The other day, I was pulled from nap-time bliss by Cooper whiney-crying for me at the top of the stairs. Because Gage had thrown-up earlier that day, I immediately figured Cooper was doing the same and therefore ran from my scrapbook room and up the steps two-by-two.
He had gotten up from his nap and determined it was a good day to be a cowboy. So he found his jeans and boots and searched and searched for his favorite cowboy/rodeo shirt. But unfortunately couldn’t find it and that is what caused the tears. Not throwing-up as I’d suspected, but the inability to adequately dress as a cowboy. He tried to settle for the stripped wool sweater from the pile of clothes folded in the back of his closet (which are waiting to go into the 2-T size tote), but it did not fit the bill. So, he cried. And that’s how I found him. Sweater on, jeans, cowboy boots, and blankie strewn on the floor around him.
Once I choked back my laughter, I praised him for getting the sweater on correctly, without anyone’s help. This was a first, you see… other attempts have ended in backwards sweatshirts or his head desperately trying to stretch through an arm whole… and once, he even had his t-shirt on as shorts… but this was perfect execution! He didn’t even care. He didn’t appreciate my kudos because it was the wrong shirt.
He was so frozen with defeat that he remained there until I returned with my camera and documented, what I thought was, a pretty entertaining situation.
… and all was right with the world.