Hank Best

Beyond the typical Me too! and Me first! toddler battlecries, Hank says lots of sweet and funny things.

His bedroom is right above the room in the basement that houses the sump pump. It operates rather loudly, so Hank has developed a little bit of self talk to help ignore the noise: No biggie, pup suck. 

When I climbed on a stool to reach something to set the table for company last week he cautioned Be tareful, Mama. 
Interestingly, he climbs on the same stools with wild abandon.

He says ready eat now approximately eleventy six times a day. 
And he's always asking for more mock moly please. {guacamole}
I know I've mentioned that he almost always follows up a meal with Thank you dinner, Mama.

He sings all of Baa Baa Black Sheep, and my favorite is when he gets to the yessir yessir part.

When he doesn't want us to touch him, like when we're trying to wipe sticky syrup from his fingers or change a dirty diaper or brush his teeth, he cries Ouch! You broke Hank's tickle bone!

We hung a portrait of my grandfather recently, and Hank talks to Thomas all day long.
Look mine elephant pillow, Thomas.  Mama's toffee hot, Thomas, blow!  You like mine new puppy, Thomas?  Goodnight, Thomas.

When we lay him down for bed, he asks to be covered with his blanket and then squeezes his lids shut and tells us Close eyes, sleep better.

My new favorite thing, though, above all else, is when he's asked his name.
He's right, too.  He is Hank Best.