To think that when he was in his mother's womb I had visions of him being a doctor, a baseball player, or even the President.
Now I'm just hoping it's a few more years before he figures out he can light his own farts, make a potato gun from scratch, or decides to attempt a Jeff Hardy Swantan Bomb off the roof onto the trampoline in the backyard.
His Grandmother takes him to the movies to see that Dragon movie in 3D and he's more excited about the set of redneck teeth he got out of the vending machine. The one good thing?
Trot didn't go. Otherwise I've got TWO raving lunatics running around with hillbilly teeth, which I'm fairly certain are going to end up in his pocket at some point next week when he goes to school, which invariably will result in his teacher giving me a call at work to let me know he's coming home on Yellow.
I won't get into it all, but suffice it to say I'll be getting a rambling explanation about how it wasn't his fault and some poor kid is going to get thrown under the nearest bus while Rakes tries to save his own bacon.
And we're only in Kindergarten.
In the good news department, the Red Sox just beat the Orioles 7-6 and I only lost 2 years off my life tonight, thanks to a 7-4 lead morphing into a 7-6 win that was cemented by a Paplebon dance through the raindrops in the top of the ninth.
Think I'll have Ang call the local ER and let them know if the wins stay this classy over the next week or so I'll need the Lido Suite sometime in the near future.