Wordless Wednesday: Raising a Photographer is a post from Stop, Drop and Blog. Want more of Stop, Drop and Blog? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, contact me or hit me up via twitter.

Wordless Wednesday: Howdy, Partner is a post from Stop, Drop and Blog. Want more of Stop, Drop and Blog? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, contact me or hit me up via twitter.

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For more Wordless Wednesday, visit 5 Minutes for Mom. As a Very Important side note, please pray for Anissa, a mom (and blogger) who had a stroke and is currently in the ICU.

Wordless Wednesday: He Had a Good Birthday is a post from Stop, Drop and Blog. Want more of Stop, Drop and Blog? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, contact me or hit me up via twitter.

For two days after t-ball was over, trophies having been handed out, BigBrother wore his hat as he ran around the yard and ran errands with FireDad. I remember feeling that way as each of my softball seasons ended. Of course, our hats back in the day, except for my last year, were those horrible trucker type hats with the mesh back and the high front featuring the name of our sponsor. No, I won’t scan that for you, either.

I’m torn, however, with the ending of BigBrother’s first t-ball season. I know he loved playing but there are a few reasons that I’m glad this season is over.

Reasons that I’m glad t-ball is over:

1. The Mean Kid on the team will stop poking his forefinger in my BigBrother’s face on the field and knocking LittleBrother down on the sidelines. I know I can’t protect my kids from everything. (You know, they might want to be firefighters.) But when some mean, nasty kid gets in his face every. single. game., well, I get kind of peeved. At the very last game, the Mean Kid finally pushed LittleBrother with his glove. I wanted to cuss at the kid but, well, I don’t do that. I simply said, “Excuse me,” picked up LittleBrother and sat in my chair. Later, another Mom on the team gave me kudos for saying something. Apparently the Mean Kid didn’t just pick on my children. He was mean to all of them. (I don’t know if that made me feel better or worse.) He also spit on kids at the first game. Glad to be done with that… until next year… and hopefully the Mean Kid will be on some other poor kids’ team.

2. We can get away from the smoke. No, seriously. WHO SMOKES AT A T-BALL GAME? I mean, you’re not even allowed to smoke at PNC Park so why on Earth would you be allowed to smoke at a t-ball game? The ages of these children are three to six, depending on when they start(ed) Kindergarten. A large number of these children have younger brothers and sisters running around the sideline with happy little pink lungs. A surprisingly large number of the mothers were pregnant, gestating little lungs. But these smokers didn’t care. They didn’t walk to their cars to light up. They stood behind my chair, where my one and a half year old sat on my lap, and blew their nasty smoke over my head. UGH!

3. Playing guessing games with the weather. The constant, “Will it rain hard enough to cancel the game or can we get it in between the raindrops or, OMG! THUNDER! RUN!” got tiresome. Make-up games made for rescheduling of other things and busy weeks. I’m glad to be done with that as I prefer to know my schedule weeks in advance. What can I say? I don’t like change.

But, other than those things, we had a great season. It was a great experience for BigBrother. He found something that he really likes. He could really take or leave basketball. But t-ball? He throws the ball alone in our yard now, runs and gets it and then throws it to “first base,” yelling what he is doing the whole while. It’s adorable.

And that’s the main reason I’m sad that the season is over: BigBrother loved it. He mentioned t-ball just yesterday. We reminded him that t-ball was over now. “Don’t you remember getting your trophy.” His trophy, of course, is still sitting at his placemat on our kitchen table. It has to sit there, to be admired at breakfast, lunch, dinner and all table snacks. He nodded but his face fell a bit. We explained that he could play again next year but, really, what does a year mean to a three and a half year old? A cross between absolutely nothing and an eternity.

Again, I can’t say enough about the coaches, the experience. Hesitant at first, he was running the bases on his own by his last three or four games. He laughed when he would swing and miss, the missing becoming less of a normal occurrence in those last few games. He would also run for the ball and actively field it. He bonded with his coaches, understanding to listen to them. He didn’t always hustle on and off the field. He didn’t always like paying attention when he was on the field. (Lasering other kids and pretending to be a cross between Buzz Lightyear, Spiderman and a Transformer were other means of field standing entertainment. Would that be Buzz Spideformer?) He also deeply, truly and really loved getting ice cream cones after games. But, really, so did I. So did FireDad. LittleBrother, our lactose intolerant little buddy, however, was not as deeply moved by the after game tradition.

