Mr. 5th Grader

For all legal purposes, he’s officially a 5th grader now, and I am done trying to scrape enough ingredients out of a nearly-empty refrigerator in order to create cold lunches every morning.

And the 5th grade?

Well, I don’t like to talk about it.  Being a 5th grader means that we’re one short school year and another summer vacation away from entering the junior high school, and THAT thought makes me want to sit on my closet floor with his jar of baby teeth in my lap and give in to the Ugly Cry.

But yes.  With a long, long line of A+’s on his report card, the boy was promoted to the 5th grade.  And, after the last day of school and our fun-filled, action-packed, barely-stopped-to-sleep-or-breathe-deeply weekend, I’ve decided that I’m simply too worn out to offer you anything but small potatoes tonight.

I’ll be back tomorrow with a mile-long string of pictures!  Consider yourselves warned.


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