Four Years Old

Dear Sam.

It has been so long since I have blogged, I forgot how to log-in to this thing. It may be my longest lapse in blogging. You should feel proud that you have broken the seal.

But, you are FOUR. FOUR YEARS OLD. You tell everyone you are four, not three. (Ironically your tball number is "3" which makes for some very confusing conversations.) You are very proud of being four, and you are very anxious to grow up and get older. Which, of course, I feel just the opposite. I want you to be four forever and ever. Because four is pretty awesome.

Totally and completely soaked.

 Watching you grow up has been much different than Abe's progression. You have someone to mimic, to look up to, to know what is cool and what is not. You informed me yesterday that Thomas the Train is NOT cool. And, you are obsessed with "Diary of  a Wimpy Kid" because Abe is. Which, of course, is probably geared toward middle school kids. But, you think you are just like Greg Heffley and wear your backpack around (on one shoulder, not two) just like him. You sleep with your very own "Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Cabin Fever" book, and bring it with you everywhere you go.

You love Abe. So much.

We started both you and Abe in T-ball this year. I was very excited that it worked out that you could both be on the same team. I know that you are a little young, but I figured if we had to drag you to Abe's Tball games you would want to be out there playing. Well, you are "that" kid on the t-ball team. You know, the one that is chasing butterflies in the outfield. Except your style is more about yelling to anyone in particular, "HOW MANY MORE MINUTES?!" when you are on second base.  You also yelled this to me yesterday, "HEY MAMA! I MADE AN "S"!" whilst in the middle of the game, on second base.

But, you look so darn cute in your uniform and you like to hit the ball and run around the bases. And, I have found that you will do just about anything for a Ring Pop.

Lord help us.

You give the best hugs ever. You ask if you can sleep in my bed every night, and even though I want to say yes to you every night, I only let you sleep in there on the weekends. You are very friendly and walk up to strangers and say your name is Sammy Beans. You love trying new foods and could eat cucumbers at every meal, every day. You love ketchup. You call "polka dots," "coconuts," and I prefer it that way. You really like the song "Pumped Up Kicks." You make me laugh every day, and totally can work it for an audience.

Killing It

I love you my Sammy Beans.
Mama