All in all, I’m thrilled with this recent organized sports experience. Minus the Mean Kid, the other kids on his team were great to and for BigBrother as well. BigBrother brought the entertainment value with his aforementioned Buzz Spideformer performances. I still don’t think we’ll be purchasing tiny cleats for next year (it’s community t-ball, folks, not the big leagues) but we may need to purchase LittleBrother’s glove soon so he’ll stop gunning for his brother’s glove.

I can handle this, by the way, being a T-ball Mom. I didn’t yell from the sidelines (except to tell him to leave the Mean Kid alone and keep his hands to himself). I did cheer and clap when he hit and ran but I never scolded. I won’t be that kind of T-ball Mom. But, really, this is much better than the squeaking shoes of basketball. Fresh air (minus the smoke), dog piles on the ball and laughter? Yes please!

T-Ball is Over is a post from Stop, Drop and Blog. Want more of Stop, Drop and Blog? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, contact me or hit me up via twitter.

The theme for this year’s Baby Week is: Behind every baby is an unbelievable story. Well, yes. We have that going on here. Read on.

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My first baby, a girl, was placed for adoption at birth. At birth is always a deceptive phrase to be attached to the process of newborn domestic adoption as she wasn’t taken home by her parents until the mandatory 72 hours had passed. Her parents were, however, present as she made her way into the world. My Mother and I were sure to call them when we arrived at the hospital in the middle of the night and assured that, yes, my water had broken at 38 weeks, 2 days and I hadn’t simply wet myself. Always good to know.

Getting to that delivery room, however, was the longest journey of my life. At 18 weeks gestation, I was admitted to the hospital where I underwent a battery of tests. It was confirmed that I had a kidney disorder which was complicating the pregnancy. At that time, I had one surgery, followed by another in the 30th week. I was placed on bed rest in that 18th week, and, unable to work and save money for the child I had been planning on parenting, I panicked. I turned to the first adoption agency I found (who turned out to be unethical, sadly) and moved forward with what I thought was my only available option. Not counseled on anything regarding available assistance or how to make it work, I believed that this was the right option. Hindsight changes things somewhat but, in the end, I have to believe that this is what was meant to be for the lot of us.

Back to the delivery room, I was greeted with a nurse who didn’t care for birth mothers, a staff who couldn’t be forced to read my file and, as such, gave me a lecture about the absence of my daughter’s biological father and a brand new resident doctor who didn’t know how to either do an episiotomy or properly stitch it. The entire process was somewhat of a blurry nightmare. I did get to spend some time with my daughter while in the hospital, though not as much as I would have if the staff had remained appropriately unbiased.

Things I learned from this delivery process:

1. You can never know too much about the delivery process but you can know too little.
2. If it can go wrong, it will go wrong.
3. Everyone has an opinion and, man, they’re willing to share it with you.
4. Hospitals are not adequately prepared for open adoption scenarios. At all.

Safely delivered into the world, I had to remake the decision that I had settled upon while she was still in my womb. I made the best decision I could have made with the information I had at the time and decided to place her into the loving arms of the people she now knows as mom and dad. We are blessed to have a fully open adoption. The last of the four things I learned during this experience has lead me to push for ethical adoption reform in our country which does include preparing hospitals for such events. You can read more about our story at The Chronicles of Munchkin Land.

I took the things that I learned during that first delivery with me into the future. After I got married, my Husband (fondly known here as FireDad) and I decided to try to conceive very early in our marriage. Due to the kidney disorder discovered while pregnant with my daughter, we did not know exactly how long my health would hold out. After four months of trying, we were happy to find out that our first child was on the way. Another tumultuous pregnancy found me in the hospital multiple times. I experienced everything from a subchorionic hemorrhage to the complications brought about by my kidney disorder once again. Eventually, one of my kidneys decided to shut down at 38 weeks, 4 days. I gained nine pounds in less than a week, had a urine dip test positive for protein and had a blood pressure that had my doctor sending me straight to the hospital to be induced. I was hypertensive and signs pointed to pre-ecclampsia. Great! With my history, my doctor didn’t waste a second. Induction. Immediately.

