Date: May 4, 1999
I told myself I wouldn’t write this down. But here I am doing it anyways. I don’t even know why I am, it’s not even necessary for future generations. Once again, here I am about to write down what is now going to be a memory I’ll probably come back to and read for years to come.
It started after Rhea came home from the bakery. There was a movie on, and Paxton was focused on it like any 3-year-old his age would be when watching a bright colorful movie. His attention was soon pulled to Rhea when she called out. He did his usual greeting by trying to tackle her legs, as he started babbling in his own words about what he did today. Once Rhea had sat down on the couch, after steering Paxton into the living room to finish talking, he takes off towards his room.
Rhea at this point has her shoes off and her feet on the couch and propped over my legs. We were talking about something, what I can’t remember, but you will understand soon why. Some time while talking, Paxton had walked in and said it. The word.
One little-mispronounced word.
And the word he was trying to say, truck.
Now you would think this funny, and I do, don’t get me wrong. But also my wife can be scary when it comes to her children and all things children. She slowly turned to look at me from watching tv and I honestly thought that was my last day on earth. I 'd like to admit now that I can out sware even the hardest of sailors, so I've been told. I try my hardest not to swear around Paxton, but sometimes words are heard.
I quickly looked at him, only to find him holding
Tate called. I hope I can get there fast enough.