Rachel broke out Matthew's "Christmas present" power-shovel truck yesterday. It's big enough to ride on, and Matthew looooooves it. We thought he would, which is why we didn't give it to him until it was well into Spring: as predicted, he doesn't want to do ANYthing besides play with his truck.
This morning, when I went to get him after a sleepy little voice declared, "Up! up!" the next the he said was, "Truck!" (All vehicles that are larger than cars are trucks to him.) No, I said, you've got to eat first. So he devoured some home-canned apricots. No, I said, you've got to get dressed first. So he put on some pants. No, I said, Daddy's got to get dressed first. Well, that was an easy one: just harass Dad until he gets dressed too.
So I'm outside now, far earlier than anyone should be outside, sitting on the steps while he plays with his truck in the sandbox. At least he's happy.
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