Oh Deacon, My Deacon. Or Perhaps Better Titled: Yup, You Betcha – He’s Just One Of Those Kids And He’s Fabulous!

One of my smalls, who I call Donut, is also known as Deacon.  He is five years-old and is beautiful, inside and out.  He was the happiest baby I ever had met.  He had the biggest grins and the hardiest laughs and was and is the most innocently mischievous boy.  Like ever.  Or at least since the creation of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. That is how mischievous my boy is. Oh Deacon, my Deacon.  If it’s going to happen, I know that I am going to find you in the middle of it.  Literally.

Now, this may make me a bad mother, (and judge me all you want, but at least I’m honest) but for his most recent shenanigans, as soon as his tears stopped and the urgency of the moment was past I looked at Mr. KB and said “Damn!  I should have taken pictures before cleaning him up!”  Mr. KB shook his head at me (probably wondered for yet another moment why he married this insane person) and said, “Well, you can take some now.”  “Yeah, I guess so.  It won’t be the same, but it’ll be better than nothing.”

But still, I just cannot help being disappointed in myself for my poor instincts.  Imagine!  Subduing and comforting my crying child BEFORE taking any pictures of the carnage for later laughter (because you KNOW it’s going to be funny once no permanent damage is ascertained!).  Something else I need to work on.  Great.

Anyway.  What happened, you ask?  Well, as far as I can make out, Deacon was outside doing garage clean up with Mr. KB in preparation of our move (read: he was smashing stuff with a hammer while Daddy sorted, organized and packed).  And, while smashing stuff with a hammer, his five-year-old self did not realize that whacking a spray paint can with the business end of a hammer *could* result in the can puncturing.  And maybe spraying him.  A lot.  In the face.  And in his case, not only *could* it spray him, but it *did*.

Enter, my very own Smurf!  I have always wanted a Smurf!  Mwah!

Regaining my senses, I grabbed my camera before my newly minted Smurf Smurfed away his Smurfiness...

And after the shower, he was only slightly less Smurfy.

Less Smurfy than before, but still awesome.

But just look at this Smurfy smile – can you see why he melts my heart?

I mean, really? How can I do anything but smile back at this face?

Oh Deacon, my Deacon.  I can’t wait to see what you fall into next.  You remain, as always, my Sunshine.

My Deacon Donut, circa early 2008, reaping the (yogurt) rewards of being able to climb onto the table under his own steam and as quietly as a mouse... What a little rat! And he

Lost socks, found socks and the beautiful mind of my five-year-old

My sunshine. That is what I have called Donut (5) since he was a small baby. He was the happiest baby I had ever seen. Big smiles, easy-going, and sweet, sweet, sweet. He’s changed a lot over the years, but the sunshine is still inside him and the innocence and beauty of the way he thinks and the way he expresses himself makes me catch my breath at times from the sheer loveliness of it all.

What does this have to do with socks? Well, Donut never has any. He is forever stealing socks from his brothers, older and younger and telling me “but I don’t HAVE any socks, Mummy!” While I know this is patently false, because I buy him as many, if not more socks than his siblings, I can’t, for the life of me, figure out where they all get to. But today, the mystery was solved.

8 pairs of socks, all happily being washed as I type this *grin*