Remember how in your freshman English class, your teacher always said that having a great introductory sentence was the MAKE-IT-OR-BREAK-IT of any piece of writing? And remember how she told you that a fantastic opening sentence would encourage your readers to… well… want to read more.
Yeah, I don’t really remember that either, which means I was probably busy passing notes back and forth with Noelle and Theresa, discussing the recent plot twist on Days of Our Lives, because we worked hard to keep up on the lives of Bo and Hope on our VCRs that were roughly the size of an engine out of a Mercury Topaz.
Anyway, if I actually HAD a great introductory sentence and / or paragraph, I would be more than happy to use it tonight, so that I could lure you into reading this post like an angler fish lures in blue tangs with short-term memory problems.
(“Yeah… I see a light… it’s so pretty! I want to touch it!”)
(“Hey! I saw a boat!”)
(“Just keep swimming.”)
(“P. Sherman. 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney!”)
Are you still awake? Because… I TOTALLY KNOW! This is the blog post that holds the Boring Trophy high above the head and cheers, while it struts off to the pub for fish and chips. I’d like to extend my apologies to you right now. I’m sure reading your local phone book is more interesting than reading this post tonight, which means my freshman English teacher obviously didn’t succeed in drilling it into my head that YOUR READERS WILL QUIT ALL THE READING, IF YOU DON’T KEEP THEIR ATTENTION WITH AMAZINGNESS.
Can you even tell that I don’t have anything overly significant to share with y’all tonight?
It was THAT obvious?
LOOK! Cousin H stopped by for a visit at our house yesterday, and Thing 2 took it upon himself to treat her kindly. This went against his belief system that little girl cousins should be treated like opponents in a WWF wrestling ring.
Sister and I clapped and cheered loudly for Thing 2, because JUST LOOK AT ALL THAT HUGGING GOING ON, when he’s most accustomed to executing such fantastic moves as the bell clap, the body press and the double axe handle on Cousin H.
Of course, Thing 2 APPRECIATES a good cheering section, so he took it upon himself to hug little H repeatedly, ad nauseum, all morning long, so that his crowd would explode in applause. Sadly, Thing 2 even began to cheer for himself after a good hug display, because he has no problems enthusiastically announcing to the crowd that he’s a WINNER, WINNER, CHICKEN DINNER.
So there was that.
His mama was powerfully proud of him.
And here are some snapshots from the boy’s last soccer game, which I haven’t slapped onto the blog yet. I hate to admit it, but listen: I spent so much time chatting on the sidelines of the game this past week, that I didn’t take many photos of my big boy in action.
I’m sure he’ll get all worked up about this during his high school graduation party, when he realizes that THAT ONE SOCCER GAME OUT OF FORTY-SEVEN HUNDRED OF THEM is lacking in pictures in his scrapbook.
(Oh, people! I kid! Do you honestly think that I’ll be the type of mama who makes a scrapbook? No. I’ll just hug the boy real tight and hand him a gift card to the Dairy Queen and let him know how proud his daddy and I are of him, because LOOK WHO FINISHED HIGH SCHOOL AND IS OFF TO HARVARD TO STUDY STRING THEORY!!)
(Hopefully I’ll finally have all the laundry done up, so the boy will have a change of clothes or nine to take with him to college.)
As usual, the boy and Enzo are playing on the same soccer team again, because they make their requests known to the Powers That Be and also to Those Who Assign Children Who Have Paid With Checks That Have Cleared To Teams.
Naturally, we wouldn’t have it any other way, because the boy and Enzo are two of the funniest people I know when they’re together.
Well, I have absolutely no idea how my firstborn has managed to grow so tall and change so much in such a short period of time. He looks more like an incoming Harvard freshman on that soccer team, than he does the little boy who used to swing a mean lightsaber and wear a black cape on our trips to Walmart.
I just hope that when he starts college, he’ll have an English teacher who won’t pass him in her class until he knows to the very core of his being that EVERY PIECE OF DECENT WRITING NEEDS A GOOD, SOLID, INTEREST-CATCHING INTRODUCTORY SENTENCE.