I will say, point blank, that the induction process was a million times worse than the nastiness brought about by the previous hospital’s staff. It wasn’t the fault of my nurses or the doctor; they were all equally supportive and wonderful. However, pitocin is likely made by the Devil himself. The contractions I experienced while in labor with my daughter and all through the pregnancy with this son paled in comparison to the pain that ripped through my body when they started the Evil Drip coursing through my body. I broke at one point, unable to focus or concentrate and demanded an epidural. This, of course, slowed things down even more and probably worked against me in the end. While pushing, my large-headed, wide-shouldered oldest son got kind of wedged. Things became kind of scary as he suddenly registered a temperature, as did I. A sudden dip in the baby’s heartbeat caught everyone’s attention. My doctor looked at me, aware of my birth plan, and explained that the baby needed to come out, now, and asked my permission to cut an episiotomy. With my previous (horrible) experience in mind, I said yes, knowing that he meant business at this point. A few seconds later, my firstborn son arrived.

What I learned from this delivery experience:

1. Avoid induction if at all medically possible.
2. Having a nursing staff and a doctor that are not only physically but emotionally supportive makes a world of difference.
3. Knowing the ins and outs of what to expect and how to do it also makes a world of difference.

Our oldest son, fondly known as BigBrother around these parts, was born a healthy eight pounds, eight ounces after a fourteen hour labor. That’s right: two hours longer than my first labor. This, of course, is to blame solely on the induction. It was a slow, grueling process. I would never choose to be induced ever again.

We knew after some testing that if we wanted to have another child, it needed to be soon after BigBrother. Shortly after he turned one, we started trying to conceive. On the first attempt, we found ourselves expecting another baby. Once again, the complications of this pregnancy would put me on bed rest which is an exceptionally hard task with a 22 month old.

This delivery process was scarier than even my first (in which I knew nothing) or my second (during which my own health and safety was in question at various points in time). Due to placement, LittleBrother’s heart rate kept dipping in an unsatisfactory manner. While I had an amazing support system in the nurses on duty, the discussion of a mandatory, emergency c-section needed to be had: I would have done anything to save my child, even if that meant something that I had no interest in at all (being a c-section). After the initial conversation was had, my nurse promised not to bring it up again unless it was absolutely necessary. I will never be able to thank her enough for respecting me enough to educate me on what was going on but allowing me to focus on what I needed to do instead of what was going to happen if I couldn’t “perform” properly.

It was a long, grueling labor process fraught with worry. I kept my focus as best I could but occasionally found myself in panic mode. Without the support of my Husband or the nurse, I don’t know how I would have made it through. When eventually it came time to deliver, I only had to push twice. Once again, I gave birth to a perfectly healthy baby at seven pounds, seven ounces. Once again, despite a long labor, he had a perfectly shaped head (though somewhat smaller than his older brother’s!).

What I learned from this delivery process:

1. It is possible to discuss the realities of a complication without forcing something on a mother.
2. It is possible to be a high risk pregnancy three times in a row and end up without a c-section.
3. There are scary moments in the process of laboring and delivering. The people around you make all the difference.

LittleBrother was checked out pretty thoroughly after his dramatic in-womb antics but was deemed perfectly healthy. We had some initial nursing issues which we later found out to be due to a severe tongue tie (fixed by Nationwide Children’s Hospital). Despite the scary moments, it was easily the nicest labor and delivery simply because of the nursing staff. I was treated with respect, all past and present things considered, and my input was valued. I was handled delicately when necessary and pushed when needed. It was the perfect ending to my story of labor and delivery.

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All 3 of my Living Children in Jan 2009

All three of my experiences were very different though they had similar, high-risk scenarios intertwined. If you add in the early miscarriage we had in between our two sons, we’ve been through a lot when it comes to safely delivering children into this world. When talking with another mother who experienced multiple complications during her pregnancies and the labor and delivery of two living children, one stillborn, we agreed that for so many people, it’s just a beautiful, easy time. But there are those of us who fought, tooth and nail, to carry those children as long as we possibly could. And, when it comes down to it, easy or difficult, there is a beauty in the result. I wouldn’t make the argument that I love my children more because of what I went through to bring them into this world like some people try to insinuate, but I would say that I am eternally grateful that they made it here safely. I am fully aware of the miracle of life.

