We got Spence's Comanche project returned. Oh, I'm sorry. What's that you say? ONE. HUNDRED? Ka.pow!
And, here's that cover page I told you about.
Oh, stop. You're embarrassing us.
(But, yes. That is my facial masque smeared down the center of his part to simulate the white clay the Comanche would put down the center parts of their hair [or red or yellow - get out of my head Comanche report!] And, do you have any idea how long it takes to help an eight-year-old braid yarn braids down a piece of paper?)
But, Spence knew how hard he had worked on this project and he was proud of that grade. Shawn was out of town when the grades were returned, but we had to call him straight away to tell him the proud results!
Also in school, the 2nd grade wrote letters to Santa. Here's Spence's:
As Shawn paraphrased: "Hiiiiiii, Santaaaaaa... How you beeeeeeen? Goooooood? Gooooood. How's the faaaaaamily? We've got a little something special planned for you when you come on Christmas Eve... BRING ME A TRUCK!"
And, lastly, we had Spence's eight year old well-check with the pediatrician last week. (I-don't-want-to-talk-about-the-fact-that-he-turned-eight-two-months-ago-but-I-forgot-his-appointment-and-they-couldn't-reschedule-us-until-December-so-shut-up-about-it.)
Y'all? It might be weird to be extremely proud of your kid while you're at a check-up. But, I was extremely proud of Spencer at his check-up. I just sat back and let him handle all of her questions... and he did! Even though he was shy and a little timid (and our pediatrician was so kind and friendly, it was easy for him to talk to her), he did it! I didn't have to help "Mommy" him through any part of the exam. Now, I can already hear some of my friends (I'm looking at you, Springer) saying, "The kid's EIGHT YEARS OLD. He should have driven himself to the appointment." But, he's my kid. I want to take care of him. I want to make sure he's comfortable and at ease. But, the fact of the matter is: He is a big kid. He can take care of himself. And he doesn't need me quite as much as I may like to believe he does. I came home and said to Shawn no less than twenty times, "We have a big kid!"
And, speaking of big. She didn't have a growth chart to show me on which our giant man child would fit - for height or weight. But, she said you put them together and he has a BMI in the 95th percentile. She said that's big but it's healthy. Then she looked at me, turned to Spencer and said, "Your dad must be tall?" Rude. And, then, for the rest of the exam, she kept stopping and saying, "Eight years old?!" and "Second grade?!" over and over. And when she tested his strength (made him hold his arms up while she tried to push them down, etc), she got out of breath. So, now. When I call him our giant man child. I mean, our giant man child.
So that's the latest from the Spencer front. Somewhere around here we've had pictures with Santa. And, Lulu wrote a letter to Santa, too. Although, she doesn't have the schmoozing down quite as well as her brother...
Stay tuned. All that and more to come...