Living where we live, Joel sees tractors on a daily basis, and every time, without fail, he bellows, "TRAC-TOR! TRAC-TOR! TRAC-TOR" until somebody finally says, "Yes, Joely. Tractor."
Just for fun, I waited it out one time. He said "TRAC-TOR!" with increasing intensity and ardor, TWENTY-THREE TIMES. I stopped him because his face was turning tomato red.
In other words, the boy likes tractors.
I have a long and unfortunate history of making frightening birthday cakes for my children.
Owen's 4th birthday brought us the Serial Killer Cupcake from Hell:
Joel's first birthday cake was a blue monstrosity with bad, bad lettering. I shamelessly lied, and told my guests Owen frosted it.
When I got it into my head that Joel needed a three-dimensional birthday cake shaped like a tractor, I did the reasonable thing, and
My mother declared that the cake would be made out of Rice Krispie treats. She started her construction.
I did what I do best. That is, supervise and make smart-ass remarks.
Using her magic and ancient incantations, my mother turned blocks of Rice Krispies into this:
This is my happy TWO YEAR OLD celebrating his birthday today. We had friends over for pancakes. We played in the kiddie pool and ran the sprinkler and squirted water at each other with spray bottles.
It was glorious. Pure, unadulterated toddler bliss.
Two years ago, Joel was born. Our climber, our thrill-seeker, our militantly happy miracle.
Joel, my boy, the world is a better, happier, place with you in it. You're my dear, Deere-loving, boy.