Signs, Signs, Everywhere Signs...

Those of you who have read this little blog-o-mine over the past couple of years know that I cherish the creativity of my children.

Even when that creativity is used for nefarious means that result in either bodily harm or sometimes merely tears for me, I love it.

Since learning to write, Blake's creativity has taken off in a few ways that don't involve pain for me, and so I encourage this.

Yesterday, Blake decided that he needed to label everything in his room.

He took a pad of miniature Post-It notes and a pen, and proceeded to label things such as "the desk", "the fan",  and "the lamp".

He and his brother share a room, and their bunk bed was identified as "the top bunk", "the botum (c'mon, he's only seven) bunk", and "a ladr".

I'm not sure why the ladder deserved the much less personal "a" rather than "the", but Blake's logic doesn't always make sense to me.

My personal favorite was the lonely little label on a blank expanse of wall labelled---you can see this one coming---"the wall".

He then went on to stick a note on my pants, identifying "Dad's butt".  Notice that on funny words like "butt", his spelling is dead-on.

After his labeling spree, he went and got a large sheet of paper, some tape, and markers and created this for himself:

In case you can't make out the lettering, here's what it says:

"Where are you going?  Wait...where are you going?  Oh, okay, you may pass."

He says that he decided to create this so that "if I'm ever outside and I meet someone who can't hear they can read this letter".

I marvel at---and sometimes fear---the places his mind goes to.

Also, he inspires me; I think I may create a sign for myself, only mine will say "You may pass...but first, you must answer me these questions three"...

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Thanks for reading my ranting, 

Brad