T-Bone!

I figured it was about time for another round of family updates.  And we're starting with Trent because he just had a birthday.

Trent is now three, and I have to take him to the doctor for his annual check-up to be sure, but I'm betting he's at least the size of an average four year old.  He isn't very chunky anymore, just huge in general, so we've switched from calling him "Chunks" to "T-Bone", which is a nickname his Uncle Matt gave him not long ago.  Trent will not answer to Chunks anymore at all, and will, in fact, correct you if you try to get his attention that way by shouting, "No....  T-BONE!!" 

Trent has a personality that matches his size, and he's not afraid to put me in my place.  He recently got a spanking for something or other, (honestly, he gets a lot of spankings, so I can't be bothered to remember the reasoning behind them all), and as soon as my hand made contact with his backside, he turned and yelled at me with a voice he stole from the little girl in The Exorcist, "MOM!  YOU DON'T HIT ME, OKAY?"  And in spite of all his speech issues, every word of that sentence came through crystal clear.  It was a little scary, but mostly amusing and I had to laugh at him.

Trent's speech is coming along nicely.  His fist sentence containing more than two words happened not long ago with a complaint he brought to my attention while I was showering one day.  He pounded on the bathroom door until, shampoo on my head or not, I had to open it.  I looked down at him with suds drifting down my forehead and a towel wrapped around me and said, "What??"  He responded by saying, "Mom, Heaten hitted me."  Unfortunately my response was, "YES!!!", because rather than give a poopy what he said, I was just excited that four intelligible words had come out of his mouth in a string that formed a sentence.  He wasn't very pleased with my reaction.  (Heaten, by the way, is how he says "Ethan".)

Trents favorite foods are candy, cookies and chips.  Get's that from me.  We're in trouble with this one.  He can sniff out my stash of high fructose corn syrup no matter where in the house I hide it, especially if it's wrapped in cellophane - he just considers that a challenge.  And if ever I leave an open can of soda within climbing reach of Trent, you can bet that the next time I pick it up to take a swig it will be significantly lighter and the gutter will be full of a soda/saliva combination.  If you know me at all, you know that means I will not be finishing that can of soda.  

T-Bone is a pretty fun kid to have around the house.  He loves to dance, which is hilarious because he gets his moves from his Dad, who contributed genetics, and who also must have exposed Trent to that SNL episode of Chris Farley and Patrick Swayze dancing for Chip N' Dale or something equally inappropriate.  There's more pelvic action involved in T-Bone's dance moves than any three-year-old-stuck-in-a-four-year-olds-body should possess.  But if he does grow up to be a male stripper he won't have to worry about choosing a stage name, will he, Uncle Matt?