Mr. Beebs

Happy birthday Tyler Daniel! My baby is three years old today. Yikes. I say yikes not because I'm looking back tearfully at pictures of my skinny (for approximately one day) newborn (he was 8 days early) or the dimpled cheeked crawler, or the roley poley toddler, missing the good ol days. Sorry, but I'm not mourning the fact he's not waking me up 29 times a night anymore. "Yikes" isn't even because I can't believe how time has flown. "Yikes" is because it's been three years and I still can not get over how much I'm in love with this child in spite of the fact that he can frustrate me more than any human being on this planet.

I reread the post I wrote on Ty's 2nd birthday, and I made a comment similar to this, but it is my blog and if you think I'm being repetitive, then you should probably stop reading these birthday blogs because I'll continue to repeat some of the same sentiments until these kids are 72. Don't count on the run-on sentences stopping anytime soon either. Hopefully there will be a day when I stop writing about Ty painting himself and anything within a 1 mile radius of himself with condiments, but I'm not crossing my fingers. Back to the birthday boy: I love that he genuinely thinks his name is Beebs. Tyler Daniel Beebs Stump. I'm thinking about trying to forge that on our copy of his birth certificate so he won't be devastated some day.

I love that after he got home from getting stitches last week he crawled up on his brothers bed and needed to wake him up to tell him he was alright.

I love that his nap time routine before I close his door is approximately 55 minutes long. Oh wait, honestly most days I hate this, but sometimes I appreciate the cuteness/quirkiness factor. I have to "make a fort" covering his bottom bunk with blankets. Then we play "find me 5 times" where I say "where's Beebs?" and get utterly confused until he pokes his head outside the blanket, ending in hysterical laughter. Then we do "rahrrrr 5 times" where I open the blanket and scare him, again...hysterical laughter. Then I ask him to turn on his music, and he opens the CD player and checks to be sure the correct CD (Veggie Tales Worship) is in there, inspects it thoroughly, makes a horrified face and goes on and on about how scratched the CD is. (EVERY DAY he appears shocked.) Then he gets back into his bed, telling me I have to wait until he lays down before I open the fort and cover him with a blanket. Then I get him water. It must be warm water. Then there's a kiss and a hug, where he tells me I have to "make a funny face when I hug you, like this..." and he gives a wild-eyed open mouthed expression he wants me to repeat during the second hugging process. If I don't do these things in exactly that order, or forget to count (out loud) the "find me"s or "rahrrr"s we have to start the process all over again.

I love that he pretty much loves his birthday present more than his own life. If that kid doesn't play the NBA someday, it's not for lack of practice or enthusiasm that's for sure.
I think it's terribly appropriate for him to have a scab on his forehead for his 3 year old pictures.

I think listening to him butcher a joke and roar with laughter at himself is one of my absolute favorite pastimes.

I think that God has amazing plans for this independent, stubborn, thoughtful, passionate, lovable, hilarious child.

I think when he tells me out of the blue, "Mama, I LOVE you," that I'd stop the world to hug him. I LOVE you too baby boy. Happy birthday. And many many many many more.