1. Thinks to bring cupcakes to preschool on son’s last day.
2. Thinks about cupcakes at the eleventh hour, meaning custom-themed cupcakes are not an option.
3. When faced with the existing “week of July 4th” cupcake selections, totally tosses these suckers into the grocery cart:
Stated reason for my selection? These (believe it or not) had the least colored icing out of all of the options in the bakery case. Real reasons?
1. Nothing says liberation from (private school tuition) tyranny like the French flag.
2. I am a sucker for a good Cake Wreck. Or, in this case, 24 single-serving Cake Wrecks. Although perhaps I’m not giving the bakers at my beloved Montgomery Plaza Super Target sufficient credit – maybe they decided to get a jump on Bastille Day while they had the piping bags already loaded with red and blue frosting.
In any event, we said au revoir to Baylor All Saints on the last day of June, after a total of eight years there, counting the tenure of both kids. Our legacy lives on, though (and message to the powers that be at Baylor All Saints Hospital – if you ever follow through on your threats to get out of the school administration biz, which – EDITORIAL COMMENT – would be a BIG mistake, HUGE, and cause you to lose your competitive recruiting edge vis-à-vis Harris Methodist . . . I’m just sayin’ – you had better give us the option to retrieve our donor star from the Wall of Fame):
Contrary to my predictions, my car did not automatically steer itself to the hospital district on the morning of July 1st. Helping us to make a clean break: within a couple of days of Parker’s departure, demolition crews had torn down the exit ramp that took us to school every weekday morning. Making the “automatic steering” thing a bit more difficult, indeed. So, thanks, architects of the 121 expansion project, for prodding us to move on with our lives. And goodbye and good luck in elementary school, Lily, Anneliese and Vanessa:
Vanessa, we will always remember you for flexing your biceps at Donuts with Dad and asking Parker’s dad and grandfather to “check out these guns.” Then, when Parnell squeezed one, you said, “Hey! Didn’t your daddy tell you not to play with guns?”
Goodbye, Julia, whose name was a mystery to us for the first two weeks after you joined the class, due to PJ’s mangled pronunciation – “We have a new girl, and her name is JEE-OO-WIA”:
And goodbye to you, too, Todd, and to your ever-present freckles and borderline ornery grin:
Yes, we dressed Parker in a field day shirt from his future elementary school – part of the transitional process. We also equipped him with a small digital camera so that he could document his last day:
Some examples of his work:
Big brother went with us to pick up little brother for the last time. Being Connor, he immediately pointed out what had been relocated within the classroom since his own departure (with a degree of accuracy that was somewhat eerie). He also made note of the fact that the furniture didn’t exactly fit him anymore:
Moving on to kindergarten (and fifth grade – our first and last year to be on the same campus at the same time). And points to anyone who got the LL Cool J reference in the title of this post!
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