And I couldn't be more geeked!
He's beginning to understand the irony too, like in his poem, SNOWBALL:
I made myself a snow ball as perfect as could be.
I thought I'd keep it as a pet and let it sleep with me.
I made it some pajamas and a pillow for it's head.
Then, last night it ran away.
But first -- it wet the bed.
It's one of his favorites, and reminds us of the little snowman that sits on our windowsill:
"Mooom, that's too silly. You can't sell snowballs!"