The Barefoot Kitchen Witch

The Peddlar

My Mother's Day came early this year, actually.

On Friday I attended the Mother's Day Tea at Alex's kindergarten. 

I thought about bringing my camera, or our little DVD camera.  But I decided not to.  I didn't want to be so wrapped up in getting good shots that I missed out on the actual event.  So no photos of Alex or the other little kids.

The mothers waited outside in the hallway until Mrs. Z, the kindergarten teacher (the most fabulous teacher in the universe), opened the door and told us to "form a straight line, no cutting" with a faint smile and a twinkle in her eyes.

One by one, she announced us:  "Alex's mom is here!" and each mother's child would come up to the door and escort (or drag) the mom to her tiny seat at one of the low tables throughout the room.  Each table was decorated with a pretty little tablecloth and a clay pot with flower-framed photos of the two children at that table.  At each mom's place was a small pile of papers, on top of which was something like this:

Funny thing is, Bill is usually the one who cooks the rice in our strange and glorious division of kitchen duties by food and part of the world.  Except I make the risotto.  Which Alex doesn't like.

Anyway, there were a few copies of tear-jerky poems with child-sized handprints, but since they weren't actual handprints made by Alex, they didn't jerk my tears at all.

There was a storybook he apparently thought up and illustrated. 

And there was my mug.

That's his name...a blue swordfish, a red giant squid (which he pronounces "squood"), and an octopus, all swimming above some seaweed.

And that black thing is a shark, and there's a snail and the gray thing with a pointy arrow thing is a stingray.  And down at the bottom, not that his class studied them at all during their Ocean Creatures month, but those are Patrick and Sponge Bob.   

And up high is a blue jellyfish, and way over on the top right, a penguin (I think)...then a blue whale, and underneath, a lobster and a crab.

Hee hee hee!

Anyway, the "Tea" began with a kind of demo of how the class begins every day - first a Helper is chosen, and this person helps out with listing the day of the week, the date, the weather, and so on...they practice their reading words...take a head count of girls and boys and then the total...all of them sitting in their places on the rug in front of the board.

Next they sang a bunch of songs, and after each song, Mrs. Z focused on some other part of the song - like, "And what punctuation mark is this?"  "And what does it mean?"  and so on.  They sang with gusto, especially songs like "Polar Bear, Polar Bear, Do You Wear Long Underwear?" 

After about 8 songs, they launched into the acting portion of the event.  I'd been waiting for this.  I overheard Alex reciting a familiar line from a book I remember seeing on The Captain Kangaroo show, of all things, and when I mentioned the book to him, he sort of froze, and then said they were "doing" that book for the Mother's Day Tea.

Anyway, a few kids were called up and held up sea creature masks, while the kids sang the song for it...(in which, one by one, sea creatures eat smaller sea creatures and are then eaten by the next sea creature up the food chain.  It ends with a humonguous whale who burps.  Naturally it is a hit with the kids.)  Then there was a song about astronauts...and then...the moment I had been waiting for.

Caps for Sale, by Esphyr Slobodkina.

And Alex was the Peddlar.

"Caps!  Caps for Sale!  Fifty cents a cap!"

Four other kids wore monkey masks and perched on top of a table, behind a small tree. 

As Mrs. Z read the story from a huge copy of the book perched on an easel, Alex recited all the peddlar's lines and acted out his portion of the story.

It was adorable, and yeah, of course it was adorable because it was my own kid, but also - just - the little sweet voice of a five-year-old (almost six!) portraying that of the increasingly annoyed peddlar as he tries to get the monkeys to give him back his caps (which, SPOILER ALERT! they stole while he was sleeping under the tree) is priceless. 

Oh - and the caps?  They used five straw cowboy hats.

Anyway, the peddlar falls asleep under the tree and the monkeys steal all but the peddlar's own cap.  Then they stick around up in the tree to taunt him, basically, as he demands the caps back:

"You monkeys, you!  Give me back my caps!"  And the monkeys, of course, just make noises at him.  So he gets angrier and angrier.

First, as he's hollering (in such a tiny little stage-frightened-but-the-show-must-go-on sort of voice!) again and again "You monkeys, you!  Give me back my caps!" he shakes one fist.  Then two.  Then he stamps one foot.  Then two (jumping up and down), until finally, he throws his hat down in frustration and, (ANOTHER SPOILER ALERT!) the monkeys copy him and throw down all the hats they'd taken. 

