Wrestlemania

When I was a kid, I routinely kicked my brothers ass in parent-sanctioned wrestling matches.

My Dad was our unofficial wrestling coach.  He taught us how to dig our chin into our opponents back, how to inflict maximum rug burn damage, full nelson’s, headlocks, etc. etc.

When puberty hit though – I was SCREWED.  Josh had to make up for years of torture where I’d pin him down and perform Chinese torture on him.  Sooooo, it’s possible, that I deserved this.

And this.

Here is Baby T playing with a balloon that just refuses to pop in Uncle Tom’s boots.  Of course, “Uncle Tom” actually sounds like “Uhn Om” and he pretty much refused to say anything resembling “Jessie” until yesterday.  We were trying to get him to say Aunt Jessie one night and something came out more like "Auntie Em” so my parents taught him to call me Toto instead which he can say perfectly.  So, fantastic – I’m Aunt Toto.  I’d love to hear any more stories on how bad nick names are born.

Ahhh, yeah, rockin’ out on the Wii.  The toddler decided to show us up by working the guitar and mic.  He just needs some sweet sunglasses to be totally bad ass.

Making some brownies with Grammy.

Babies have mad skills when it comes to eating messy foods.  He actually looks a little drunk on chocolate.

Josh found this lame-o t-shirt in his closet.  We made him impersonate Spiderman by pretending to swing from webs any time he moved around the house.

-Jessie