Out the Window

Tucker's first eight months have flown by. He has a bit more hair, silky fluff like the stuff inside a milkweed pod, just dark enough to be disqualified as blond. He is generous with grins, each bigger than a slice of watermelon. His doe eyes are painted the perfect shade of serene, fringed with outrageously average lashes. He propels himself using an effective yet peculiar butterfly stroke/inchworm squirm. He climbs steps hastily and cruises around furniture with flair.

He flings ashes from the fireplace, splashes water from the dog’s bowl, tips bathroom trash cans, empties kitchen cabinets, swipes coffee and side tables clear. In fact, he's been known to do all these things before 10am on an average day. BUT, we are thrilled to have a busy little person in the house, one we can chase after and clean up behind. One who stands at the back door like his sister did, and leaves handprints on the glass, right where they used to be, right where I needed handprints to be again.

JEB