Owen? Is a boy. Through and through. He keeps me on my toes and chances are good that at least one person is in danger at any given time due to his lack of ability to contain his inner monster. He loves trucks, and tractors, and dinosaurs. He ‘builds’ with his tools and will take off your head with his hockey stick. I’m constantly gasping with anticipation of a gash on his head, or a broken bone in his little body.
He spends his time on his grandparents’ farm ‘driving’ the tractor. Or throwing rocks into the pond. He will constantly alert you of his ‘big farts’ but at least has the courtesy to say ‘scuse me!’ His clothes never stay clean, and his feet always stink. He’s seen flying ‘high in the sky’ yelling “BUZZ LIGHTYEAR TO THE RESCUE!” and never misses the opportunity to ‘SMASH’ his cars into oblivion.
He’ll climb as high as he can and tease you that he’ll fall. He takes stairs with no hesitation, and more often than not forgets to look where he’s going. His favorite shirts portray motorcycles and his favorite shoes, Lightning McQueen.
But there’s also this soft side. One where he ‘baby talks’ to his brother. Or picks flowers for his Nana. Or wants a wipe to wash his hands after being in the sandbox. And you best believe that boy will know how to cook and clean (and do LAUNDRY) for his future wife.