I can hear Alex's little peddlar voice...and see him shaking fists and stamping...or - earlier in the story - just walking around on the carpet, hawking his wares. 

It was the most wonderful production I have ever seen.

Anyway, there were some more skits after that, and some songs about mothers, and another really great song called "I am a pizza" - the second verse was sung in French - and then finally the kids all got to join the moms and eventually we had either tea or coffee (in our mugs) and some cookies and brownies and Dunkin Munchkins.  Mrs. Z had impressed upon the kids that they could take ONE OF EACH item, rather than as many as they could hold. 

So we sat together and ate our sugar and drank our beverages and I couldn't even think of a thing to say because I was just smiling too hard and my face sort of froze like that for a while. 

And when we were finished with our snacks, we gathered up our things, and said goodbye to his teachers, and headed to the car.

On our way out the door, Mrs. Z said something like "And didn't our little peddlar do a great job?" and I agreed heartily, and she said "We can always count on Alex."  And I wished her a happy mother's day, and that was the end of the Mother's Day Tea.

And besides imagining ways he might phrase his "thank you" to me when he accepts his first Oscar, or Tony, I felt kind of happy and content and good about life right then, because it's nice to know Alex is someone they can count on.  He told me that morning that he was nervous about performing in front of all the moms.  Actually, he told me that several times over the few days leading up to the Tea.  And I told him just to look at me when he was saying his lines, and pretend no one else was there.  But when it came time to do it, he didn't look at me.  He just did his job, tiny voice and all.

Afterward, he told me he didn't think he was loud enough for all the moms to hear.  And I know that feeling.  Like your mouth is forming the words, but instead of coming out, they seem to drift back down your throat, no matter how hard you try to project them.  But actually, I think he was heard just fine.  All the moms were silent.  For every kid who spoke a word or a sentence or made monkey noises that day.  All the moms silently cheering on every kid.

It was a lovely Tea.

May Breakfast

Yesterday morning my Dad's Rotary Club held their annual May Breakfast.  We went down, and saw my father there, resplendant in his bright red apron, while we stood in line.  My mother and my sister and her son arrived a little later.

While we were there, I snapped few pictures, and this one just cracks me up.  So I figured I'd share.  Alex clearly enjoyed his breakfast.  Especially the blueberry pie.

Yep. It's Strep.

I just knew.  There was that notice that came home from kindergarten in his backpack - the generic "a child in your child's class has tested positive for strep" form to give all the other parents a head's up.  That was earlier in the week. 

But there could have been other causes for the sore throat - at least I thought so initially. 

First of all, there's this:  Peppa Pig.  Just watch - or, rather LISTEN to - the beginning part of one of the little "Peppa Pig" videos.  Where she introduces herself and her family.  Hear the British accent?  My son can do this whole bit perfectly.  And has been doing so.  All the time.  Complete with loud piggy snorts.

And it makes me laugh every time.  Not only is it hysterical to hear an English accent piped out in my American son's little voice, but there's also the snorting.  Done with great gusto.  And not just any old piggy snorting, either.  No.  If you listen to the little video clip there, you'll note that Peppa pig has one small snort.  Her little brother George - two quick little snorts.  Her Mummy pig - a louder, grown-up piggy snort.  And Daddy Pig?  For Daddy Pig's great loud piggy snort, Alex has to take a great gulp of air first and then he releases a loud Daddy Pig snort with every ounce of energy in his skinny little body.  He actually goes up on tiptoe and clenches his fists and trembles a bit with the effort.  It's quite a show. 

Anyway, he'd been doing that over and over and over lately - so much so that he'd sometimes have these little coughing episodes after the Daddy Pig blast.  I kept telling him not to do it so much (while giggling, so I admit, I wasn't all that effective) because he'd get a sore throat.  But sore throat was so hypothetical as to be just one of mommy's caffeine-induced halucinations (much like her dreams of typing for five minutes without one or the other kid hollering about what the other one just did...dream on) that he just ignored me and kept on with the Peppa Pig rehearals.

So there was that.

And then, let's see...Wednesday night.  I put them to bed, read them a couple of stories, but Julia, as usual, just wasn't ready to lie down quietly and go to sleep.  I warned her.  And left.  Went downstairs and was making a late dinner/snack for Bill and myself, and then suddenly I could hear it.  The Crying.  Sigh.  I aimed myself at the stairs and flew up to the second floor and hooked a right, toward the kids' room.  Julia was in her bed, crying.  Alex was in his bed, looking worried.  I asked what had happened. 