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If you’d like to catch some of Discovery Health’s Baby Week coverage, tune in Sunday through Friday, June 14-19th, at 8pm each night on Discovery Health. Some great specific shows in the line up include:

• Twins By Surprise - Sunday, June 14, 8pm
• Little Parents, Big Pregnancy – Monday, June 15, 8pm
• Births Beyond Belief -Tuesday, June 16, 8pm
• Obese & Pregnant - Wednesday, June 17, 8pm

If you miss the first run through of everything (though, in the age of DVR, you shouldn’t!), everything will be rerun later each night and again, back-to-back, on June 20th. (I love marathon days!) There are some other great episodes like I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant and the series three premiere of Deliver Me.

I encourage you to think back to your pregnancy, labor and delivery stories over the next week and consider sharing them with your readers. You never know who you might be able to help by simply listing the things that you learned with each process. Even if everything went splendidly, that may be what another mother needs to read.

Best of luck to my friends who are expecting in the next nine months (and to come).

My Delivery Stories for Discovery Health’s Baby Week is a post from Stop, Drop and Blog. Want more of Stop, Drop and Blog? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, contact me or hit me up via twitter.

He’s grown so much in six months. During that time, he really popped out of his shell. I attribute some of that to his fabulous first year of preschool experience. I think a nod can be given to basketball as well. And, of course, the constant prodding encouragement to actually speak to people when spoken to by us, the parents, might also have finally gotten through his thick skull (brought to you by the genetics of Yours Truly). Whatever the case, he is loving t-ball. He looks forward to games. He is devastated when a thunderstorm results in the cancellation of said game. We read Froggy Plays T-ball all day on game days. And he generally has a great time.

He has learned to run the bases, though he prefers if the coach helping him bat runs with him to first base. He generally runs to second, third and home on his own though one time he forgot to run to second. He doesn’t swing the bat very hard but, again, with patient coaches, he’s helped along with nice words and instruction. Eventually, he gets out of the initial foul ball territory and is quite proud when he does! As for fielding, our team has taken a different approach than some of the other teams. Someone is always on first base. The rest of the team is split into two lines where the second baseman and shortstop would stand. The two kids who are the front of the line with each batter are then allowed to field the ball. After that batter, the go to the back of the line (where BigBrother chest bumps with his friends and makes laser sounds, of course). BigBrother has actually started running after the ball and, on occasion, comes up with it. He knows to throw to first, though he’s a bit slow about it (which does not result in yelling by the coaches, by the way). He’s always so proud. So are we! I love that the coaches approach fielding in this manner because it gives everyone a chance to touch the ball and avoids the infamous T-ball Dog Pile every time someone hits the ball. Smart coaches we have! And, of course, after each game, they get a snack.

And, so, in short, BigBrother is having a fabulous time playing t-ball. (And learning!)

There are some issues, of course, but they have little to do with BigBrother, the coaches, the YMCA or even ourselves. I’m learning, far too quickly for my liking, that not everyone is in the game for the fun of it nor do people care about how the decisions they make affect other people. But that’s a different post for another week. Today we are just happy that things are going so well!

Here’s a video from BigBrother’s first ever t-ball game (early May 2009) as he crosses the plate after his first time around the bases. (Warning: Goodness, I am loud. Turn down your volume for Pete’s sake.)

He’s always so proud when he crosses home plate now (which he touches without (loud?) encouragement from us). He also runs a little faster now. Hustling is not in his vocabulary unless he is playing Mr. Incredible in the back yard.

In the end, we’ll just continue to do what we do: encourage BigBrother to have fun, look at the ball and listen to his coaches. We’re really excited that, except for that one time when he told his coach that he’d just “wait right here” on the sidelines when it was their turn on the field, we (as his parents) haven’t had to actively push him onto the field or really do much of anything. (We had to stand on one end of the court in basketball because he was unsure of how or why he should listen to coaches who were, in essence, strangers.) Despite the not-yet-mentioned issues, we’re really enjoying watching him play his games… simply because he’s enjoying playing his games. I think he’ll be devastated when the season is over.

Looks like we’ll be playing t-ball in the yard all summer. Anybody up for a game?

The Question: How is T-ball Going? is a post from Stop, Drop and Blog. Want more of Stop, Drop and Blog? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, contact me or hit me up via twitter.

In fact, I struck out repeatedly. One store did have something that wasn’t quite what I was looking for but would have worked… but… of course, not in his size. I got desperate on Wednesday, knowing that he needed something appropriate for this weekend, and brought it up with my friends over coffee. They informed me that they had found a similar sandal at Payless last year. So, after running some errands, we drove 25 miles to the nearest Payless. I had promised BigBrother a treat if he was on his best behavior when we went into the store and so he excitedly followed me in the store, ready to try on a shoe. Anything for a treat, right?

