They are my spuds, tater tots if you prefer.
Little Boy is in fact, a little boy. He is 3. He thinks he is a very big boy. He is into all things transportation with monster trucks and big jets at the top of the list. He can build a mean Lincoln Log house (or garage...those monster trucks and jets need a place to stay). He's a big bad preschooler with a giant imagination and a hunger for learning.
Fat Girl is well, sort of fluffy. She's really not fat, but it's a cute name, no? She does, however, have a very bubbly bum that J. Lo would be proud of. We are thinking of insuring it. She is 1. At some point, I'll have to stop letting her run around nekkid and giggle at her cheeks jiggling. Jiggle-Jiggle. Giggle-Giggle. It's just what we do. She's an angel in disquise as a moody girl. She loves to read books and I can't tell her no when she climbs on my lap and says "pease read" in that raspy voice that is signature Fat Girl.
I am the mom. The baker of the tots. The keeper of the spuds. The Constant Gardener.