He continues to insist on being the line leader, even when away from school. He still stiff arms you if you are ahead of him in the hall and makes his Daddy walk behind him all the way to G-Ma's house on Saturday mornings.
His lips are always chapped. I constantly chase him around with chap stick and have to hold him down to apply it. He uses his sleeve as his napkin and Kleenex, which contributes to dry lips and dirty shirts. I threaten on a daily basis to tie his arms behind his back to which he looks at me and giggles, "Okay, Mama, okay."
He has become a fast runner and is a scrappy little fighter. He loves wrestling with Sam and can surprisingly hold his own against his big brother. His fighting stance is to spread his legs wide, bow up his arms and give his toughest look. And then in true Jack form, he kisses his fists before sailing on Sam.
He recently had his three year well check with Dr. Mann. He is 37.4 inches tall, weighs 36 pounds and in the 75th percentile for both. It seems my children have a conspiracy against me to never allow me to experience a peaceful, uneventful trip to the pediatrician. On this trip, Jack insisted on wearing his coon skin hat. While wrestling with Sam in the waiting room, he managed to snap the tail off. I scooped it up and stuffed it in my back pocket. We were called back and I scooped up Will and directed the big boys to the back. And then I heard across the very crowded waiting room, "Um, M'am. M'am! You dropped your tail. M'am, you dropped your tail." "Uh, I think they're talking to you," the nurse said. I looked back and sure enough there laid that raccoon tail. I grabbed it and this time chunked it into the trash can. I surely never thought I'd hear "um, m'am, you dropped your tail" at the pediatrician's office.
He loves when I spray Lysol. He goes nuts. He runs behind me and into the haze of disinfectant, chomping his mouth like a rabid dog. He actually tries eating it but is too busy squealing and laughing to "catch" any. I now try to refrain from spraying it when he's home.
When G-Ma told him to stop doing something at her house recently, he looked at her and said, "Well, you might be stupid."
On a recent trip to Target, he found an open bottle of hand sanitizer on the end of the diaper aisle. So while I was picking up wipes, he was sanitizing himself. When I realized what he was doing his entire shirt was already soaked and reeking of alcohol. So off came his shirt and he pranced through the store with just his pants on. And of all days to wear his camo pants. Shirtless and in camouflage, could we be more redneck? Yes, actually, we could. We exited Target, Will in arms (covered in diarrhea, by the way), Sam and Jack behind me. I looked back and saw Jack, who had just cleared the exit seconds earlier, relieving himself. There was my shirtless child who had popped his stuff out of the top of his pants without even unbuttoning or pulling them down. And he was prancing to the car. Prancing to the car, parts poking over the top of his pants, peeing a stream straight up in the air, not missing a beat. I yelled his name. He froze and continued to pee, now creating a puddle on the sidewalk. He finished and tucked his little worm back in, grinning the entire time. I smiled at the laughing bystanders and apologized to the mother of the small girl standing near our car, that had likely gotten her first anatomy lesson compliments of my middle boy in a Target parking lot.
The other day at Nana's house, Jack thought it would be a great idea to put one of Granny Ila's plastic apples in the oven. The next morning Nana turned on the oven and thankfully opened the door immediately, finding the old, plastic apple inside. She called and told me and I questioned Jack. He admitted to doing it and when I asked him why he would do that he sang out,"Because, my am sneaky!"
I recently discovered an entire tube of orajel on the back of my upholstered chair, all over the carpet and on several stuffed animals. His explanation...he was a hunter and he killed the animals and needed to put blood on them.
He asks to "jump inside" cartoons and movies all the time. He has even packed his book bag and jumped on top of his Diego computer because he needed to go play with him. He really believes that all he has to do is jump in and he can become part of another world.
He will tell me, "Mama, go to the playroom" when he wants to do something wrong and doesn't want me to see him. It usually involves scissors, crayons, soap or toothpaste.
He is mischievous and wild and still our source of endless joy. He makes our life fun and unpredictable and every day with him is a blessing. His spirit makes me smile and his spunk brightens my days. I love him, love him, love him. My Jack. My wonderful Jack.
And it is hard. And tiring. But beyond wonderful. And the only thing I'm considering these days is whether or not I should put a Christmas tree in the kitchen, knowing that he will tear it apart on a daily basis. It doesn't hurt that he's beyond adorable and as sweet as sugar.
And, yes, that is a piece of trash bag in his mouth. I saw it as he smiled for the camera and promptly removed it from his chubby, little cheeks. My busy boy. The one who cried all morning and was beyond cranky, which is so abnormal for him. So I carried him to the doctor and discovered his ears are infected. My poor little sweetie. But on a high note, both of his top teeth broke through today. Hallelujah! My fingers stayed numb from constantly applying orajel and my child had begun gnawing on the edge of the wooden table in the den. So Will and I made a deal. If he won't cut any more teeth for a while, he's free to destroy my house, room by room, on a daily basis.
