GQ

This is GQ.  GQ is a little rascal.  GQ wakes his sisters up every morning at about 6:40.  Since they can't come out until 7:00 they either: a) giggle or b) yell at each other.  Usually they yell at each other.  Unfortunately, I blame this all on GQ for waking them up.

GQ likes to dance.  Justin shakes his head about this.  Seriously, I do not attempt to indoctrinate him.  But since we teach ballet at our house two days a week, GQ likes ballet.  Below is his attempt at an attitude.  GQ also likes to have his fingernails painted.  Since I paint them clear - per Daddy's orders - he always wonders whey his fingers look nothing like his sisters.

Right now, GQ likes to throw fits.  He throws fits if anyone has a toy he wants.  (And if they have a toy, he wants it.)  He throws fits if you don't carry him up the stairs, and if you don't carry him down the stairs - which I usually don't.  He throws fits if you don't let him play in the pantry, if you don't let him sit on the stool with you while you go to the bathroom, or if you ask him to come inside when he is playing on his bike.  He throws fits if you lift him into his carseat - he can get in himself.  And he throws fits while you drive because really, how dare you strap him into a carseat and drive around.

GQ is also cute.  He always gives me a hug after I change his diaper.  He never leaves anyone alone in time-out.  He always sits next to them and gives them hugs (even if they are in time-out for hitting him).  He loves to cook.  He pulls up a chair and insists on stirring and dumping in ingredients.  He likes dollys - especially M's - and usually he doesn't bang its head against the wall, although sometimes he does.  Every morning he asks where Daddy is, and when I say he's at school he says:  "Oh." He loves the phone.  And he loves balls.  He likes to shoot his basketball and make "Aaaahh" sounds when it goes in the basket.

In fact, on Sunday, they opened up extra seating in the back.  When GQ saw the basketball standards he got excited. He jumped, he pointed, he yelled "ball," he tried to escape past the children at the end of the bench, and when he couldn't get out - he threw a fit... the kind that results in Daddy carrying you kicking and crying from the room. 

'Cause seriously?  Who would rather sit and color when you could go play basketball?

And that's GQ