We have a boy.

And this boy LOVES to play ball. Doesn’t matter what kind, although he does have preferences. But pretty much, if there’s an activity that has a ball, from Lacrosse to football to baseball to soccer to rugby to tennis and everything in between that I’ve left out or we’ve yet to discover, he’ll give it his all. He’s all in, all the time.

He gets in front of the ball, behind the ball, under the ball, flips over the ball…like I said, whatever it requires, he’s there.

But through the magic of digital photo taking on continuous shoot, I’ve discovered something else. His “Samson” thing. You know, the if-you-cut-his-hair-he’ll-lose-his-strength thing.

And it’s his tongue.

And sometimes, when you see that thing, it doesn’t matter if the pictures aren’t gallery quality in any way, shape, or form. What matters is … I can pull these pictures out later and tease him ruthlessly about his.

This … is … AWESOME.

And his weird faces. Thank the Lord, those are just getting weirder and weirder. Maybe because that tongue needs more room and he needs to open his flip-top head to give it some space to do that karate stuff in there.

Whatever is in in that tongue, though, it emits some fierce keep-your-eye-on-the-ball stuff and awesome concentration skills. And then it morphs into the please-oh-please-let-me-catch-this face. Yeah, baby!

Go big or go home, someone said once. That there is a Thomas mouth, ya’ll. Texas-sized. That’s a pretty dominant gene in my loin fruit.

Oh sheesh. I think maybe he’s going to actually catch that one WITH his tongue.

Nope. Right in the chest. Perfect.

You know what else is perfect? I have all of this entertainment right on my front lawn.

And I never, ever, have to miss moments like this.