Bested

Porter: Mommy, can we play in the sandbox?

Me: Nope, it's not bath night.

Porter (upon my arrival onto the scene): Don't worry Mom, we're not playing in the sandbox.

In fairness, he was right, I never said they couldn't dig up the rocks and peel back the weed cloth next to the sandbox.

Lesson learned.

The Girl I Love

This is our little girl—a whirl of frilly pink giggles and mismatched shoes.

 

Please don't ever grow up.

 

Thank you, Uncle Chris

Dear Uncle Chris,

I know you thought I was destined for geekery and dateless weekends when you heard I wanted a Made-for-TV Fushigi Ball for Christmas.

I suspect you thought it'd be funny to aid in your young nephew's seemingly certain social demise, just one step away from teenage medieval combat reenactments with styrofoam-wrapped swords on the Upper Quad of the nerdy college campus where my parents work.

What you failed to consider, however, is that I am an adorable five-year-old who will soon master a 12-years-and-up toy (once my hands double in size). And that—is cool.

So who's laughing now?

Thanks for being cooler than my boring parents, Uncle Chris!

Love,

Porter

P.S. My mom and dad have asked me to tell you to watch out: Taylor is one misstep away from action figure geekery in his Transformers fascination. How would you feel about a life-sized Bumblebee wall decal for his birthday?