A sweet story from the weekend:
Tonight I told Tate it was "nite-nite" time. He wiggled out of my lap and started walking toward his room. He stopped halfway down the hall and turned around. I rolled my eyes and turned around also, thinking he was going to give me trouble about going to sleep.
Instead he walked straight to Rob, who was on the computer, and reached up. Rob picked him up and Tate gave him a hug around the neck. I was still thinking this was Tate trying to get out of going to sleep. But no. After giving Rob a hug, he immediately wiggled to be put back down, turned around, waved "bye bye" to Rob and walked himself straight back to his crib. I kissed him goodnight, put him in the crib, and he went straight to sleep.
He had just wanted to tell his Dad goodnight. It was the sweetest thing, and the first time Tate has consciously done something like that. He's growing up.
And a not-so-sweet story from the weekend:
At Nancy Beth's house on Saturday, Tate decided to do some redecorating. He was intent on removing all knick knacks off the shelves in her living room and carefully placing them in other locations or handing them to me. He then came to the last item: a picture of himself. He stopped in his tracks, looked at it, lovingly patted it, and then placed it right back where it was, now the only item left on the shelf. His redecorating complete, he clapped for himself and walked into the kitchen to join the rest of us. He's so vain...he probably thinks this blog is about him.