Email to a Friend

So Pumpkin wanted to send his friend Molly an email. His typing skills are a little rusty. So I typed, word for word, his sentiments:

Dear Molly,

Pumpkin misses you so much. I love to play with you, Molly, so much. I want you to come play with my Tinkertoys.

Your friend,
Pumpkin Pie

Girls

Pumpkin likes girls. Not like-like girls, but he believes girls can be his friends. Pumpkin's friends, particularly Zach, are in the "girls are germy" stage.

He came home from school one day this week talking about how Zach won't play with girls. "He doesn't like girls," Pumpkin told me. "He HATES girls."

(Granted, Zach has two older brothers, so I'm sure most of this comes from them.)

I asked Pumpkin what he thinks about girls. "You're a girl and I like you," he said. "Girls are my friends."

That said, Pumpkin does not like playing "housekeeping" with the girls. Housekeeping? From questioning him, sounds like "housekeeping" is what I used to call "playing house" but Pumpkin's definition of housekeeping is this: "You know, one person dusts, one washes dishes, one makes dinner - but its pretend food, not real food."

At the Valentine party yesterday, several of the girls distributed Disney princess valentines. "Look Zach!" he said. "Maya gave us princess cards! I like princesses!"

"Yuck! I hate princesses!" said Zach as he threw out the Sleeping Beauty valentine.

"My mommy's a princess," Pumpkin told him. I kissed his head for that.

Land of low prices and bee coats

Pumpkin: Zach ate a bee today in school.

Me: No he didn't. There are no bees in the wintertime.

Pumpkin: Yes he did. There are bees in winter. They just wear coats.

Me: Coats? Bee coats?

Pumpkin: Yes.

Me: What kind of coats do bees wear?

Pumpkin: Red ones. Pink ones. Blue ones. Camoflague ones. Those are the kinds of bee coats.

Me: Where do bees get these "coats"?

Pumpkin: Wal-Mart.

Cookie Monster

Scene: Making cookies at my parents' house with P running in and out of the kitchen. He didn't seem too interested in what I was doing, but that was a rouse. At one point I looked over and he had his hand in a pile of cookie dough.

Me: P! What are you doing?

P: Yum!

Me: P, we're making cookies for Grandpa.

P: OK.

Look over again, and he has his hands in a lump of cookie dough.

Me: P, what are you going to tell Grandpa when he sees these mis-shapen cookies?

P: I'll tell him, "SURPRISE!!"

Dogs Don't Play Baseball

The Parentville Family spent the weekend with my parents in Tennessee. Really low key weekend. G helped my dad with some work converting an old log cabin into a storage shed, and P had the run of the grounds.

One of P's favorite activities was playing with Dooley Dog. P played "school" with Dooley, and tried to teach him how to play baseball. Here he is trying to explain to Dooley the importance of staying on third base - it didn't work:


And, oh my goodness, the boy was dirty! Probably as dirty has he's ever been! Exhibit A:

That shirt? Yeah, it WAS white!

Turning Three

P had two third birthdays - one with just G and me, the other other with Grandma, Grandpa, and my niece. That meant two cakes.

Cake one: yellow and chocolate marble. Big "3" candle on top.

Cake two: French vanilla with buttercream icing. Bob the Builder theme. Oh yeah, and tool-shaped cookies to complete the ensemble. (Three hours to decorate this sucker - P's reaction when he first saw it? Priceless!)

His reaction, when told he had to share the Bob the Builder cake with the rest of us:

"Here's your piece, Gramma!"

We spent time at the zoo. P loved the zoo this year - the monkeys, zebras, bears, penguins (or "pay-gins"), and of course, elephants. I think we'll get a lot of mileage from the Family Membership we bought for his birthday. It's going to be a good year - happy birthday, baby boy!

Running Home

After two weeks of crying on my lap, P decided to play on his t-ball team this weekend. It only cost me a $2 bribe and promises of having "splash day" at home after the game. Luckily, P can't count coins, so I can't say for sure that he actually got $2, but he LOVED putting the money in his bank.

The best part of the game was whenever he was told to "run home." Instead of running toward his coach and home plate, he'd come running to me. That sound you hear? Yep, that's my melting heart.