Superbowl with my Daddy
First haircut.
Ash Wednesday
I don’t need no stinkin pants.
And there you are – in all your rotten glory.
I promise to take care of this blog to you again soon, buddy. We have already missed way too many great things that I’m afraid are going to leave my middle-aged significantly-younger-than-daddy’s brain.
(I have to hold things like his advanced age over him because you could NOT be more of a Daddy’s boy.)
(However…..those are still my toes.)
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Love, love, love the pics, he is just ripe for the nibbling! I want to pinch those cheeks.