Leo’s 7, Part II

Picking up where we left off…

Leo is a generous, kind, sensitive, screamy, hard-working, emotional, loving boy.  He’s also completely ridiculous, like when we watch the Titan Games. Leo sets up a bunch of furniture and obstacles and when the buzzer dings on TV, he starts leaping and running and pushing and arm-hammering until he grabs the imaginary relic then lays on the ground, a hot, sweaty, panting puddle.  The other night I was so busy watching Leo that I forgot to watch the TV.  I asked Kevin who won and Leo said, “I did!”  Like, duh.

His favorite thing in the world (other than winning the Titan Games and playing video games) is to fight Kevin.  The following pictures depict a typical round of battle.

Rear Naked Choke!


Head Scissors!


Back Rake!


Tree of Woe!


Heart Remover!


Calf crusher! 


(Screaming, screaming, SCREAM!)

Rage Quit!


Out of Order!


The Whine Maker!


(A.k.a. the Screamy Pouty Self-pitying Slumping off)

I don’t blame him, either.  Kevin makes me feel like that an awful lot, too.

Leo loves to give, and it doesn’t matter if you ask for his favorite sticker or his last quarter.  As long as your name isn’t Rocco, he’ll give it to you.

He’s a boy of extremes.  He loves math.  Hates writing.  Loves pasta.  Hates mustard.  Loves soccer. Hates losing.  Loves pudding.  Hates cake.  (Especially hates when we tell him he loves cake.  He says he never did; we just thought he did.  I say I’ve got two years of blog posts that prove differently.  He would have starved to death around age 3 if it weren’t for cake.)

Sometimes I worry Leo’s got my hard-to-manage mood swings and will have as tough a time I’ve had trying to stop my emotions from jerking me from one place to another.  But if he does, at least he’ll have an expert who can help him deal with those debilitating mood swings.  (That would be Kevin, of course.)

Leo has a speech impediment that makes him unintelligible to 75% of English speakers but which also makes him 100% adorable.  (There are times I wish I couldn’t understand him, but that’s beside the point.)  The school nurse called the other day to say Leo had gotten a head bump at school.  It took her ten seconds to tell me about the bump and five minutes to tell me how adorable he is.  She’s probably never put him in a calf crusher before though.

Leo is my snuggler.  He saves a seat for me at dinner.  He crawls into my lap when we watch movies.  He melts into me when I read stories.  I still get a baby fix when I kiss his cheek or smell his hair or hold his soft hand in mine.  He makes me understand that creepy mom in the book I’ll Love You Forever who presses herself up to her grown son’s house to say the “I’ll love you forever” thing.  Leo is turning me into that mom.

Leo, if you happen to read this some day, thanks for all the cuddles.  Thanks for the scavenger hunts, the bad knock-knock jokes, for all the winning, the Eskimo kisses, and the retellings of Garfield comics.  You make me feel like sometimes life isn’t moving forward at breakneck speed.  Sometimes, life is as patient and lovely as an afternoon snuggling and reading to you and your stuffie of the week.

I wouldn’t trade a minute with you for all the quarters in the world.

I’m out tonight, so I’m guessing Kevin gave each of the boys a spoon and a carton of ice cream?

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