God, I love this kid.
He’s the spitting image of his dad which I love. And, he acts just like his dad which I love even though it also annoys the crap out of me.
I’ve accidentally called my husband by the name of Murphy when he employed an oft-used technique to get out of trouble. My husband thought that was hilarious. Me, not so much.
He’s loud, and he hates to take time for a bath or shower. He loves swords and Nerf guns, and Harry Potter.
And I adore him.
He’s sweet and sensitive. He came home in tears when someone made fun of me and I had to gently explain how “Your Momma” jokes are not really about his momma.
He’s wickedly smart. And, yes, while I’m a little biased, this kid makes child’s play out of the gifted and talented identification exams.
He loves chess, and Minecraft, and Legend of Zelda, and the idea of being a nerd, just like his parents.
He sticks up for his sister, and the kid down the street with the funny hair, and those who are different. He cries over hurt animals and hurt people.
He drives me crazy, and I’m crazy about him.
He’s my Murphy.