Sometimes I think Bun was born about 70 years too late.
Oh, I know he was born exactly when God wanted him to be born, and I am so thankful for that. If he was born 70 years ago, I wouldn't have the privilege of being his mother and thinking about that kind of breaks my heart. If he was born 70 years ago, there would have been no NICU to keep him alive, and who knows what would have become of him. Maybe they would have put him in a shoebox and made out his death certificate like they did for my premature grandmother.
Obviously, she didn't take the doctor up that death certificate seeing as I'm here on this earth and all.
|Bun thinks his Dad hung the moon. So do I.|
All that aside, I still tend to think of Bun as an old fashioned kind of kid. I don't know why, since I know a lot of kids who enjoy old fashioned games and pursuits, but there is something about him that is old school.
He's the kind of kid that a lot of older people call a "boy's boy." I think that is a very polite way of saying that Bun is mostly the embodiment of noise with dirt on it. His resemblance to Dennis the Menace is not unwarranted - right down to that white-blond cowlick on the back of his head.
|Replace those six shooters with light sabers and you've got a pretty good picture of Bun on any given day.|
Anyone who has read here for longer than two days has probably realized his love for baseball, especially his Phillies. Baseball, more than any other sport, has captivated him. He loves America's Game. He memorizes the numbers of his favorite players, he roots for the home team even if they lose (but man does it bug him when they do!), and he likes to sneak down past bedtime and watch a couple innings with us during the season.
Throw him outside with a bike and he'll be a happy camper for the rest of the day. Or better yet, challenge him to a game of hide and seek, tag, or "good guys and bad guys." (He usually opts to be the bad guy - should I worry?)
Give him rocks, sticks, and dirt. And if you up the ante and let him add water into all that outdoor play? Well, you have a best friend for life.
He has become as spoiled as his mother with the satellite radio in the van (not an old fashioned thing at all, I know), but he will beg me to listen to the '50s on 5 or '60s on 6 stations. And if they play Otis Redding or Sam Cooke? Forget about trying to listen to anything else. That's his jam.
He's our little Wayback Kid, and I love him. Even after he cut all the heads off of my tulips with a play sword. Sigh.
|That twinkle in his eye spells T-R-O-U-B-L-E.|