When Riley was a newborn, I found a cute little camo onesie that read, "Little Rebel." Little did I know then how those words would come so close to fruition, and at such an early age. Since then, he has given new meaning to being a "bruiser." Not only is the kid destined to play tackle football, he's constantly covered in bruises. With his laundry list of daily antics aside, he now insists on a mohawk EVERY time we comb his hair. It doesn't always cooperate, but he's happy if we at least try. If I try to comb it "normal," he corrects me by saying, "No! Like this!" and proceeds to use his hands to make his hair stand on end. He's only two. Instinct tells me we ain't seen nothing yet.
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