*Happy Birthday Sweet Boy*

I know it's late, but when have I ever been known for being on time? That's how I roll, so my posts will probably always be a week late. Anywho, the important part of this is that my Sweet Boy turned four last week. I honestly can't believe it's been four years since we were blessed with this precious little ball of energy. His excitement for life is contagious and though it's trying at moments, I'm truly grateful to be his mom. So what if sometimes he doesn't go to bed until 2am, right? I always thought sleep was such an inconvienience until Brooks. I didn't understand why people needed so many zzz's until I didn't get them anymore. And the bad part of it is that Brooks teased me as a baby. He slept through the night until he turned 1. It's like you can see the bottled up radioactivity in this picture on his 1st birthday.

It's not that I didn't have warning. He started walking just a little after 9 months and I immediately thought,

"Oh S#!*", my Mom's curse had finally made it's way to the to surface. Thanks Mom.

He was throwing a fit the other day so Steve & I sent him to his room for a little cool down. He angrily marched down the hall and SLAMMED the door once inside his jail cell. He then opened the door and yelled, "You just don't understand", SLAM!, again. Even though a few wall hangings were shaken, all we could do was laugh. Does a four year old know about parents understanding? Dang Gina, you ain't seen nothin' yet. I have a feeling we will have a few more "misunderstandings" in his lifetime.

Then my baby turned two and we could literally see Daddy's heart light up. For his boy, who was named after the greatest 3rd baseman to ever play game, started showing a natural love for the game of longball. What a relief that was. Steve always said he'd be ok if Brooks just wanted to play the piano or decided on something like syncronized swimming, but we all knew that was just fear talking. I guess Brooks could still change his mind, but from the ways I sees it, he's going to be taking a fair amount of cuts in the next few years.

There's also still a little bit of hope for football. Around the end of September he starts tackling whosever pitching after he hits the ball, or he catches the football and goes sliding into the plate. It's a confusing time of year for him. Broncos one day then Reds or Rockies the next (I had to say Reds 'cuz that's our team but we never get to watch them.)

Just before his 3rd birthday, we saw an occurring change in Brooks. He started preferring the tunes of "Spins a web any size, catches thieves just like flies, Look Out, here comes the Spiderman" to "Buy me some peanuts and cracker jacks." Steve kept his composure well but secretly I heard him praying for this to be a quick phase. My home was still being torn apart, but this time it was because of attempted wall crawling and building to building swinging instead of line drives and curve balls. I walked in on Brooksie using my window panels as web ropes. My living room curtain rod is no longer a nice horizontal bar but displays an interesting permanent frown shape. It would be a shame if he were only able to channel his energy in one area.

(fyi: I'm still receiving therapy for the hurtful comments my family made about my Spidey cake. My mom had the only nice remarks about it, thanks Mom)

The best part about the whole Spiderman thing is that he blames Green Goblin for everything. It's how he rats himself out, "Mom, Green Goblin just spilled my milk" or "Green Goblin just wrote with marker all over the walls." I'm so sick of that damn Green Goblin! I tell Brooks that GG met his own demise when Peter ducked and the flying saucer pierced his insides like a nail gun, yet somehow the Goblin keeps coming back to life when trouble arises in brown brick.

Luckily, spring is upon us and Brooks is once again shaking off pitches and dirt from his shoes (he thinks they're cleats) with the bat. BTW, these are not things we teach him. He watches the game all too closely. Steve was throwing to him in front of Grandpa Reed yesterday and after he struck out, Steve said, "You can't hit my change can ya?" to which Brooks' reply was, "No, but I can still hit your hook."

Happy Birthday Brooksie! Please don't stop giving me hugs, even if it is when we're in the biggest hurry and I'm trying to do your hair. Also, please forgive me for getting impatient and ornery sometimes. Thank you for being excited about the littlest things like me getting my haircut or buying you strawberries. And for telling Emma when she dances good and asking Dad if he had fun at the ball field. Even if I don't have any hair when I'm 40, I love you and I love raising you. Out of the blue yesterday you told me that you'll never let Darth Vadar turn you to the dark side and I know you won't. I will always believe in you, My Sweet Boy!