & Toes," I reckon. Unless someone cute has been working with him on that as well and has some country song planned. Wait: I think he already sings Happy Birthday. Hmm.

Still loves saying names and taking role to hear where everyone is. Last week: "Da-da?" "He's at work. "Na-na?" "She's in Oklahoma." "pam-paw..." "He's in the front seat." "Mimaa?" "You know where she is, where is she?" "Leigha!" "Right, she's with Aunt Leigha." Though he doesn't always get it right. He pointed at a picture in our house yesterday, and I said, "That's Katie."
So he meowed.
"No, no...'Katie.' Not 'Kitty.'"
And the night we picked Mimaa up from the airport, we stopped at Moe's for dinner, then chatted in the car on the way back. He pointed at his diaper bag.
"Cra-coa?"
"No, you can't have a cracker, we just ate. You had a quesadilla."
"Leigha?"