A milestone of sorts occurred. We let The Boy drive himself to school. He did well. He had to text or call every time he arrived or departed - from school, or from the grocery store where I had him stop on the way home to pick up milk and bread (bonus!!) and he remembered every single time. I was always quite happy and relieved to receive his text message stating, "I'm still alive."
He decided that the kids at the school are scary drivers however, and now he likes to leave quite early to avoid most of the crowd and the rushing. He'd rather take his time and arrive early than deal with the craziness. I don't blame him!
It was my week to drive carpool to The Princess's school.
There's not much more to say about that...except that the Air Show was this weekend and Friday as we were driving home from school we saw the Blue Angels flying overhead. The Princess tried to get some pictures while I drove and tried to watch out for the other cars on the bridge - it was a bit nerve wracking as every single driver I encountered was peering overhead at those jets instead of focusing on their driving!
Saturday, it was overcast and chilly and so I decided to make chili. The Boy wanted to know if he could invite a friend over and since we are such amazingly cool and awesome parents, we said he could. Then he and his...friend...built a fire in the firepit and...talked. The Princess sat outside in her official role as
chaperone little sister and kept them company. I decided to go outside and pretend to take some pictures of the really cool looking moon. And then, since I was already outside with my camera, I decided to snap some photos...umm, of the fire. It was a very impressive fire. Sadly, my camera was apparently on some weird setting which was not conducive to the dark and smoky conditions. My apologies.
I realize that these are really, really terrible photos. The Boy is wearing athletic shorts, a long sleeved polo shirt, dark socks and topsiders.
Trust me, I'm as speechless as I'm sure you are.
And I have no explanation. He's an original, that boy. He marches to his own beat. Or his own drummer. Or something like that.
What can I tell you? I pick my battles...