Three, thus far, is a marvel. Three is all scabby-kneed, bug-watching, tool-loving boy. Three is peeing in the potty. Three is a little bit more rational, a little bit more thoughtful, and odds-defyingly, more cuddly.

Three is "reading" books in bed by himself and coloring with deliberation and panache. Three is playing ball with other kids at the park, and at home, it's a little less Elmo and a little more Blues Clues.

Three is also, as I have come to find out these past two weeks, napless. We have dropped the nap, and, well, it's been a problem.

It's a hard nap to drop, this last one. It's a long stretch from bright-and-early to well-past-dinner-and-very-very-well-past-Finn's best hour. The past two days, though, we've turned a corner, or, if you will, crossed a bridge.

Finn no longer needs his afternoon nap, and it seems, to wimpy me, we're walking away from babyhood and toddlerdom and passing over into the world of child. Sniff.

Oh, Baby Finn, you'll live on forever in my heart.

Tulip Festival is as advertised: heaps, boatloads, beds, and beds of tulips.
Some of us enjoyed the tulips more than others.

"Oooooh, pretty colors."

"Stupid flowers." (I think Finn misses the camping tent we set-up together in the back yard.)

Is it just me, or does it seem every Leite outing is merely an excuse to eat fried sugar-laden dough? (It's just an excuse to eat. As you can see, I am wearing my weekend uniform; a plain white shirt and sunglasses.)
"Thank god for the sugar dough." (The first "Beaver Tail" had sugar and lemon juice on it. The second one had Nutella and icing sugar. It's so amazing. Oh, and for those who don't know, a Beaver Tail is like a flattened doughnut, with more sugar.)
"Whee! Sugar!" (Rose just likes going outside.)

"

This little lady is ever so slowly learning to walk.
"Ever so cutely, I think I'll tip-toe over here towards the edge."

I don't know if it comes across in the pictures or not, but Finn loves Dadda.
Really, really loves him. "Best Dadda in the whole wide world" kind of love.
And I think the feeling is mutual.
"I think I have grown tired of flowers now, Mama. Home please." (The sugar rush may be over, but I think Rose is upset we did not make it to the breakfast buffet downtown this weekend. I know I am disappointed about it.)