All boy

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As a mother, I had only daughters—no sons. Because of that, as a grandmother with two grandsons—no granddaughters—I relish each and every one of the all-boy moments I'm privy to. Moments such as the following, from my recent desert visit.

Challenging Gramma to go ahead and just try making him take the car out of his mouth:

And blowing raspberries each time she did...til Gramma put an end to that, too:

Figuring out one's favorite stance for rockin':

Each morning, right after breakfast, the boys immediately set to work at playing—in a surprisingly deliberate and focused fashion, showing serious commitment to the task at hand in a way I don't recall my daughters doing:

Though they did often take a break from their morning "work" to jump in their jammies:

 

Not exactly how my girls used to help Mom make cookies:

What could be more fun than popping bubble wrap?

Why, this...

...and this, of course.

Such fun, these boys who are indeed all boy—and Gramma's all-time favorite mini-males.

Today's question:

What recent all-boy antics have left you chuckling—or scratching your head?

Oh, how they grow

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When I visited my grandsons last weekend, it had been only two months since I'd last seen them. We all know, though, how quickly kiddos change and grow, so in those two short months Bubby and Mac changed and grew in myriad ways.

Here are just a few:

Mac no longer sits in a high chair or needs help going up and down the (carpeted) stairs.

Bubby says things such as, "Gramma, you don't need to worry about me because I know how to use scissors now" when doing crafts and, "I'm going to build a contraption" when explaining how he plans to proceed with his play.

Mac says big words, too, at least for a 14-month-old. Words such as bubble and book, uh-oh and down, Mama and more.

Bubby no longer calls out from the bathroom, "I'm done...!" and can now wipe himself.

Mac no longer eats crayons—most of the time—and can now color with his brother.

Bubby has figured out how to do cartwheels on the trampoline.

Mac has figured out how to lie on his tummy in the bathtub—something he refused to even attempt until this past Saturday night.

Bubby has also figured out how to flatter the ladies—especially Mommy—recently delivering this perfect line after she kissed him goodnight: "Mommy, sometimes your kisses are better than snacks."

Oh, how they grow.

One thing Mac and Bubby haven't outrown, though, is loving on and posing for pictures with Gramma.

Oh, how I hope they never do.

Today's question:

In what ways have you recently noticed that your grandkids or kids have grown?

Hair and hugs

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Mac's hairstylist for the past year or so has been Megan. She was the first to cut his blonde locks, and the only one since.

Last weekend, though, Megan decided to take Mac for his first real haircut. One from a pro, at the place where Bubby regularly gets his hair cut.

Things didn't go so well.

Mac hated the cape and screamed and cried in hopes of having it removed.

So they removed it.

Mac then screamed and cried because he wanted the cape put back on.

So they put it back on.

Then the stylist worked quickly on the haircut while Mac worked just as quickly on a sucker.

Despite the tears and the tantrum and the sticky sucker mess, Mac's first real haircut came out looking pretty darn cute.

Forget the hair, though. All I can see in the photo Megan texted to me is Mac's tears and his expression that says, "Why Mommy? Why in the world did you just put me through that?"

I'm pretty sure Megan was thinking the same thing.

My clean-cut grandkiddo clearly needs a hug.

Megan's voice on the phone relating the ordeal sounded like she needs one, too.

I'm willing to bet Bubby—who was on hand to witness the fun—could go for a hug from Gramma, as well. Just because.

Good thing I'm in the desert today. Have no doubt that Mac, Megan, and Bubby are all getting their fair of hugs from Gramma.

Also have no doubt that Mac does indeed look pretty darn cute in his new-but-not-so-fun-for-anyone 'do.

Today's question:

When did you last cut someone's hair—a child's, an adult's, or your own?