First Day of Art

Christopher started his Art class yesterday. He didn't really enjoy it as much as I thought he would. He wanted to be out playing on the gym equipment not drawing or painting. I don't think he was really happy either when he realized that the pile of shaving cream he was suppose to use to create his art was not actually whip cream. He didn't believe it at first, so he decided to taste it three more times before I could finally get all of it cleaned up. I am truly surprised he didn't throw up. Why on earth would they use shaving cream when we all know kids this age put everything in their mouths?? I guess I'll just see how next week goes. The teacher did tell me at the end of class that it takes two or three classes for the kids to get use to. I wanted to ask her - Get use to what? You trying to poison them?

Gymboree Play

Christopher and I went to his first Gymboree play class today. He just loved it. He thought he owned the place. He was pushing the kids out of his way, taking things from them, and ignoring the teacher when she tried to get everyone together for an activity. He was the exact opposite of his brother who was shy and would not leave my side for the whole 45 minutes. He didn't want to leave when it was over. He is going to be running that place in just a matter of time. . .

The Trip to CT

Christopher's third trip to CT was a success. Thankfully unlike the last time, remember the stomach bug of 2008, carried by none other then my little guy. He fell in love with his Auntie Wendy and even called for her from his pack and play in the mornings. He barely allowed Melonie or Heather to go near him but warmed up by the end. He loved his Uncle Mike and was even good for him while he babysat. I think his favorite thing there by far was Chloe's blanket. He wanted that blanket despite the hair and slobber from the dog. He was determined to get that blanket into bed with him. He would lay down on it any chance he had. He absolutely loves any blanket that has been crocheted by his great-grammie. We could all tell that it didn't matter what had happened to the blanket or that a dog had been using it practically her whole life. If it was made by great-grammie, then that blanket was his. He was even obsessed with the blanket she made that was on the couch in the family room. Maybe it smells like great-grammie, a smell that can't be washed out, a smell that comforts him no matter which blanket he's holding. We do miss all of them and wish we could see them more.