four is my favorite

Ok, you're right.  He's not quite four.  Close enough.  (Have I started planning a birthday party?  The answer would be: no)  Anyway, this post will be dedicated to recent hilariousness from the imagination of my first born.  

In his spaceship, ready for BLAST OFF: 

With Nora's doll that he named Big Kid Baby and repeatedly threw at the ceiling (over and over and over again): 

Skiing the slopes:

Leading the band:

Making a feast from a bucket of rainwater spooned into cups:

Aaaand.... driving me bananas by climbing all over me when I'm trying to feed the baby her dinner: 

Aaaand scene.