A Bit About Hunty

Hunter is my sensitive, silly, cute boy.  He is SO good most of the time, and such a stinker about 25% of the time (could be more depending on the day).

Hunty waiting for Tralee to be done with school

For the most part, he listens really well.  If I ask him to do something, he's willing to jump up and help. However, if something doesn't go to his liking, the screams and whines that erupt from his mouth could send a chill down a fat-man-dressed-in-three-sweaters-in-the-middle-of-summer's spine.  I've become the mother that says, "Unless you're bleeding, dying, or someone is trying to steal you, DON'T SCREAM LIKE THAT!!!"  Luckily, it doesn't happen all that often; as long as I keep him well fed (if he'll eat -picky thing!), rested, and busy.  It still happens more frequently than I would like, and when it does it depletes my mommy battery somethin' fierce!  We're working on "using our words" instead of whining/screaming to get our way.  We're also working on sharing and waiting our turn.  These two things are definitely a skill my three-year-old has yet to acquire.  One day and one teaching opportunity at a time -- heaven help me!

Super Hunter

In more pleasant news about my boy, Hunter and I take walks/bike rides together everyday while Big Sis is in school.  There is only happiness on our outings.  Corky joins us for her daily exercise, and I quite enjoy the conversations Hunty and I share on our walks.  Sometimes we stop walking/biking so that Hunter can go pick a leaf, search for a rock, or pick up "the biggest pine cone in the world!"  We don't rush, we just enjoy our time outside together. 

Hunty and Corky on one of our rides.  Corky was getting tired of running next to the bike, so she hitched a ride with Hunty.

Speaking of the great outdoors, there are a lot of trees around here with small red berries.  Hunter has been fascinated with them from the very beginning.  He named the berries doonkles.  I have no idea where the word doonkle came from, but it's stuck.  These types of trees are affectionately referred to as Doonkle Trees in our home.  They will probably go by no other name for the foreseeable future.   

Hunty picking doonkles

Hunter also has some other words for things that we're not sure about their origins.  He'll call us doot every once in a while.  Maybe he heard someone saying, "dude" so doot is his version.

Objects have also become "mitts."  We'll ask Hunter a question about something and his answer is, "mitt."  We hear the word, "mitt" said a lot around here, and it has nothing to do with politics. . . as far as we know!

Another Hunter-ism has more to do with his crazy language.  He rhymes with almost everything.  When we say, "It's time to go put on your pants."  His reply is something like, "You mean, it's pime to go put on my rants!!!"  He thinks this is the most hilarious thing EVER.  I don't get it, but whatever.  I'm sure there will be a lot of things my boy does that I won't understand.

A very comfy bike ride

I already don't understand his desire to run around partially clothed.  I mean, I guess I kind of get it.  Running wild and free has its perks.  But, there's a time and place.  Keeping this kid 100% clothed 100% of the time has been a struggle.  I apologize in advance if you stop by and catch a glimpse of something that should be covered.  We're working on it.

Sometimes while Tralee is in school, Hunty and I sneak away to do some thrift store shopping, and treat-getting.  Our favorite haunt is Great Harvest Bread.  The last time we visited Hunty picked out a cookie, and as we were sitting down outside to enjoy our bread-and-honey, cookie, and waters right next to a doonkle tree I heard him say, "This is awesome." My heart swelled.

Overall, my boy is so very sweet.  He still loves to snuggle his mommy, and still requests, "da moe" - i.e. the mole on my arm he's rubbed for comfort since he was a baby.  It still sooths him.  I joke around with people who know of his affection for da moe, that I'll have to cut off my arm and send it with him to college.  I often wonder when he'll really stop using it for comfort.  I probably won't even notice, it'll probably sneak up on me one day when Hunter is in like, in fourth-grade.  I'll send him off to school, and marvel how fast he's growing up, then I'll remember the days we used to go for walks together while Tralee was in school.  I'll remember the treasures --leaves, doonkles, rocks, and pine cones he brought home to put in his "treasure basket" in the garage.  I'll remember snuggling with him on the couch, reading books while he sat on my lap and brushed his pointer finger over da moe over and over again.  I probably won't remember the day he stopped requesting da moe, but instead I'll remember all the days he DID. . . and I'll miss them. 

 I already do.