Charlie loves the mailman. He can hear the mail truck a street away. He'll bound to the nearest window or to the driveway if he's outside and watch the mailman deliver the mail. Occasionally, the mailman will wave or say, "Hi" which makes Charlie's day. One day, we had a package and the mailman came to the door. As I was signing for the package, Charlie came to the door. His eyes were practically bulging from excitement to see the mailman in person. The first words out of his mouth were, "I'm Charlie." (We're in desperate need of the "stranger" talk!) The mailman answered, "Hi, Charlie. I'm Bobby." (Is it just me, or is Bobby a weird name for an elderly mailman? He looked more like a "Gene" or a "Clive" . . . not a "Bobby"!) Entranced, Charlie said, "Hi Bobby." For the next week, everything was "Bobby" this and "Bobby" that. About a week after Charlie first met Bobby, we had another package. Charlie was in another room and didn't hear the door. I opened the door and what does the mailman say? "Well, where's Charlie?" I almost died. And it doesn't stop with Bobby!
When I get my allergy shots every week, what is the first thing the nurse asks me? "Where's Charlie today?" He's only been there all of twice! Every time he comes, "Nurse Britney" gives him a sticker . . . then he talks her into giving him two. I get the shot, he gets stickers. No wonder he loves that place . . . Finally, I was at Hobby Lobby last week and the fabric girl asks me, "Where's the little one today?" Again, he's hardly ever at Hobby Lobby with me and yet, he's what they remember. I guess I'm a pretty lucky mom to have such a memorable kid! Let's hope they remember him because he's cute and not because he's horrible . . . he's a little bit of both so it could go either way.
On a final note . . . we've finally made the transition to a toddler bed! I say "we" because Charlie kept all of us up three nights in a row. He was getting up or falling out of the bed every 2 hours. It was a miserable few days but he finally got used to it. Whew. Glad that's over. Guess it's time for the potty now . . . heaven help us.
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