Greg and I attended a party for one of our neighbors who turned 40. Our gift was a baseball hat that read, “In dog years, I’m dead.” Meanwhile, my parents came to the house to watch the boys. They also have two granddaughters, yet watching boys wears them out a bit more.
By the time we had returned home, all four were on the couch and looked as though they had run a race. Except Hayden, who was still not happy with Papaw for telling him “no” on his strawberry popsicle request. Dad explained that he had already had a fruit rollup and popcorn. Hayden still wanted Pap to sit in time alone.
The highlight (tongue-in-cheek) of the evening for my parents had to be when the boys took them up to their rooms. 3-year-old Hayden loves music, and will put on a concert for anyone who will watch. Jamming to his electric guitar, beating on the drums, or sliding across the room on his knees in true rock-star fashion are all typical moves for him.
Not so typical is when my parents told me he tried something new with his trumpet. Evidently, Hayden attempted to put his “you-know-what” in the mouthpiece. Where does he get this stuff?
I normally blame Greg, but I can honestly say that’s NOT something he learned from his father.