Dear Mr. Pants,
You are such a rock star. After last years "incident" at Thanksgiving,everyone was worried about how you would do today in an unfamiliar environment, with a ton of strange faces and having to wear clothes. But you were more worried about how to best play with all the cool toys in your great aunt's playroom. You made friends with the only other little person there and you had great fun racing cars on the hardwood floors. You sat for just a few minutes and obliged your great grandma in a one sided conversation. And even though I know you were probably thinking "Don't you even think of taking my ball, Old Lady" and you side eyed the gravy out of her, you sat there for a minute. And I know that made her feel good. You even surprised everyone by hugging your great grandpa. Thanks for that bud. I wish I had my camera for that one. You only ate a serving of corn, a fistful of peanuts and a contraband chocolate dipped Oreo (nice one) but I can not complain. Because you were a freaking angel. All. day. long. You ran some wind sprints in the garage and gave some checkers a ride in a school bus. You found Army men fascinating and tried to steal some dinosaurs (Nine-Saar!) for home. You're clever like that. I have a feeling that the fat man in the red suit just might have some nine-saars for you this year. I'll let him know you're looking to score some. Daddy successfully thwarted your attempts to get your nudist on with minimal resistance! You high-fived anyone who asked it of you with a bravado that belongs only to you and you even blew kisses goodbye. So all of this is to say that even though the second we got home, you unleashed holy hell on all of us and spiraled into a vortex of pure "I'm so tired and hungry" eye crossing, head splitting, pea soup spewing insanity. I'm gonna let that slide. Because you did good bud. Nice work. Mama is very proud of you. And just so you know, you look kind of amazing in a sweater vest.