But there was a problem.

In his size, toddler 9, there were approximately six pair of boys shoes. I wish I was joking. There were multiple pairs of the same sparkly little girl dressy sandals. There were multiple pairs of dressy girly sandals. The boys? Their options were some sneakers or some play-sandals featuring licensed characters. An associate popped into the aisle to ask if I needed anything. When I inquired about a boy’s dressier sandal in my son’s size, she said that everything they had was already out.

Really? Because the girls had over 30 pairs in size 9 and you only had six pairs for boys?

Frustrated, I took BigBrother’s hand and lead him out the door. This, of course, was met with a small meltdown as he assumed that the lack of shoe-trying-on meant that he wouldn’t get a treat. I assured him that he was not the one in trouble and he quite sniffling. Thankfully, two stores down was a Famous Footwear store. Not only did they have a wider selection of shoes for boys in general but they had a brown sandal in BigBrother’s size. And it fit. He did ask to hold the Lightning McQueen croc while I tried the intended shoe on his foot but replaced it happily when I said that we were done and he figured that meant it was treat time. I paid twice what I would have at Payless and left, happy that the search was finally over.

It’s not exactly the price issue. I don’t mind paying more for shoes as shoes are important because taking good care of your child’s feet is a good investment. However, I’m just constantly aggravated with the lack of selection when it comes to any form of clothing for boys.

Why do stores, especially discount-type stores, assume that we want our boys to be dressed in junk at all times? Why do girls get frilly, semi-dressy things for a reasonable price while boys are offered nothing more than junk for the same cost? Why do I have to spend more to achieve the same “level” of look for my boys? When did people stop caring what their boys looked like? I know. You get what you pay for. I understand that concept. And that if I want quality, I will pay more. But for Pete’s sake, why can my friends with girls pay less to dress their children the same way?

Now, don’t get me wrong. The boys have play clothes. In fact, they have a lot of play clothes because at 3.5 and 1.5 they do a lot of playing. I do have to search, still, as I don’t like overly junky play clothes. I still like them to look presentable (until they stain the front of their shirts with whatever it is they’re doing that day like, just the other day, rolling down our hill and getting grass stains). But, seriously, if it wasn’t for the Internet most of the time, I’d never be able to dress these children up. (Do you remember my Easter debacle?) All I wanted was a pair of brown sandals to go with his khaki shorts (of which they only had one pair that wasn’t a sloppy cargo pair) and polo shirts (of which don’t have junk printed all over them) so he could look like a well-dressed child when the situation calls for it this summer.

Surely we are not the only parents of boys who dress them in more than a Lightning McQueen shirt (which he does own as fun shirts do have their place) and shorts all summer. Right?

I suppose I should calm down. They’ve both got their dressy sandals and their nice clothes for the summer. (LittleBrother’s were a random find late last year.) But I know it will be an issue next year. And the following year. (We don’t hand-me-down shoes as their feet are vastly different: short and wide versus thin and long respectively.) I can only hope that some discount stores catch on that they’re not offering the same things for boys that they are for girls and/or the the economy improves and/or I become a child’s shoe and clothing designer before next summer.

[(Speaking of clothes, I have a rant coming up about finding something appropriate and fun for my class reunion. Help?)]

The Quest for Dress(y) Sandals is a post from Stop, Drop and Blog. Want more of Stop, Drop and Blog? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, contact me or hit me up via twitter.

You turn to technology, of course.

I wish I could take credit for this idea. But I can’t. FireDad gets all the kudos for this one even if it was semi-accidental. He was sitting at his laptop one day (one exceptionally whiny, rainy day) when he decided to surf YouTube. For what? Fire trucks. Fire sirens. And all the varying degrees of noisy but wonderful searches. BigBrother stopped whining, stood next to the chair and exclaimed his joy over and over with each new video. LittleBrother did the same. We had an instantaneous winner on our hands.

