beck-a-rooski

In the highly unlikely event that one of the boys ever accuses me of not doing a stellar (or any) job of recording their interesting little lives and milestones via baby books or photos taken with anything other than a cellular device ... I'll always have painfully detailed posts like these to toss back in my defense. I'm still a novice but I know that as far as parenthood goes ... today's annoyances are tomorrow's funny and eventually forgotten memories. Wait! I'm not saying that the kids are annoying but maybe that quirky and consistent little 5:30 am wake up might not be met with the same starry-eyed laughter that the memory might evoke down the line. Way down, Rad Rooster Miller.

So let's document the blossoming little personalities. And to make it more momma bear mushy, each boy is going to get their own post. Vink. ;)

Beck:

Oh, Beck. You're a mess.

You are. If I had the time (fine! I have that), the strength, and the energy to bathe you after every meal (5 or 6 daily) I really should because you strut away from that high chair wearing a whoooooole lot of leftovers.

You've became a bit of a terror. You introduced us to your hilarious ear ripping shrieking and you stomp around wailing and shaking your head furiously when you don't get to carry the Windex around the house. We can't take you outside unless we're in the mood to sprint because you would put your chin to your chest and take off down the street at an impressive pace for a boy with legs as bowlegged as a cowboy after 89 days on a horse. You're a runner and you make me look like a very negligent mother out in public.


Despite your reign of terror, you keep us on your toes with some super sweet moves. For example, I can count on one finger the number of times your older brothers have voluntarily given me a snuggle but you're a snuggler. Sometimes your hugs come complete with a little shoulder bite that draws blood but I'm sure you mean well. As I'm sure you also mean with your affectionate head butts, slobbery mauling kisses and flirty waves.

You can hold your own at home with the boys during the day but have yet to grow out of his stranger-danger fears and are a real delight to take out in public. Your mom magnet has an intense honing beacon and your mantra is the Gilmore Girls theme song.

"Where you lead, I will follow. 
Anywhere that you tell me to. 
If you need, you need me to be with you, 
I will follow where you lead."

Yep.

And if you're not following me, you're following Ben. Truly we're unsure if Ben realizes you're not a fellow canine and for all the wrestling and growling you two exchange we think you might believe you're part puppy too. You sneak feed Ben your chicken nuggets that I slaved over by way of 34 seconds in front of the microwave or your graham crackers that I took the time to gingerly break into quarters. I don't mind. Much. Except for when I see how much you love to snack on dog food and wash it down with some healthy gulps of dog water. I know it really isn't any of my business and doesn't affect my life really, but I still think it's pretty gross. Nothing personal...and maybe one day you'll think it's a little gross too. Maybe.

When Jake is gone you're a big fan caring his shoes around and talking about, "dada"  and the same goes for "Ett" "Daaa" and "Ennn" (Rhett, Rad and Ben....we think...) but never ever a mention of, "mama" Hmpfh.  Oh well. We like to leave a little room for improvement in the Miller household.



Your favorite activity is scurrying off to a corner with your bottle, hold it upside down, and watch all the contents drip out. I like to think your intense eyebrow furrowing means you are already decoding the mysteries of gravity, but it's probably that your ears are perked for me to catch you in your favorite illegal act.

Aaaaand that's a wrap for you Beck-a-roo. We sure do love you.

Be back soon.
Like tomorrow.
I think.