My Tate.

My youngest.  My wild one.  Completely uninhibited.  Wide open.

This morning:
  1. His hair resembles a Q-tip because it's so fuzzy (he probably needs a haircut).  And his double crown gives him a mohawk.  Picture a Q-tip with a mohawk.
  2. His jeans have a hole in the knee.  And grass stains.  And they are too short.
  3. His shirt is also too short.  Neither of these items was too short the last time he wore them, mmm, maybe a week ago?
  4. His mouth is sporting what looks like band-aid residue.  Which is a big mystery.
  5. His fingernails, despite his bath last night, are filthy.  This is nothing new.  We can leave the house for church with clean fingernails and the nails are dirty by the time we get to the sanctuary.  He must generate filth.
  6. His shoes are taped onto his feet.  When he had time to do this, I don't know.  The strap broke and I guess he decided to take matters into his own hands.  This will not bode well  on the playground later on today, but there's nothing I can do about it now.  Oh well.
  7. He has entertained himself for the last 10 minutes (we are at an appointment for his sister) wiggling his hips and doing the Saturday Night Fever dance.  How he knows that dance is a mystery to me.  He has curled his lip ala Billy Idol and is hip-thrusting and tip-toeing ala Michael Jackson.  Maybe letting him watch the "Thriller" video was a bad idea.  He is making beat box noises to accompany his dancing.  I am glad we are the only ones in the waiting room.
  8. He is learning to read, and entertains his brother by substituting the word "love" in Snuggle Puppy with the word "hate."  This apparently is immensely funny to both boys and Tate relishes his older brother's laughter.
  9. On the way to school, he entertains the crowd with farting noises.  His talents here are unparalleled, and the other kids are trying not to laugh, but he is a master and his noise creations inspire wonder in us all.  
  10. As he exits the car, he gives me the hand (so I won't kiss him) and says "back off lady...no sampling the goods."  This is also the kid who, after saying the blessing, will often end with a "peace out homey" to God.
He's the poster child for "the baby of the family."  In our rush to get out the door this morning, I didn't even bother to inspect him, or I probably would have noticed numbers 1-6.  Notice I said "probably."  Nothing is a given with this kid.  He reminds me so much of his uncle, my own baby brother.

Minus the state of his clothes.  Sorry Mom!


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