My youngest. We'll just call him Bubba! I didn't plan to call him Bubba, it isn't the
name on his birth certificate. I am a SoCal girl, we call people dude, not bubba but somehow this little guy is a bubba. What is a bubba? Well for starters look at the t-shirt. This was a new, clean t-shirt just minutes before this photo was taken. Notice the stretched out neck, the slight staining around the chest. The rumpled slept in look. A bubba puts on a clean shirt and immediately finds something to wipe on the front of it. Maybe toothpaste that was never rinsed off his chin, maybe a gigantic bugger that was just mined. Maybe a bit of breakfast milk or butter from toast. It doesn't really matter, it will wind up on the shirt. The stretched out neck is from reaching in to his shirt to make armpit farts. What can't be seen in the picture is that Bubba is most likely not wearing any pants. Just undies. Probably with spiderman or camouflage on them. If he is wearing pants you can bet money they are camouflage. The only acceptable substitution for camo is khaki or olive. So this is my little Bubba and he has stolen my heart! He likes to help me with just about any new adventure I jump into. 
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2 comments:
That is one of the sweetest things I've ever read.
Now that you made me think about it, Jesse was my Bubba. Of course you were my sweetie pie.
Oh, Jess was totally a Bubba! He was a pretty cute little Bubba too. One of the pictures of him in my mind is of him running through that vineyard up north with that silly grin he used to do holding a big stick and probably wearing mismatched socks and his shoes untied.
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