Instead of being freaked out about having FIRE COMING FROM HIS EYES the kid immediately furrowed his eyebrows and strained. I asked him what he was doing and he grunts,
“Trying. To. Shoot. FIRE. AT. YOU!”
He also does this fantastic thing where he sneaks up on me and throws the shirt that he’s wearing over my head.
The kid is and always has been my comic relief. He’s crazy. He’s always talking. Always. And usually not to anyone in particular. Or singing. Just now he walked by singing, “I’m going to fart fart fart on Election Day!” He’s also super classy.
It’s his birthday tomorrow. It’s the one month out of the year I get to say that my boys are 9, 8, and 7. It’s fun for me (sad, the things that are fun for me. Today I picked a GIGANTIC hard ball out of my nose and wiped it on the mirror to show Lance later. Then I got all sad because I figured it was probably all I had to show for the day) . I love Peyton. He doesn’t ever say he loves me back, but he does attack me in the dark, and that’s the same thing, right?
All he asked for for his birthday was for you to share my blog. And a machete. And a bike. I made up the first thing.
But YOU CAN wish him a happy birthday in the comment section!