And he’s off . . .

to school.

Kindergarten to be exact.

He started school on the 24th. I haven’t written about it because I’m not sure what to say.

Except that our little world has changed dramatically.

Perhaps I’ll write about empty nest syndrome later. Give me six months. By then I might be able to speak about my baby going off to school and me being home without children 6.75 hours a day without copious amounts of liquid leaking from my eye sockets.

His day did start with a few tears.

He was a little extra cuddly at breakfast.

His jaw quivered a bit during picture-taking.

Fortunately his sister got a laugh out of him so his little system wasn’t doused in extra cortisol the entire morning.

When we got to school he just stood like a statue in line. The stone face is what we see when he is using all of his willpower to hold back tears.  I could feel the apprehension emanating from every ounce of his 46 pounds.  He didn’t speak. I couldn’t speak without tearing up. C rarely speaks. So we just stood there.

I did have to kiss his sweet face at least three times while we were waiting for the bell to ring.

I managed to hold the tears back until G went in the school. But then I had to stop in the parking lot and cry on my husband’s shoulder for a full ten minutes before we could drive home. It must be noted that Daddy got a little teary at this point too.

It’s a good thing my in-laws are here this week. It is a nice diversion and is helping soften the blow.

When I picked G up after school and asked him about his day all I got was, “I have food left over.”

No fountain of information here.

By six o’clock that evening however things had changed. When his daddy asked G about his day G spouted off a list of at least six things that had happened at school.

At least he is talking to someone. Let’s pray it stays that way.

And I’m pleased to report that both of us have made it through his first week. He is happy with school and I’m working on distracting myself with productive activity. I’ve made 17 pairs of earrings in the last four days.

Experiencing growing pains,

And she’s off . . .

to school.


A new school.

A new grade.

A new educational model.

And she loves it.


After nearly being late for her first day of school – due to her mother’s inability to pass by any stray dog without attempting to find the owner – and being rushed right in the door last in line . . . her day was spectacular.

The sun was even shining . . . which is worth noting because we have had 33 consecutive days of rain.

Upon arrival home she immediately began planning her outfit for the second day of school.

Afterwards we spent a full half an hour in the backyard – her swinging and me sitting in a lawn chair attempting to restore my vitamin d level – discussing the events of the day.

I heard about the smart board, her very own desk, sharing scissors, the up and down project, the names of all of her new friends, her now favorite teacher’s dress, the word search, being the very first kid to be called on . . . not able to tumble all of her thoughts out fast enough she finally just stopped, looked at me and said, “I have so much to tell you.”

I pray she is always so forthcoming with information.

Again this evening at bedtime she shared more . . .  I heard about the teacher’s microphone, taking attendance, the eraser bucket, the teacher’s personal workspace, the math books they forgot to look at, the water fountain, lunch, recess . . .

and as I write she is lying in bed with her head spinning.

Full of happy thoughts.


Weapons Modification

Today’s post was supposed to be about weapons modification. (I’m such an expert you know . . . LOL!)

So I set out to look for a couple of relevant photos to include with the post and I came across this . . . .

And this . . .


And this . . .


And this . . .

And I was a goner.

I decided weapons modification could wait.

Because I wanted to look at more pictures of my baby boy.

And I was too busy with my tissues . . .

and falling in love with you all over again.

I found this . . .

And these . . .


And these . . .


Remember this? You were such a champ.

My cuddler.

My baby.

My boy.

My happy, squeezy, lovey, sensitive, creative, smart, funny boy to the bones Happy Squish . . . to your bones little boy . . .  I love you to your bones.


P.S. I’m pretty sure I broke my per post picture limit. Ask me if I care.

On the Roof

This is a view from our roof.
The roof isn’t a place we hang out a lot.
But yesterday was a special occasion.
The Blue Angles and Canadian Snowbirds are in town.
I’m a freak about those gorgeous, powerhouse, precision flying machines. I can’t help it. They take my breath away.
Every year the bases have an airshow we stand in our back yard and watch the precision flying teams . . . we get to watch them practice and perform. 
When Roo was a year old she watched them and was about as impressed as a one year old can get. When she was three we watched them and looked up at me with eyes the size of saucers. The look on her face clearly asked, “Should I be excited or absolutely terrified.”
She wasn’t a fan of loud noises.
Of course Mama was beside herself with excitement so Roo timidly decided maybe they were ok.
Today for the first time we decided the family could watch from the roof.
And there we sat. My husband who thinks the planes are cool in the manliest sort of way. G who doesn’t seem to care one way or the other. R who wants to be excited because her Mama so clearly is.
And she still is not a fan of loud noises.
Rooftops were popular hangouts in our neighborhood this weekend.
And over they flew.
 None of the pictures come close to doing them justice because I just don’t have that kind of lens . . . not to mention photo taking ability. Let’s just say when you can see the outline of the cockpit and the pilot’s helmeted head they are pretty close.
And it is really, really cool.
Of course the Blue Angels do spend time entertaining the folks who actually take the time to drive out on to base to see the show in its entirety. They do a lot of the fancy maneuvers closer to home. We can’t see them then. 
These intermissions gave me a chance to inspect my husbands feet.
He needs a pedicure. Flip flops don’t do your feet any favors.
Alternating between awe and eeeeew,