Tuesday, May 18, 2010

The Wolf Who Cried Boy

When I was a little girl, my favorite book was Tailypo.
My other favorite book was The Wolf Who Cried Boy.
I can't find the right version of it online, but my mom read this book to us so many times that I still have it memorized.

Somehow, after moving away from home five years ago, The Wolf Who Cried Boy made its way into my boxes. Since then, it has sat on my shelves collecting dust.
Barely leftover from childhood love, most of the pages were taped together, if they were there at all.

Yesterday, I gave the book a new home:

Don't mind the glue spots, I was excited to hang these up and snap a picture.
Max's crib will be right underneath these little canvassed stories.

While I worked on these all morning, Mr. C. came home and started a little project of his own with the leftover scraps.

He called it "Turtle's Revenge":

And now this is hanging above the mirror on our door.

My husband's a funny man.
He was also a very mischievous (and happy!) child.
Meaning that when I see pictures and videos of him as a young'un, I start to panic because if Max is like Mr. C. was as a babe (which I hope he will be), I'm going to have my hands very, very full.

Scratch that.
When I see my 23-year-old husband in every day life, I sometimes start to panic because if Max takes after Mr. C. even partway (which I hope he will almost completely), I'm going to have my hands very, very full.

So I guess that just means I'm going to have my hands full?

Because you better believe as happy and mischievous as my husband was/is, I was just as happy, a million times more stubborn, and just as determined as he was.
(Sorry, Mom.)

He'll be here in two months, and I am so excited.