There are videos of fire truck sirens in parades. There are citizens watching fire trucks zoom past. There are the sirens going off over volunteer departments, alerting their members to a call. Any kind of siren you want, old or new, can be found. And it provides some great “time-wasting” and giggling. We actually turn to this on days like yesterday and, according to the forecast, today. We normally play outside after supper but when it is raining or, worse, storming, we have to find something else to use up that time. This is just one of the things we happen to turn to because giggles before bedtime… ? Yes, please.

And so, a few of BigBrother’s favorites:

And, perhaps my favorite “siren” video, brought to you by BigBrother:

Awesome.

And so the next time your little one wants to go see some fire trucks, plan a virtual trip. But be prepared to listen to sirens at maximum volume for a good half an hour. Have some ibuprofen ready. And enjoy your virtual fire truck ride. (Make your own video(s) while you’re at it!)

Virtual Fire Department Visit is a post from Stop, Drop and Blog. Want more of Stop, Drop and Blog? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, contact me or hit me up via twitter.

Sure, sure. He learned things. Lots of things! And, maybe more important to me this year than anything else, he really came out of his shell. He made friends. He also now says “hello” to people when we are out and about. (At this time last year and possibly even up until February of this year, he would hide behind me, ignore them or make his defensive growling sound.) He’s become a social being in the past year and is now able to follow the instructions of someone other than myself or FireDad. All of that’s totally awesome. I have no doubt that we made the right decision to send him a year early.

And he’s grown since that first day!

But me? What have I learned?

1) I’m never going to be that Perfect Mom. I’m not crafty. The other moms give better Halloween (and Valentine’s Day and Christmas and and and) treat bags. I am thankful that I am an involved, caring mother but I am never going to be perfect. Nope. Not going to happen.

2) Book orders are the best thing on the planet. End of discussion.

3) My child is a different child for other people. A well-behaved, well-mannered child at that. I know this should make me feel good; my parenting lessons are sinking into his three and a half year old brain. But, really, would it be so hard for him to use his ears at home? Is that too much to ask? Yes. Shucks.

4) Letting go is difficult. He had an issue with a bully-type child at school. Every time BigBrother told me that he got pushed or hit or punched, I wanted to call the teachers and ask for something to be done. I knew, however, that they were working with the other child and, as such, I just had to tell my (precious) boy that we don’t push or hit back; tell a teacher immediately.

5) The moment we let go and allow our children to mix with other children, they’re going to bring home words that we don’t use. Some of it was adorable. That one time when he told me that it was time to “rock and roll?” I laughed until I cried. Some other words made my head spin a little bit and I had to explain that some words are ugly and can hurt other people’s feelings. In fact, we talked a lot about feelings this year. I figure we’ll be doing that for quite some time.

6) He still needs me. Despite the physical, emotional and independent growth he has experienced this year, the truth remains: he still needs me. He does! I had feared, when he started school, that I was somewhat replaceable, that these teachers would soon replace me as my son’s favorite person to turn to when the going got tough. That’s not the case. In the middle of the night, he calls for me. He still asks me to read him books despite the fact that his teachers read to him as well. He still wants me to play with him, to engage in imagination games and to put together puzzles or play games. I’m still needed. I’m still wanted. And I think that’s an important thing to remember.

I dropped him off awhile ago, snapping pictures: first of him, then of both he and his girlfriend. He was animated but still generally sad that school is “over.” He has also informed me that he is going to college next year where he will have a Buzz Lightyear bed. Also, Yia Yia (Greek for grandmother, meaning my Mom) is going to go to college with him. Why not me? Because I have to take care of LittleBrother, of course. Logic from a three year old. Who knew?

I’ll pick him up in two hours. He’ll tell me all about his day. FireDad and I will make a big deal out of the last day of school, just as we did the first day of school. We’ll have a present ready for him. We’ll make a special meal. We’ll probably run around in the yard afterward (as the thundershowers have been magically postponed). And then, tonight, I’ll put him to bed. He’s not the same little boy I put to bed nine months ago. He’s older. Wiser. And a heck of a lot funnier. But he’s still my little boy. The little boy who still loves school as much as he did on Orientation Day.

Now onto summer… what will we learn together this summer?

My First Year of Preschool is Over is a post from Stop, Drop and Blog. Want more of Stop, Drop and Blog? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, contact me or hit me up via twitter.

[For more Wordless Wednesday, visit 5 Minutes for Mom.]

Wordless Wednesday: Laughter is a post from Stop, Drop and Blog. Want more of Stop, Drop and Blog? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, contact me or hit me up via twitter.