Cash

I love that Cash seems to have inherited my disability for determining song lyrics.  I still get made fun of by Ryan for singing along to a song with totally wrong words that make no sense at all.  The other day I had Cash unloading the silverware and as he was putting a butter knife in the drawer I heard him sing, "like a knife at night," instantly recognizing the tune as "Dynamite" by Taio Cruz (the line he was singing is supposed to be like it's dynamite).  I had no idea he knew that song!  We listen to the radio, but it wasn't one we necessarily play a lot or have around our house. So I was quite amused as he continued and all the lyrics related to things he knows.  So instead of  Sayin' ay-o, gotta let go, it comes out as "Say Diego, got a Lego...."  Love it.

Then when we went to the hockey game, the kids first heard "We Will Rock You" by Queen and became instant fans.  Although this fondness was first discovered when we kept hearing him sing, "Feed the, feed the rocket.  Rocket."   Because why wouldn't that make more sense to a 4 year-old than we will rock you?  Even Phoenix has stood up on the bench and done a lovely rendition of this in the middle of sacrament meeting.  Awesome.

In fact just to test my theory that they're picking up more than I realize, the other day I started out the Rhianna song, "Oh, na na..." and then stopped, and all three kids filled in, "...what's my name..."   Great. Makes me realize I better watch what we listen to around here since you never know what may come out during sacrament meeting.  :)

And I had to document the first, "Look mom! I drew a picture of you!"  This was one he drew a few months back.  At the time, I'd never seen him draw a person or a stick figure (let alone one of us), and he'd never really discussed my pregnant condition, so I had to laugh when out of nowhere he drew this picture of me:

So proud that my girth was such an inspiration. 

Cash is doing great in school, can read quite a bit, knows when all the kids birthdays are at school, and is already sad for next year when he'll have to miss all his friend's birthdays since he'll be going to another school. He asks me cute things like "When I'm 10 years old will I still be your kid?"  And says he doesn't want to become and old man or have body hair that makes him look like a monkey like dad. Or when I put on my fat pants for the billionth time during this pregnancy he says, "Why do you have to wear those pants every day?!?!?" He's also sad that when he's 5 he won't be home for naps (even though he rarely takes them).  Darn that all-day kindergarten in Miami.  Now we're just waiting to see if we happen to get the lottery for any of the schools we're trying to get him in. Stress.