Our pride. And the return of poopface (as though it was missing?!).

Ah fall. It brings warm color and cool breezes. The smell of pinon wood burning floats out of the older parts of our town (those with wood-burning fireplaces) as the temperatures go lower and kids pedal furiously down sidewalks with glittery streamers on handlebars flapping happy streams of purple, gold, blue, and silver.

It also brings parent-teacher conferences, a time where we, as proud parents, line up just like our kids do, waiting to be called in to sit in chairs a little too small so that we can hang on every word of the men and women guiding our loin fruits through academia.

Gosh. I’ve been waiting a while to use that term again.

Loin fruit.

He’s really gonna hate that as he gets older. Worth it.

It was a good one. He’s doing awesome, and areas in which he feels he struggles just a little are getting less “struggly”. His interest in reading is starting to bubble up as he gains confidence, and soon he’s going to be tucked in corners here and there swimming around in stories and worlds in which he can be a fierce wizard, adventuring knight, or a time traveler.

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After our conference, the ‘Fish walked us out the door and showed us around. They’re studying the life cycles of insects right now, and the bug whisperer clung to his brother’s every word.


Then he tried to sneak some of the mealworms outta there. Bleh.


I think we might have a budding entomologist on our hands with that one there.

The older guy, however, had some stuff to tell us about pirate maps…


And Egypt…

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And was feeling quite proud of himself, indeed.

All of a sudden, though, he began bouncing up and down reminding us about the book fair. Much to his horror, his little-bro-the-entomologist really wanted a book about Olivia becoming a princess, no matter how much the ‘Fish enticed him with The Pout-Pout Fish book.

Oh look. The ‘Fish holding The Pout-Pout Fish book is making the poopface. Again.

It’s hereditary. I did it until… um. I might still do that for pictures.


We got them all.

Wouldn’t you know it, a giant mouse came through and nearly drove the entomologist to the funny farm with fright and a side of the heebie jeebies, so we resorted to the ‘Fish’s Plan B…

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A pending tetherball throwdown that was promised earlier in the day.

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We had no choice but to follow.

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And then we saw them: the Tetherball Kings. I think they were like 5th-graders or something. I swear I heard one of them say, “I choose you,” and point right at me.

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I was a little terrified.

But not him. He brought his “bring it” ‘tude and showed that tethered ball thingy who was who. And how the game was played.

And then I mutilated him.

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I can’t help it. Something competitive happens to me in those situations, but only with people way younger than me and a lot shorter.

I’m a really terrible mother.

I was banished to go break this one out of swing prison.

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Taught him how to belly swing and made his world a little brighter, indeed.

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Our bonus? We found a turtle and rescued him from a doomed life of scratching along the curb by putting him into the grass not far from a little spot of water.



We rule.