Tater Tots

Oh Tate, I haven't written about you in quite a while, which doesn't mean you haven't been doing anything blog-worthy. On the contrary, perhaps it's because you are doing SO much these days that I just can't wrap my brain around it all.

I mean, just this week while I was out running and Daddy and the boys worked in the yard, you figured out that Yes! you can pour yourself a bowl of cereal, milk and all. No adult help needed.

You recently determined that cleaning your room is "boring." Unless of course, Daddy has called and there is a prize involved. I have other words for cleaning your room, but I shall keep them to myself.

You have so many favorite songs that it's hard to provide for your musical tastes. I did manage to get a copy of "Apple Bottom Jeans" that we can play repeatedly in the car, atleast until I get my hands on "Thrift Shop."

You figured out how to order videos on my Kindle Fire and now we, ahem, you are the proud owner of 4 new cartoons. I, ahem, am paying the credit card bill. Oh, and I appreciate the impetus to learn to swtich on the Parental Controls. I had a nice long chat with the guy at Amazon.

You like girls! So much so that I'm getting tired and a little confused some days with the amount of role playing that goes on in the car, in the house, and at McDonalds. I guess it was inevitable that with two older brothers sporting girlfriends of their own, that you would choose one (or two) for yourself.

While I was busy watching Tucker pitch strikes and Tanner knock down grounders at shortstop, you managed to trek your bike all the way up the big hill at the ballpark and once at the top, careen down at topspeed, walkers beware. From the bleachers, I could only watch and pray as you hit your brakes right at the fence of the batting cages. Then? You did it again!

But I guess what stands out the most lately is your incessant desire to go to school. I explained to you the process of turning in our papers and waiting to hear if we were chosen for the Pre-K program. However, upon turning them in (the last day possible, no less) you politely asked the receptionist if you could see your classroom now. She just giggled. You, of course, were serious. We haven't heard any news yet, but that hasn't stopped you from asking every day if the school has called.

Don't you realize that if you go to school you can't wear pajamas and firehats and firejackets every day? Don't you realize that lunch at the McDonald's playground will come to a stop? Don't you realize that the teachers will send you home with work to do? Tests to study for? Letters to trace? Don't you realize that you can't nap when you want, where you want, and with the Blankie you want? Don't you realize what this means?

I won't get to help you pick which pajama shirt to wear or whether to wear the red, black, or yellow fire hat. I won't get to hear you talk about what you and Leena played on the playground. I won't have anyone to go to Kroger with me. I won't have a lunch date every day. I won't have to tell the burning building story every day on the way home from the Y. I won't have anyone to point out every Coke truck that passes. I won't have you.

I already had to send my other two best friends off to school. Do I really have to do it again?