...to post the last few pictures of our Washington spring. Gotta clear the blogging decks for the three weeks of Alabama summer we're enjoying now.
Last Day of Little Guy's first year of preschool. Next year, Buddy Boy will join him there.
This was his first day of preschool. He's, like, six inches taller now, and can recite Scripture and count in Spanish and sound out words and even sometimes work up the nerve to say hello to his friends. He loves music class and adores the art projects, but still doesn't like show-and-tell.
Annual day trip to Annapolis.
Ordered Little Guy the adult-size crab cake platter and he wolfed it all down. Atta boy!
Baby Girl snoozed.
Buddy Boy ate chips.
My friend is always getting her daughter to take couple shots for her, so I gave Buddy Boy a try, and I think he did pretty well, save the loss of the Mister's appendage.
Now, here's a framer!
In hopes of convincing the boys to participate in the pirate painting, I got a mermaid tattoo. Did it work? No. Did I enjoy my sparkly arm art? Yes!
Best I could tell, this Pirate Pete sits out in his little boat all day long, waiting for the pirate adventurers to come attack him with water cannons. That's a job I could handle.
The Memorial Day parade.
Baby Girl has fallen for baby dolls. And hard. I love it. It's everything I imagined mothering a girl would be like. She hugs them, awwwws over them, pats their backs, feeds them, clothes them, swaddles them, pushes them around in a stroller, and--best of all--packs a diaper bag, swings it over her shoulder and says bye-bye to everyone, as she heads for the door.
She adopted this little naked playground orphan, and just loved her so. The most fun. The very most fun.
But when she's not making my heart pitter-patter with her tiny mothering skills, she is SCREAMING any time she wants something or someone. Y'all, it is so loud and so shrill. If her mouth is anywhere near your ear, it is literally painful. I can feel the vibrations in my eardrum when she screams, in a most unpleasant way. Everywhere we go, she startles people and earns us--at best--remarks about her super-capacity lungs, but just as often, evil eye stares and pointed questions about her wellbeing. People ask to be moved away from our table in restaurants. Whole train cars have been cleared by her shrieks. Her Mass attendance tops out at about six minutes, before having to be removed from the building entirely. Children plug their ears. Other babies cry. It's kinda awful.