I'm still a little sore from the bouncing.
I tried to take his picture, but the flying out of the seat thing kind of messed up the focus. He's cute anyway.
His class was visiting their Amish pen pals at a school about an hour and a century away.
The Amish scholars in their plain dress and bonnets, squared-off hair cuts and suspenders were very cute. But they don't want their picture taken. I knew that. I didn't ask about the horse outside. I just risked it.
I also didn't ask before I took pictures of their baked goods. Since I bought some of these soft loaves at the Amish bakery (you should see the oven!), I didn't think it would be a big deal.
I brought the bread back to the future and my modern-ish family enjoyed it.
The End.
My son the 3rd Grade Student is writing a biographical book report tonight. It is due tomorrow. I'm providing sideline guidance. I am NOT writing it for him, just trying to shield him from distractions and keep him on task. It is due tomorrow, after all. He is a pretty good little writer, this son of mine. But sadly, that's not what marks him as my son. Nope. The fact that he's been sitting on this assignment all month long, has read several books about the chosen subject (George Washington), has designed (almost finished) his poster and yet had not put one paragraph together before tonight, that is what distinguishes him as my son.
Procrastination rocks!
I just figured he would at least be in high school before I started encouraging him to pull assignment busting all-nighters.
This writing session is fueled by ice cream. What kind of lesson am I teaching him? Procrastinate, stay up too late, be rewarded with sweets. Sounds about right.
Thus far, my favorite passage in this paper:
"When he returned again a widow was waiting for him. Her name was Martha."
I guess he knows all about women, that 3rd Grade son of mine. Another lesson I hadn't planned on him learning so early.
While I'm sitting beside him, punching away on a perfectly adequate (if small) laptop, I'm reminded again at the ridiculousness of our computer "monitor." Please, Dear Man of the House, can we hang that thing on a wall like the flat screen tv it was made to be?
