BALLS

Sydney is in love. With balls. She spots them everywhere, and will point them out with a chubby finger and for some bizarre reason (as the rest of her utterances are pretty high-pitched and screamy) a low, gravelly, "Ball." Then she looks at you seriously to see if you understand the implications of her statement. It's like she was put on this earth to be a fat little ball detective.

Now, the word "balls" to me is hysterical. My Gran used to use it as an expletive when she was frustrated or had made a mistake. I always laughed, and now I have this tiny person channeling her left and right, and it makes me smile so wide my face hurts.

Needless to say we already had quite a collection of balls around here because of Jack and Dan (no joke intended, but HAHAHAHAHA). Sydney has commandeered them all, her favorite being a tiny beach ball that we got at some YMCA event. She loves to throw it crazily around and then chase it, squealing. This game is improved when someone else challenges her for possesion of the ball (which is usually Jack) and then she gets so excited that she is almost sidetracked by her spasms of delight, and invariably does not get to the ball first.

Luckily Jack is a good sharer and 85% gentle in his brotherly ministrations; Sydney is a greedy pig who loves to pound on him. They are like the stereo-typically backwards yin and yang of siblings.