Shall we move on to something more pleasant?
Chubbiness, ah yes, now there is a smile. Sticky, grape juice chubbiness.
I was at Rae's this week, slicing grapes for Giddy-up as fast as I could go, when he spotted my camera and indicated that he wanted to see it. I showed it to him and proceeded to snap a few pictures. This picture is too close and blurry, but still captures the idea, though I'm sad it doesn't fully portray the moment, as you can't see the enthusiasim, or hear the smack of the clap, when Rae says, "Time to pray."
Next a big cheesy grin.
So I think I'm done, but alas, the sign for "more,"
coupled with my inability to tell my gramerlings "No," so I continued to snap away and he continued to sign "more." I love, love, love this stage. I will say again, no one can uncheered by this little sprite.
So, off on another tangent, hold tight. This is long, because I still don't have an instructional assistant, and may not surface again until, well, who knows when, so I have to get it all down while I'm here.
Did ever I tell you that I have an intense dislike for children's gaming systems? I believe, whole heartedly, that their one and only attribute is stealing children's minds and attention, oh, and making someone a lot of money. Wait, that's two, but I digress. I have applauded my children for not having such items for the gramerlings.
So, they grow up running, playing, creeking, drawing, painting, climbing and other such bizarre activities. But one day, it becomes a social issue. I thought I could have cried when Bean told me that there is no one to talk to on the bus, because as soon as the kids get on the bus, they get out their games. I so know that feeling, like when your away somewhere with friends, and each person is in their own world texting, or checking up on their five hundred and sixty two Facebook friends, ignoring the friend sitting beside them. It's weird, uncomfortable.
Bean turned eight a few weeks ago and received a DS gaming system. Yee, haw! I get it. I don't like it, but I get it.
I pick them up on Thursdays and they spend the night. There it was, that little black box, in all its glory. Also, my friend Gardener E., under another crazy clean and purge spell, left a pair of stilts on my porch, used by her own boys, who are my age. The little black box was forgotten, as Bean was determined to master those stilts and I smiled big!
Lastly, our morning conversation before heading to school was hysterical. Bean was asking about our move to a balanced calendar (where fall, winter and spring breaks are longer and summer is shorter) and I was trying to explain the reason behind it. I failed completely at presenting a winning argument. He asked how long summer would be and when I told him six or seven weeks, he shook his head in disgust and loudly proclaimed, "That is just ridiculous, I'm going to have to call someone about this!"He just might.