"Alex bit me on the hand!" Julia wailed.

"Well she was messing with my bed!" Alex countered.

"You BIT her?"  I looked at Alex's little face, peeking out from beneath his blankets.  He cowered a bit.  Julia stopped crying.  It was clear that messing with Alex's bed was the lesser crime and she was probably safe from THE WRATH.

I was just plain tired and fed up with all the (very typical) sibling squabbles of the day, and I just pulled the blankets down a bit and snapped "DON'T!  BITE!" at Alex and then flipped the blankets back up.  And left the room.

And before I got to the stairs, the real crying began.

If it had been Julia doing the biting (which used to be the case), she would have said "yeah, whatever," snapped her gum a few times and swilled some apple juice from her pink leather flask.  She tolerates me because I'm tall enough to cook scrambled eggs for her.  Once she can see the top of the stove, we're done.

Alex, on the other hand, is very sensitive.  So even though he's perfectly capable of doing horrible big brother things to his annoying little sister (who, to be fair, often deserves what she gets), he feels enormous remorse afterward.  Even when we don't get all that mad at him.  He just takes it upon himself to feel terrible, beat himself up ("I'm just not a very good big brother!" he will wail), and basically condemn himself to one of Dante's 9 circles of Hell.  The one for not very good big brothers, whichever that one was.  I don't remember.

So he cried.  Loud, aching, unrelenting sobs of anguish.  For a long time.  With no sign of stopping.  Ever.  Until the end of time. 

And I was (still) trying to put together dinner (I tried making Coconut Shrimp, and it didn't come out the way I'd hoped, but that had nothing to do with Alex) and so right before I started frying up the coconut-battered shrimp, I went upstairs to check on Alex. 

He was still crying.  Sobbing.  Loudly.  From the gut.

Julia was snoring.

So I hugged him and tried to get him to calm down and breathe deeply and stop crying.  His face was bright red, his eyes were bloodshot, and there were slime trails running from his nostrils and the corners of his gaping mouth.  It took some time, but I finally got him to relax and breathe and stop the crying.  And we talked about how even when your little sister is very, very annoying, you still can't bite her.  But even though he did bite her, it didn't make him a bad big brother.  It's normal to get angry because of things your baby sister does.  Just like it's normal for her to sometimes get upset about things her older brother does.  That's just part of being brother and sister.  And it's not okay to hurt each other...but it's understandable, sometimes, to want to.   And then I tickled him a bunch of times to make him laugh and snap him out of the last of his self-flagellation phase so he could finally fall asleep.  And so Bill and I could have our dinner.

The next morning, Alex woke up with a sore throat.  I assumed, then, that it was because of all the crying he did the night before, so I figured it would sort itself out over the course of the day.

But it didn't.  He still had a sore throat after kindergarten...still had it later in the day.  I tried looking in his throat, but he wasn't all that cooperative.

Next morning, Friday, I kept him home from school because it wasn't any better and he was wincing every time he swallowed.  And even though he hadn't had a fever, I made an appointment with the doctor to have THE DREADED STREP TEST.  But I didn't tell him that part.  Because of the last time. 

Well, we went.  And the nurse took his temperature and took a peek in his throat...and then she gave him the bad news.  "I'm just going to tap the back of your throat..." Alex's face squinched up and he pressed his lips together resolutely.  He wasn't buying it.

And the nurse tried.  She really did.  But reasoning won't work on a five-almost-six-year-old veteran of the throat culture.  Once swabbed, twice stubborn.  I could tell she was getting frustrated.  "We could have been done by now" she pointed out, a bit of strain in her voice.  So we had no choice but to put Alex in my lap.  He's pretty tall.  I turned my head away so that when he jerked back reflexively he wouldn't break my nose.  I crossed my arms around his body and pinned his arms to his sides.  And the nurse approached with the second or third sterile double-q-tip stick...and it was no use.  He would not open up.  The nurse tossed the wasted swab in the trash and said the doctor would have to do it. 

