My parents think Jack is perfect.
Now, on principle, I'm not going to disagree with them. He's amazing. But...they don't wipe his bottom and deal with his tantrums. So their rosy view is unfettered by unpleasant details.
My mom is known for her candor. She is a lady who speaks her mind.
She has told me several times something to this effect: "I know all of my children were smart. You could tell. But I'm telling you, none of you were as smart at this age as Jack. He's smarter than all of you were."
[As Sara would say, "Damn, Gina!"]
But also, cool. Because if Jack grows up to like, cure cancer or be President or teach at Harvard, I'd be WAY PSYCHED.
As if to prove his Grammy's point, Jack spontaneously started asking me how to spell things over the weekend. In response, I flipped the question around and taught him how to sound things out. We sounded out everything from racecar to cereal. No kidding. And he did a really good job.
Hmm. [Have you met my son, the doctor? It has a certain ring, doesn't it?]
Anyway, apparently today's post is brought to you by the letter "T"...
Which stands for, just off the top of my head and all:
- toothy grins
- timid in front of the camera
- traveling (double decker bus shirt as precursor for a year at the London School of Economics, clearly)
- threenager (oh, is he ever one right now)
Hope your "T" words are terrific and timely today.