He is cracking me up. Today I brought the boys with me to church to help set up for a fundraiser, and as we left Jude stopped for a drink from the drinking fountain. I heard him nonchalantly say to himself, "Oh, up my nose -- I'm ok."
He burritos himself in a big blanket and pretends to be The Very Hungry Caterpillar. He tells me he's eating an apple, and is going to have some ice cream after.
When I tuck him into bed, we talk about what we're going to do the next day. He gets this wide-eyed look of thrill. And then he'll tell me a few times he's going to go to sleep, then he'll wake up and snuggle me, and then we'll go DOWNSTAIRS ("downstairs" is always very loud and celebratory).
He draws hearts and circles with sidewalk chalk and colors them in, staying pretty much in the lines. Other things he draws are maybe not so discernible, but he drew a bunch of "temples" the other day; the next morning he told me, "I need to go check on my temples."
So many other charming things, but it just feels so tragic that so much of the sweetness is in his delivery. I hope I remember all the little nooks and crannies of his 3-year-old self.