

I adore Fisher's age right now. Sometimes I wish I could push the "pause" button. He is completely hilarious, adorable, and delightful. He has mastered the art of feminine flattery. Every day, he says something like "Mom, I love your hair. It's so byoofiful" or "Mom, your shirt looks super cute" or "Mom, you're a super awesome cool dude." He also loves to pray. And his prayers crack me up. I'll have to memorize one of them one day and recount it for you. And for months now, it is his nightly routine to ask for a popsicle in the morning. Not I love you, not good night, just "um, mom. Sometime I have a popsicle with you?" Every night. Every day at naptime. For three months. And he insists that I make up some new version of a fire truck song. I don't sing. I don't know any fire truck songs. So every night I make one up with different, stupider words, than the night before.