Number Three turns Four

Birthday boy (yes, 5 weeks ago--we're doing our best). Ay caramba. Kid puts the kosher in precocious. Alright, that doesn't work here. He puts the halal in halitosis. No, that doesn't work either. Let's just say he puts the "Holy crap!" in our lives in general.



So his birthday requests--in the absence of friends his age--were simple: he wanted Cheese Muneesh (Geez Louise, we calls it: folded naan bread with melted cheese, melted cheese curds, and cream cheese--excellent for weight loss: kidney stones, anyone?) and chocolate milk for lunch. Cheesy kid.





Our South African fan club--well, Jonah's fan club, anyway--was over-generous, as always. When we drop the eldest off to pick up our second, we always have to roll down Jonah's window so he can say hi to Charlie, the Papillon (the one with the snout).



And later he opened his presents from us: this may well be the last glimpse we get of little baby Jo-Jo. Notice that he thinks he has to be facing the camera at all times. We don't know where he gets this stuff.



"It's in a bag!"

Yes, Boboji, it's in a bag, like everything else around here.

And this was his second request: a quad run at the mall next to our complex. He's anxious to show off his mad skeelz to Grandpa Knievel in two weeks.



We have edited, for the sake of the grandmothers twain, the fiery crash stage left. The scars are not permanent. And you should have seen the other guy.

Weekly Cute: together with “the brothers,” Jonah has discovered Weird Al, and our lives will never be the same. Cute, but also obnoxious: Jonah now suspects very vocally that we think he’s “white and nerdy,” and is trying very hard not to be “a Acadian idiot.”

We are also treated to strange and new renditions of “O Candida” on a regular basis. And he very loudly proclaimed that the chandelier above our table at the restaurant the other night was “church lights,” and that he hates crying babies, especially girl ones. J and J enjoy more and more sophisticated conversations, much to Wendy's delight and astonishment. Like we said: precious in precocious, with occasional bouts of Calvinism (and we don't mean the fatalist religious reformer: we mean the kid with the pet tiger named for the Restoration philosopher).

In other cute, Riley no longer looks away during kissing scenes on movies. And Christopher continues on his path to ladykillerhood, but is serendipitously clueless about it, which as I understand it is the key to ladykillerness to begin with.

Oh, and Christopher also had a birthday: Wii bowling tournament with a few good friends, representing South Africa, Canada, India, and, well, Canada (10 points to the first person to spot the Indian). He's done a smashing job of picking friends thus far. We're waiting for the other shoe to drop.



Eleven years old. Oy veh!

(Ahem. Masha'allah.)