He has a few words. As a baseball nut, I am proud that he has mastered the “ball.”
Lately, I noticed he has a firm grasp on command-like, “Ian, grab this Mommy.” Or, “Hey, buddy, can You throw it in the trash for me?”
I have misplaced my camera about a week before Christmas. It’s one of those weeks that parents can commiserate with. On any given day I remember looking at last, I have to clean out the fridge, unplug it, we bring a new refrigerator, take an old refrigerator, reconnect a new refrigerator and clean up the mess.
Only we have the water leakage of small lines that fed the ice maker refrigerator that long in the us. Long story short, things that are routine in the evening I was thrown out of whack, our kitchen into a swimming pool, and after a visit from my pal, Joe new finest, from a pipe, Bogan all was back to normal.
Not in My Briefcase, where it placed 99 percent of the time after I get home. Not under the or sofa cushion sandwiched. Not under the couch or Chair. Not in the car. Not in a Briefcase at a second glance. Not in the car over a second glance. Not in the trunk of my car. Not in my bag. Again.