Just a Few Things I Want to Remember

His lisp continues to be adorable.
When he asks a question about something he wants to do, he thinks he needs to know the answer right away, so he follows the question with, “Yes or no? Yes or no? YES or NO?” in rapid succession.
He adores playing outside pretty much every chance he can get.
Perhaps I should change his name to Mr. Social. He loves friends. He loves his sister’s friends. He loves the neighbors. He loves talking to everybody. Talking, and talking and talking. He talks out his bedroom window at our neighbors working in the garden when he’s supposed to be napping. He has conversations with the mailman. He would be perfectly happy if we had absolutely no toys whatsoever as long as he had someone to follow along with and “help” while he’s perpetually chatting.
He’s afraid of the garbage truck because he thinks the garbage man is going to sweep him up into the back of the truck and haul him to the dump. In fact, he has nightmares about this.
When congratulating people on the celebration of their birth, he announces, “Happy Birthday at you!”
There could possibly be nothing more precious than watching preschoolers reenact picture books you have read to them.
His prized possession is his “heavy drum,” a marching drum that he wears around his neck while donning cowboy boots on his feet, because that’s exactly what real marching band members wear, and also, the boots clack on the floor and sidewalk which adds to the rhythm of the band.