And there were the two warring parts of me.  There was the part of me that knew exactly how he felt.  If I wasn't an adult (at least in theory), I'd clamp my mouth shut at the approach of a giant double swab, too.  But I can't really get away with that sort of behavior any more.  But once upon a time...when I was probably his age...the chair I sat in was big and red and high-backed and either leather or vinyl.  But it was red.  And my doctor - our family doctor - the doctor who had delivered both me and my sister - a kindly older gentleman with a Gregory Peck voice (as I remember it) - just wanted to look in my throat.  Not even a throat culture - he just wanted to look.  With a tongue depressor.  From the glass jar of tongue depressors on the little table opposite me.  Along with a glass jar of cotton balls.  And I don't remember what else.  He was tall, and I was very small in that big red chair.  And I did NOT want that yucky dry wooden stick pressing on the back of my tongue and making my stomach clench and my throat tighten in that awful gagging feeling, like I might throw up.  No way.  And so I didn't cooperate.  And no amount of sweet talk or logic could change my mind.  And so eventually my mother and the nurse had to hold me still so Doctor Gregory Peck could shine his little tiny flashlight on my squirming throat and see that it was fine and normal and pink.

So here we are, thirty-some years later, and it's history repeating itself.  So I really sympathised with Alex during all this.

And at the same time, I just wanted to get this DONE so we could know for sure that yes, it's strep, and get our prescription for whatever antibiotic the doctor would put him on, get some apple juice and go home.  Just suck it up and do it!!!  That's what the other part of me was feeling.  I'm not proud of it, but I just knew that if he didn't open up and let someone swab him, it would turn ugly.

The doctor came in slow and friendly and just wanting to talk.  She was casual.  "So, what are you here for?" Feigning ignorance.  "Does your...leg hurt?"  With a slightly exaggerated look of puzzled concern on her face.  And so she went on like that for a bit, soothing and hypnotic.  Not even the least bit interested in his throat at all.  No sirree, Bob.  Not one bit.  And then she asked, hands behind her back, if she could just peek in his mouth for a second.  Just look.  So he opened up, and she could clearly see what I had seen and what the nurse had seen.  It was red.  And yucky.  And most likely it was strep.  But.  She still needed to do the test.  So she started laying the trap. 

"You know, I've got two boys and a girl, and they don't like having it done, either." she said, wrinkling her nose and shaking her head.  (I love all the doctors in this office.  They are all so patient and caring and understanding and wonderful.  By the way.)  "So," she continued, "when they have to have it done, they lie down on here,"  she tapped the exam table he was kneeling on, poised for flight, "and it's just a quick tap and it's over with.  That's how they do it and it's much easier."  And I'm nodding along with her, encouragingly, understanding that this way they have no where to back up.  Hmmm...maybe. 

We got Alex to lie down...and the doctor had me hold his hands down alongside his hips, and she took the point position near his face.  Tongue depressor in her left hand, swab in her right.  Still purring that it would be just a tap - and then all done with.

"But it'll still make me frow up" Alex said.  He's no dummy.

"Well, no, it'll just make you cough a bit - ek ek - but that's it" she told him.  (Okay, I know "ek ek" looks funny but how would YOU write it?)

"Ready?" she said.  "On three.  One.  Two.  THREE!"  And he didn't open his mough.  Of course. 

She tried again.  "Okay, this time we'll do it and then it will be OVER with.  One.......twoooooooo.....THREE!"  Nope.

Well, there's no way to cut this long story short, but I'll cut to the end of this portion of it.  I don't remember how many tries it took - maybe four - but finally at one point he opened the right corner of his mouth about an eighth of an inch, and the doctor was in like a flash - tongue depressor and giant q-tips, working blind because he wouldn't open his mouth any further than that, and also he was squirming away and the only reason this worked at all was because he was smashed into the corner where the exam table met the wall, and he had nowhere left to go.  I hung onto his arms, and the doctor and I were sort of laying on his tiny squirming little torso, and I felt, once again, like a human manacle.  And like crying.  I'm so sorry for helping to pin you down, my baby boy.  Motherhood is not for the faint of heart.

Anyway.  Success at last.  The doctor pulled the double swab and tongue depressor from Alex's mouth - and she and I both stared at them in silence for a moment.  They were all bloody.  Oh great.  She's poked a hole in his trachea and now he's going to drown in his own blood.  Just great.  But of course, no.  She just said "I think he's sick," and left to have the swab checked for strep.  I figured since she wasn't freaking out about the blood then neither should I.  So I remained calm (so Alex wouldn't freak out any more than he already was) and I grabbed some tissues and caught the red drool as it dribbled from his quivering lower lip.  He cried and cried and finally slowed down enough to voice his real concern:  "I'm really not gonna get to pick a lollipop now!"

Because he thought he hadn't been a good boy.  A brave boy.  Someone older than five-going-on-six.  He had done what he considered, in retrospect, the cowardly thing of trying to avoid the people with the long sticks who were hell bent on jabbing these sticks at the back of his throat.  He fought with all his might to get away, and it took two adults to beat him. 

