Owen graduated from preschool on Tuesday. A complete program of poems, songs and pictures. Marching down the aisle of the church to Pomp and Circumstance, dressed in their purple satin caps and gowns. Could not be any cuter.
During one song, while most children were staring straight ahead barely moving their lips, an adorable girl on stage right was seriously getting her groove on. Roger caught it all on videotape, certain we will get some cash or at least an honorable mention on America's Funniest Home Videos. Didn't matter it wasn't even our kid. She wasn't even in his class.
Each child was passed the microphone and told the audience their name and what they wanted to be when they grew up. "My name is Noah. And when I grow up, I want to be a race car driver." "My name is Jasmine, and I want to be a teacher and a mommy." "MY NAME IS OWEN" (said embarrassingly loud) "And when I grow up, I want to be RICH!" Um, did he really just say that? I look at Rog who shook his head, "Nope, he didn't get that from me". I caught the eye of his teacher. "Nope, not me. That's YOUR son." Yes, that's my son.
After the long (incredibly long - an hour and twenty min!?!) ceremony, we got Owen together with his girlfriend Abby Hobson for pictures. I'm fully convinced these shots are going to be a part of the photo collage at their rehearsal dinner when they get married. Yes, I'm serious. So both are posed leaning against the baptism pool on the church stage. Owen pops his head up and his tassle goes flying slow mo into the water. Super Yaya to the rescue ready to dive in. And dive in he did. We quickly left the church hoping no one noticed the wet hair, wet arms, shirt...and pants.So you think our night was full enough to end there, huh? Not so fast. I need to preface this next part by explaining what happened to me the day before. I went to pick Tate up from daycare and had to bend down to get since he was being particularly obstinate. A loud "Criicck" as well as the look on my face prompted the teacher to ask if I had thrown my back out. Gee, I wish! At least then I would've gotten some Prednisone! But alas, it was merely the crotch of my pants completely splitting at the seam. For real. Lucky for me, I was wearing a sweater which I quickly wrapped around my waste as I shuffled out of school, dragging Taterskins reluctantly behind me. So back to graduation night. Getting pictures outside of our little graduate with Yaya in front of the balloons. Yaya squats and.... "Criick". I think someone is trying to tell us something. And I refuse to believe it has anything to do with eating better. And Roger refuses to believe it has anything to do with drinking beer. We'll just blame it on shoddy craftsmanship. In fact that's exactly what it is. They just don't make things like they used to...
Congratulations to my baby boy. I really am proud of the little man he's becoming. And at the rate we're going, there are bound to be countless opportunities and stories for more posts to blog.
