Put me in, Coach.

Dreaming Big

Yesterday in the car, the Rascal and I had this little exchange:

Rascal: Mommy, when I grow up, can I borrow your wallet?
Me: Why do you want my wallet?
R: So I can have some money.
M: Well, you'll probably have your own wallet.
R: Where will I get money?
M: You'll probably have a job and earn money.
R: What will my job be?
M: What would you like it to be?
R: Well, I could go live with Gran and Grandad in Kingsland. And I could work at Duckwall's [kind of like a Five & Dime shop]. Yeah. If I can't find your wallet, I can get a job at Duckwall's.

Go get it, son. Save some beef jerky for me.

Play Ball!

After much discussion, the Rascal has been signed up for tee ball. Is it wrong that I am looking more forward to watching his bench-warming shenanigans more than his hitting, running, and fielding?

More as the season unfolds!

Balloon Boy Bounces!

subtitle "Chimps Use Tools"

The Rascal discovered a balloon in his Valentine loot this morning, and has been having more fun than a barrel of monkeys trying to keep it from hitting the ground:



At one point it drifted to the top of the TV, and he needed a little help getting it down (which I happily gave). Pretty soon, of course, it floated up there again. I said, "guess it will have to live there for a while", thinking he might be more careful with it from then on. But that little chimp found an unsharpened pencil and used the eraser end to coax the balloon to the edge where it fell off, bringing it within his reach. You go on, Curious George. Good on ya!

[And yes, he is still in his jammies and there is a day-old heart painted on his face. What? That's how we roll on a Saturday!]