The doctor was back very soon.  "The test showed positive for strep in twenty seconds" she said.  She knew just looking, and so did I, but now we had the official scientific proof.  She wrote out a prescription and told me if Julia showed signs of having it, just to call and they'd call in the prescription for me.  No need to go through another round of this. 

And I asked her if Alex could have a lollipop.  And she said "Of course!"  And he asked, in his little shaky voice "Can I get a lollipop for my sister, too?"  And yes, of course you can, she said.

Alex was pretty well worn out after that.  He didn't want to go to the store.  He didn't want to pick out juice.  He didn't want to pick out something yummy for dinner.

He just wanted to go home. 

 

   

 

Wednesday With Alex

Yesterday (Wednesday) I was a chaperone on a field trip with Alex's kindergarten class (the morning K class) and also the afternoon K class.  Teachers and chaperones and kids combined, there were 63 of us on the bus that went to and from Mystic Aquarium in Mystic, CT. 

The..........kiddies on the bus make

Lots of noise, lots of noise, lots of noise

The kiddies on the bus make

Lots of noise

All 45 minutes each way.

Actually, mostly on the ride TO.

By the time we rode back, all the kids were worn out by sun and aquatic creature overload and lunch, so the ride was quieter.

I had two kids to keep an eye on.  My own, and one of his friends.  We all squished together on the bus seat and the two kids kept each other entertained for the ride there.  On the ride back, Alex dozed against my shoulder, and his buddy fell asleep leaning his head against the back of the seat in front of us. 

The kids had fun.  We saw the 3 beluga whales - two females and a male on loan from another zoo.  And the kids got to pet small rays (not the stinging variety) in a shallow pool.  Alex loved that - he got to pet 4 of them.  We also saw the sea lion show - 3 sea lions: two adult males, one was 21 and near a thousand pounds, and a "teenager" male - 16 years old.  The third was a rescued baby from California.  They'd tried to rehabilitate him after they'd found him malnourished and on a beach, but he showed up again, in worse shape, so they decided he belonged in an aquarium.  And that, in a little tiny nutshell, is how he ended up at Mystic.  He was adorable - about a year and a half old.

And we saw all sorts of fish and other sea creatures, including sharks, and the tentacles of an extremely shy octopus. 

All in all it was a fun trip for the kids.  We ate lunch in the blazing 85 degree sun (isn't it April?) and then rode the bus home.

Alex had a blast. 

Then last night, I took him to his T-ball practice.  Bill's taken him in the past, so this was my first foray into the world of organized athletics for young 'uns.  And it was fun.  All those little kids.  They practiced running the bases as fast as their assorted-lengthed little legs could carry them...they broke into two teams and played a practice game, so they all had opportunities to hit and run and field and throw to first.  They're still learning that it's not so important WHO gets the ball as long as SOMEONE throws it to the first baseman. 

Alex did well - and by that I mean he did just as well as the other kids.  He's average, but that's fine. 

At the end of practice, they took turns throwing balls at an overturned bucket on top of the T stand.  It represented the first baseman, and the idea was to hit the bucket, which represented his glove.  So they all had turns at that and then their coach's wife (our friends across the street) gave out little baseball magnets to all the kids.  She has also instituted four weekly awards - given to players who demonstrate various examples of good sportsmanship in the previous week's game.   She'd told me about the idea a while ago - I think it was based on some team she'd been on and the coach had done that...I don't remember exactly, but it was a way to reward and motivate the kids.  And at this age, it's a really nice bonus.

Alex was the 4th kid to get a ribbon (it says "Super Star") - his was for "Super Running" - because he ran the bases so hard in their first game. 

His face was priceless.  His eyes widened and his mouth mad an "O" of complete surprise.  He hadn't expected it at all, and was so very thrilled about it that I wanted to cry.  A bit.

On the ride home he told me "I'm starting to like T-ball a little bit more now." 

Excellent.

And that, for the most part, was my wonderful Wednesday with Alex.   

Fisherman - The Next Generation

Bill took the kids fishing this morning.

I could have gone, but I stayed home to enjoy a couple hours of peace and quiet, and to start catching up on all the blog posts I've been meaning to write this week and haven't.

About 11:00 or so, Bill called to say they'd be leaving in about ten minutes or so, and could I start heating up the charcoal for the grill.

Alex caught a trout.

