This is what it looks like....

...when a Real Man cooks.

Oh.My.God. Could you die? My little baby beefcake Rambo.

JD somehow manages to epitomize every. single. "typical boy" stereotype you could think of.

He is a whirling dervish, covered in dirt, chasing and wrestling with the dog, obsessed with trucks, police cars, fire engines, ambulances, tractors, motorcycles, helicopters, any and all manner of big things that make loud noises; he can identify every single piece of construction equipment that he sees: "Backhoe loader!" "Giant excavator!" "Skid steer!" I shit you not. My son is a genius.

He loves to throw and toss and kick and climb and jump; he climbs up on the couch next to Dave with a hearty, "Daddy watch football!" and settles in to cheer on Michigan by yelling "Go Blue!" and approximating the "Hail to the Victors" fight song.

He burps and tells me what kind it was: "Milk burp!" "Juice burp!" He grins and laughs when he passes gas. He has even started to make poop jokes (and he's not even two, God help us all).

Yes, JD manages to embody them all. But, that is not what makes him a Real Man. (And God helps us all if that were the defining criteria.) JD is a Real Man bc/, as much as he is "snips-n-snails", he is also "sugar-n-spice". He is sweet and kind and loving and compassionate and affectionate and sensitive and caring. I think this picture captures it all; he's wearing camo pants, bare-chested, while he's in the kitchen cooking dinner for his mommy. And that's what it looks like when a Real Man cooks.