So, in the interest of fairness, I now present Dubya's version of the 7 things.... quirks, habits, annoyances, idiosyncrasies....
- You change your clothes more often than Kate Moss during Fashion Week. It's not the fashion, so much. It's an itchy tag here, a sleeve too long there.... You make me need to buy stock in Tide.
- You were born in 2003, which means you began to talk sometime in 2004. That's at least 5 years of hearing your voice - non-stop. You absolutely never stop talking. There should be a Guinness World Book entry for this, but I don't think there is.
- All that talking? It's done at a decibel level that could rival a Metallica concert. When you try, you can break glass with that voice. When you're not trying, you're still loud. One day you will understand why I spend so much time playing the "Whisper Game."
- You rarely spend an entire night in your own bed, which is probably the only reason you and your brother have managed to share a room this long. You always crawl in with Dad and me. And then you shove your icicle feet under various parts of me to warm them up. Talk about a rude awakening!
- The icy feet belie the real you. Sleeping next to you is like sleeping under a moving electric blanket. Lately, I've been waking up in a sweat. I thought it was early menopause, but then I realized you were next to me each time. Of course, it might help if you did not wrap yourself around me in a full body nocturnal hug.
- I am not allowed to throw anything away, especially anything your hands have touched. You actually dig through the trash to make sure no masterpiece has slipped through. My fridge is often covered with crumpled up Dubya artwork that you have rescued after it "accidentally" got in the trash. By the same token, I can only throw broken or old toys away when you are not home. The sound of clanking plastic alerts you to a possible infraction on my part. You are positively apoplectic at the thought of our impending garage sale.
- And, lastly, you love to sing, but I am pretty sure you are tone deaf. You also love to dance, but I'm pretty sure you have your father's sense of rhythm, which means none at all. This is not particularly annoying, except when you try to play the drums on Guitar Hero. I am always reaching over with my hand and hitting a drum to the beat so that y'all don't get booed off the stage. I mean, I'm sure you're mine, but this trait definitely did not come from my side of the family.
Phew! I feel better. You are my crazy, funny child. My biggest challenge in many ways, and my sweetest reward. You have an incredible future ahead of you, Sweet Boy - but it's definitely not on American Idol! Love you, Mom