And apparently just as they were pulling in the lines, Alex's pole got a bite and so then there were two trout.

Bill cleaned them on site there, so all he had to do was rinse them off and slap them on the grill when he got home.

And so today we had fresh caught, fresh cooked trout for lunch, and some rice.

And,

of course,

Julia ate the eyes.  All four.

Bill told me the kids were kind of bored there until they got a fish on a line. 

They also lost one - it got right up near the shore and then got off.

Bill told Alex to tell me how hard the next fish fought while he was reeling it in.

And this is the picture I took of that epic struggle.

Fishing.

It's not a sport for the faint of heart or the weak of spirit.

"It was hard," he told me through gritted teeth, "but I never gave up!"

 

Camera-Happy X 3

Okay, I've set up a couple of flickr badges over on the left so I can share my kids' photos.

The first sets (and, like their mother, these children are not hesitant picture-takers, so the sets are rather large) are from this past weekend - Saturday, when they first got their cameras, and Bill and Joe caught some awesome fish, and then Sunday when we took the kids fishing in the morning and to Southwick's Zoo in the afternoon.

I still haven't posted my own pictures from the zoo or the fishing trips - yeah, I'm a slacker.

But - I have to share this - the coolest creature we saw at the zoo on Sunday?  An albino peacock.  Tail feathers on full display.  Stunning.  Just stunning.  Just wandering around outside the zoo.  With an albino hen and a couple of guinnea hens. 

And so now we have three sets of shots of the same bird.

Here's one of Alex's:

And one of Julia's:

And one of mine:

Okay, make that two of mine.  It's my blog.

Amazing, isn't he?

Another Dollar Richer

From Friday afternoon.

I Have a Son

Yesterday I took the kids out to lunch and then shopping for new shoes for their fat little feet.  Okay, not fat.  Just, you know, always growing bigger, for some reason.  Why is that? 

Anyway, after finally finding sneakers that were acceptable and fit right, we headed to one more store before the promised trip to the carousel in the food court.  (The carousel was my bribe for good behavior.)

We went in to this last store, and I waited while the sales clerk finished ringing up another customer.  Then I spoke.  "Um, my son is playing T-ball...and he needs a cup."

Ah, yes.  The boy's first plastic penile protective device.  They don't have a space for that in his baby book for some reason - just the walking and talking and teeth. 

Anyway, we got the kind that's like little white boxer shorts with a pocket for the cup - no straps or anything to worry about.  And we went home.

Later on, I was with him when he changed into his clothes for T-ball practice.  I told him to put on this new pair of "baseball underwear."  I'd already put the cup in the little pocket in front.  He looked at me with a slightly skeptical look on his face, then pulled on the shorts. 

He was both amused by and fascinated with the new bulge.  He knocked on it with his knuckles and looked up at me with that sweet almost-six-years-old face and said with a newfound look of manly pride:  "It looks like I have a really big, hard pee-pee!"

And so it begins.

First Day of T-Ball Practice

Alex had his first T-Ball practice this afternoon.  Bill helped him get his gear together, and the two of them headed to the field while I stayed home with Julia and made dinner.  It's cold and windy today, and we just didn't think Julia would be all that thrilled to sit on the bleachers for 45 minutes.

Anyway, I took a few pictures of Alex before he and Bill took off....

And then I thought it would be fun to try to get him to do the Papelbon stare.

I told him to look mean, and glare up at me just below the brim of his cap.

This was the look he gave me.

I told him to keep the mean eyes, but to lose the snarl.

We ended up laughing at each other as we made mean faces, and I had to look away so he could get his face under control.

You can see the little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.  He fought it pretty well.

Then it was time to go...

      

(Sure, NOW he's serious.)

And off they went.

They got back around an hour later, and Alex had had a great time.  They learned to run the bases, practiced catching ground balls, and teamed up in twos to play catch. 

They have team pictures in a couple of weeks, and his first game is the weekend after that. 

It kind of blows my mind that I have a son old enough to participate in organized sports. 

But at the same time - it's so cool.

P.S.  There was another shot I took of Alex that I decided to play around with a bit.  You can see it below.

Hungering...for an E

I was working out in the garden this afternoon, and when I came in a little while ago, Alex greeted me in the kitchen, holding this sign in front of him and grinning proudly.

So I said "Well, I'm glad someone did." 

And I went back outside.

I know it was harsh of me, but dammit, if he's going to get into a good college one day, he needs to stop making these childish mistakes. 

He's nearly 6, for pete's sake!