Jack has just under two years of sonship under his belt, and he's already filling our house with yelling, jumping, trucks, pretend sirens, growling, dirt, rocks, sticks. He hands me boogies. He finds treasures in the trash can. He picks "ah-pools" (from our weeping cherry tree) off the ground and carries fistfulls into the house. He likes to jump over his brother when Jude is lying on the ground. He likes to see how high he can push Jude in the swing when mommy isn't looking. He loves to jump, jump, jump on the bed and then land on the floor with a thud big enough to shake the house. He's never without some miniature form of transportation - truck, car or train. And he especially likes to include these special guests in mealtimes. I've found raisins in the back of his truck, a matchbox car washed in tomato soup, and dinosaur footprints across my table.
Because who needs spoons when you can just eat off a dinosaur's tail?
And he can be gentle too, despite the stories Jude has to tell. He loves to mother his own "bee-bee." Burping the baby is his favorite, but usually he just tucks it under his arm and carries it around the house. It's the other "Jude" in our lives (since all babies are "Jeww" right now), and the perfect "Jude" for Jack to practice on.
Of course, like any good son, Jack loves to bring me flowers. It's very sweet, too bad they are usually freshly picked from my own pots. I have repeatedly asked him not to pick the blooms off the plants, but I have a hard time following-through. I mean, who wants to discipline their kid for brining them a flower? I certainly don't.
*sigh* I'm such a sucker for "all boys" ... with a side of sweetness.