All I can hope for is that he uses his talents for the greater good one day.

Paxton is now at that stage of development when all of his baby teeth seem to fall out at once. Case in point? He has lost four teeth in the past three or so weeks and most of those have been lost in the past week.

These newly liberated chiclets have been conspicuously absent from his bedtime routine though. Turns out that Pax has a theory. He theorizes that the more teeth he antes up the more cash he will net per tooth. So, he has purposely been saving them up in the hopes of a large windfall.

But, like happens with most of the best laid plans, disaster struck. He lost the fourth tooth at the after school program earlier this week and forgot to bring it home with him (this was not a surprise). Staff, thinking it was just a wad of bloody Kleenex left on the table (go figure!), they tossed it out during clean up (the staff remain blameless and still candidates for sainthood because ewwww – kids can be gross!).

So, last night, having only three teeth, not the missing four, to offer up to the Tooth Fairy, Pax got to thinking.

Not to be deterred by his predicament, really rather not interested in suffering potential financial hardship, and completely unable to accept that it may be the result of unfortunate (albeit avoidable) circumstance, Pax decided to make the Tooth Fairy a card to explain the situation and make his pitch for mercy (and money).

He probably could have spent a bit more time, but he was on a mission to write the actual message inside.
Only this kid would show up without the goods and ask for MORE compensation in return. Lol.

Generally the children who board here receive $2 per tooth. I wonder if Paxton’s strategy worked? And if it did, maybe it’s one that I should explore further… (in some other way that does not involve losing my teeth!)

P.S. Join me on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. Sometimes, I post info, ideas or photos everywhere, and other gems (and duds) only get posted in one place. Some things are totally worth skipping, occasionally there are things well-worth sharing. Either way, I’m happy for the company (as long as we can both stay in our own homes, in our jammies, with no actual face-to-face contact. #IntrovertProblems). Also, please feel free to like, comment on and share any post, for any reason, including blind rage and mockery. I dig it.

Oh Deacon, My Deacon. Or Perhaps Better Titled: Yup, You Betcha – He’s Just One Of Those Kids And He’s Fabulous!

One of my smalls, who I call Donut, is also known as Deacon.  He is five years-old and is beautiful, inside and out.  He was the happiest baby I ever had met.  He had the biggest grins and the hardiest laughs and was and is the most innocently mischievous boy.  Like ever.  Or at least since the creation of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. That is how mischievous my boy is. Oh Deacon, my Deacon.  If it’s going to happen, I know that I am going to find you in the middle of it.  Literally.

Now, this may make me a bad mother, (and judge me all you want, but at least I’m honest) but for his most recent shenanigans, as soon as his tears stopped and the urgency of the moment was past I looked at Mr. KB and said “Damn!  I should have taken pictures before cleaning him up!”  Mr. KB shook his head at me (probably wondered for yet another moment why he married this insane person) and said, “Well, you can take some now.”  “Yeah, I guess so.  It won’t be the same, but it’ll be better than nothing.”

But still, I just cannot help being disappointed in myself for my poor instincts.  Imagine!  Subduing and comforting my crying child BEFORE taking any pictures of the carnage for later laughter (because you KNOW it’s going to be funny once no permanent damage is ascertained!).  Something else I need to work on.  Great.

Anyway.  What happened, you ask?  Well, as far as I can make out, Deacon was outside doing garage clean up with Mr. KB in preparation of our move (read: he was smashing stuff with a hammer while Daddy sorted, organized and packed).  And, while smashing stuff with a hammer, his five-year-old self did not realize that whacking a spray paint can with the business end of a hammer *could* result in the can puncturing.  And maybe spraying him.  A lot.  In the face.  And in his case, not only *could* it spray him, but it *did*.

Enter, my very own Smurf!  I have always wanted a Smurf!  Mwah!

Regaining my senses, I grabbed my camera before my newly minted Smurf Smurfed away his Smurfiness...

And after the shower, he was only slightly less Smurfy.

Less Smurfy than before, but still awesome.

But just look at this Smurfy smile – can you see why he melts my heart?

I mean, really? How can I do anything but smile back at this face?

Oh Deacon, my Deacon.  I can’t wait to see what you fall into next.  You remain, as always, my Sunshine.

My Deacon Donut, circa early 2008, reaping the (yogurt) rewards of being able to climb onto the table under his own steam and as quietly as a mouse... What a little rat! And he