What are Little Boys Made Of?

You’re just going to have to indulge me for a minute…

I shared with some friends (and by that, I mean I shared a facebook status) yesterday that I am getting pretty good at throwing away the thousands of scribbled-upon pieces of paper I pick up every night. Gideon is a very…focused…individual, and when he sets his mind to something, it is usually in a somewhat obsessive and indistractable manner.

Right now he is in a drawing phase that results in pictures everywhere. In his bed, in the living room floor, on the tables, all over the refrigerator, in his schoolbag, on the front porch…everywhere. Everywhere.

But every once awhile, as I sift through the piles of previous trees that have met their second death by the hand of a 4-year old scribbler, I come across one that is a keeper. Yesterday, I found one that said “Mama” that had 7 swords on it – three were black, one was brown, one was blue, one was purple and one was turquoise. I set it aside, because, in my mind, it had “Gideon” written all over it. Love for his mother and various weapons. That’s my boy.

Today, I came across another gem.

Here it is:

“Gideon!” I said. “This is quite a picture you drew!”

He smiled.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Well…that’s me,” he said, pointing to the happy fellow on the left…the one with the bow. “And I just shot that bad guy.”

“Wow…” I said. “Who’s the bad guy?”

“His name is Beard Bad.” he answered nonchalantly.

Yep…that’s my boy.

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