but the fellers call me bill

Epic battle scene artist; Lover of animals, trivia knowledge, hipster clothes, ninjago lego sets, and bacon; Story teller; Budding musician; Cowboy in training; Fisherman; Loving son and caring (sometimes teasing) brother; Enthralled watcher of BBC Attenborough nature movies; Bright student; Jokester with a contagious grin; Lover of books and voracious reader....

William turned 7 this week! 

To celebrate we took a field trip to the Bass Pro Shop:

How I told the kids to pose.

How they actually wanted to pose.

 Blueberry pancakes with bacon (of course) for breakfast, corn dogs & shakes for lunch, take out pizza for supper (William made it easy on me this year!) and yummy, fluffy homemade angel food cake with chocolate ice cream for dessert.

Though he can at times look at things with a more discerning, critical eye than his sisters - he seemed completely, genuinely pleased with his presents of fishing pole & tackle, ninjago legos, Leif the Lucky book, and complete set of paper armor created by his sisters.

It took me a couple days, but I did also get around to snapping some quick b-day photos. In his favorite hat (from Clay's closet). 

It was a challenge getting "normal" portrait smiles from a fun loving seven year old boy. So we compromised. He would manage to suffer through a couple pictures following my pointers, and then he would burst out with: "Look at this! Can you take a picture of me like this?!"

William's Blackadder oratory pose.

 The day after his birthday he finally got to start official guitar lessons. For his first lesson I was able to squeeze into the tiny cubicle piled high with guitars and cases and a wall plastered in guitar posters, snuggling Clyde on my lap, and listen in. William was an attentive student and seemed to soak it all up. I can't wait to see how he progresses. 

With his developing appreciation for music, his ear has become quite discerning, with a deep disapprobation for anything "cheezy".

"This song is WA-AY too cheezy for our house."

"This singing makes my brain broken! ...Already a bone fell out."

Even his own singing is under scrutiny:

"I do better (singing) when there's a whole herd."

He still catches all little critters he can find -- toads, frogs, funny insects and whatever else he happens across. After a trip to the pet store he began a new crusade for a pet rat. He knows better than to get near brown recleus spiders though, so one evening Clay got called into his room to deal with one. The spider, sensing its impending doom, was quick to disappear, however. Clay instructed William to let him know if he spotted it again so he could kill it:

"I don't like the word 'kill'. Say you'll GET it."

And he has an appreciation for fake flowers, apparently:

"Those flowers are so beautiful they look fake!! I didn't know real flowers could look fake!"

 

His future vocational choices have been very fluid lately. After being determined to be a pastor for a long time he recently began to consider other options.... artist, soccer player, zookeeper...

The other night he told me:

"I thought about being a soldier, but then I realized I might die. So I decided not to."

Last week when his guitar teacher asked what he wanted to be he promptly replied: "A missionary."
Always exciting to hear his latest schemes.
 

 

 

And he still keeps us chuckling with his endless lists of challenging questions, as well as his amazingly deep philosophical thoughts:

"I think for British people the 4th of July is a holiday of sadness."

Those dimples though....

 

Happy Birthday, my beamish boy. You make our days frabjous and we love you.

Father calls me William, sister calls me Will,
Mother calls me Willie, but the fellers call me Bill!
Mighty glad I ain't a girl---ruther be a boy,
Without them sashes, curls, an' things that 's worn by Fauntleroy!
Love to chawnk green apples an' go swimmin' in the lake---
Hate to take the castor-ile they give for bellyache!
'Most all the time, the whole year round, there ain't no flies on me,
But jest 'fore Christmas I 'm as good as I kin be! 

Got a yeller dog named Sport, sick him on the cat;
First thing she knows she does n't know where she is at!
Got a clipper sled, an' when us kids goes out to slide,
'Long comes the grocery cart, an' we all hook a ride!
But sometimes when the grocery man is worrited an' cross,
He reaches at us with his whip, an' larrups up his hoss,
An' then I laff an' holler, "Oh, ye never teched me!"
But jest 'fore Christmas I 'm as good as I kin be! 

Gran'ma says she hopes that when I git to be a man,
I 'll be a missionarer like her oldest brother, Dan,
As was et up by the cannibuls that lives in Ceylon's Isle,
Where every prospeck pleases, an' only man is vile!
But gran'ma she has never been to see a Wild West show,
Nor read the Life of Daniel Boone, or else I guess she 'd know
That Buff'lo Bill an' cowboys is good enough for me!
Excep' jest 'fore Christmas, when I 'm good as I kin be! 

And then old Sport he hangs around, so solemnlike an' still,
His eyes they seem a-sayin': "What's the matter, little Bill?"
The old cat sneaks down off her perch an' wonders what's become
Of them two enemies of hern that used to make things hum!
But I am so perlite an' tend so earnestly to biz,
That mother says to father: "How improved our Willie is!"
But father, havin' been a boy hisself, suspicions me
When, jest 'fore Christmas, I 'm as good as I kin be! 

For Christmas, with its lots an' lots of candies, cakes, an' toys,
Was made, they say, for proper kids an' not for naughty boys;
So wash yer face an' bresh yer hair, an' mind yer p's and q's,
An' don't bust out yer pantaloons, and don't wear out yer shoes;
Say "Yessum" to the ladies, and "Yessur" to the men,
An' when they 's company, don't pass yer plate for pie again;
But, thinkin' of the things yer 'd like to see upon that tree,
Jest 'fore Christmas be as good as yer kin be!

-- Eugene Field