November 18, 2014
I am now the mother of an eight-year old boy.
It's hard to believe that my tiny little baby is almost as tall as my shoulders. He can read. He can write. He has his own unique sense of humor that he can tell a story and add in suspense and humor.
Here is Troy when he turned two, when he turned three, when he turned five and turned six. Last year, when he turned seven. And this one about the day he was born.
But now he's eight and he woke up and declared he must be taller and that his bedtime should be extended by 15 minutes. He also wrote in his journal exactly what he wanted to do for his family birthday party including the guest list and the menu (hamburgers, hot dogs, tortilla chips and carrot sticks) and what was on his wish list. But one thing he wants to do this week besides roast marshmallows is "burn his car seat" because he really wants to sit on either side of the backseat.
Happy birthday, Troy. We love the fire you bring to our house.