And then Max grew up to be a barista

For years, Max has had a table in his room he can write on with an erasable marker. It's a cheap one I got years ago at Bed, Bath & Beyond that I need to replace, because it's too baby-ish for him. Thing is, it comes in handy: Sometimes, he likes to draw on it or practice writing his name. Most recently, he likes to ask me or Sabrina to write out a list of preferred drinks of notable people in his life:

Max drinks chocolate milk

Caleb drinks water

Mommy drinks iced coffee

Daddy drinks hot coffee

Sabrina drinks lemonade

And then, he likes to recite the list, again and again and again. I love it because he's reading (well, at this point he's got it memorized), and most of all because he's articulating words. Lately, he's been trying so hard to say stuff.  

For weeks, Sabrina's sat with Max, wrote out the drinks and listened as he read—an awesome thing. But she's getting tired of doing it, as you might glean here. Max usually does a nice job of speaking the words when she's not speed-pointing.

Ah. Sibling love.