JJ's the cutest thing on the whole planet. JJ is the son of one of my instructor's last fall and this summer, who was also my supervising teacher this spring. JJ is three years old.
This summer, JJ came to a few of the kickball games. He was repeatedly (honestly, about every ten minutes) asked to sing the Minnesota rouser, because really, is there another three year old that knows that song? This is a picture of him, very excited that we won the game (after he pushed me to the ground). And, if you ask him, he'll tell you that his shirt says "dos-ocho."
I saw JJ during school meetings frequently this spring since they were held at his house. When he walked in one afternoon and saw all of us sitting in the living room, he muttered, "Not you guys again."
Last night, his parents hosted the cohort barbeque. When he made his grand appearance, he announced on the steps of the patio that he was going to play soccer and wanted to know who was going to play with him. Of the three of us there, I volunteered myself. I told him I had never played before and he explained that his coach had taught him all the special tricks and secrets to play, and tonight he would show me them. He added that after tonight, I'd be as good as he was.
After about two minutes of soccer, he decided he wanted to play hockey. He pulled out a stick for me to use and we took turns being goalie. Once, the puck or his stick hit him in the leg. I thought for sure he was going to cry. I offered to check his hurts, and was able to inform him that he, in fact, still had a leg. This made him errupt into laughter, and then change to playing basketball.
Upon finding out someone had brought cookies to the party, he concluded we should take a break. I encouraged him to steal Lisa's chair when she got up to get something to drink. He slowly sat himself in her chair next to me, all the while turning his head to see when she was coming. When she came back he threw his hands in the air, sqealing. Here is a picture of him, clearly proud of the joke he played.
He moved to my lap, chocolate on his face and fingers, eating his cookie. Nothing gets cuter than that. Shortly after, he proposed a tour of his bedroom and sticker collection. This led to in depth discussions about the velcro on his shoes and how difficult they were to use, and which he liked better: his crib or bed.
At eight, it was time for bed. He told his mom that he didn't want the girl in the pink shirt to leave. I was the girl wearing the pink shirt. I was told that I could not take him home with me.