We went with Daddy to Men's Wearhouse to picked up his tux for a banquet that he and I went to recently. He walked out of the dressing room and Natalie immediately fell all over herself saying how handsome he looked (which he did - hubba hubba). But you, our dear sweet boy, you certainly have your own unique way of complimenting a be-tuxed man. You took one look at him and said "Daddy! You look like a fancy waitress!" We're so calling you 'a fancy waitress' at your prom. Or your wedding. Or whatever event where you look like James Bond.
You and Natalie have started playing in her room after you two get up in the morning. I can hear you two talking in the bathroom about the weird dreams you two have had and you talking about how "cwaaaazy" it was that Patches (your stuffed dog) was on the floor when you woke up, and Natalie sensibly explaining how when you move around while you sleep things can fall off your bed and onto the floor. Then I hear footsteps, Natalie's door close, and two muffled voices talking about who-knows-what. Sometimes it lasts for a few minutes, sometimes it lasts an hour. However long, I try to soak up that closed door and those sweet muffled voices because there must be some fun SmithKid stuff going on. Nobody's fussing or whining or arguing or pouting. There's only imagining, cooperating, giggling, and a whole heckuva lot of jumping on the bed. My morning coffee tastes the best when the background music is giggling and when the potential is high for Natalie's bed springs to explode.
You had an unfortunate encounter with a dog this month - as if you needed any more reasons to dislike dogs. We were walking up to the door to Panera Bread when a dog, on a leash and (presumably) asleep at its owners feet at one of the outside tables, lifted her head, saw you, didn't like what she saw, and reacted. It could have been your ninja shirt you were wearing (the one with the not-really-scary-but-not-totally-friendly pair of eyes on the front) or it could have been that this dog was a rescue dog and had been previously mistreated by a little boy. Who the heck knows; it doesn't matter. All I know is that one second the dog looked asleep and the next second the dog was up, barking, lunging at your side, and her tooth was caught in your shirt. Thank goodness your shirt was slightly too big or that morning would have gone much differently. Before I could do anything, the dog's owner shot out of her chair and restrained the dog. The owner was (understandably) horrified, you were (understandably) hysterical, and Natalie was (understandably) paralyzed with fear. I felt horrible. I held you for about 10 minutes while I talked to the dog's owner (who kept glaring at the dog, who kept her head buried under the table legs). I tried my best to show grace to the dog's owner, who really was a precious lady. I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt that she wouldn't have taken a little boy mauler to Panera Bread. I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt that she had know clue her dog would react like that. After we were safely within the four walls of Panera Bread eating our muffins, you looked at me and said "I TOLD you I wasn't a pet puh-sun [person], mommy! I'm just a puh-sun puh-sun." I don't blame you, kiddo. I might be a bear puh-sun - namely a Charlie Bear puh-sun, but that's the extent of my animal-loving self.
Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy
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Headlines for August 9, 2016:
- Clinton's Lead Over Trump Keeps Getting Bigger
- Paul Ryan Faces Off With Paul Nehlen as Wisconsin Votes in Primary
- King Edges Russian Rival as USA Wins Gold, Bronze in 100m Breaststroke
- Kerri Walsh Jennings, April Ross Make Quick Work of China in Beach Volleyball
- Gymnast Simone Biles in a League of Her Own
- Police Investigating Waterslide Death of 10-Year-Old Boy
