blessed beyond measure

Aden brings home from school a paper bunny that he has colored. Mama:  And who is this? Aden:  His name is Foo Foo. Mama:   (excited) Oh, I know that song! ♫ Little bunny Foo Foo, hopping through the forest... ♫ Aden:  No, that's not it! Mama:  What? Why? Aden:  It's little rabbit Foo Foo, and he isn't hopping, he's riding. Mama:  Riding? He's a bunny, he's supposed to hop! Aden:  He's a rabbit and he's riding . Mama:  What's he riding? Aden:  A motorcycle. Mama:  Oh. Whatever. Anyway, ♫ ...scooping up the field mice and bopping them on the head. Down came the good fairy, and she said, "Little bunny Foo Foo, I don't want to see you..." ♫ Aden:  No, you messed up again! Mama:  What now? Aden:  The fairy says, ♫ "I don't like your attitude, scooping up the field mice and bopping them on the head." ♫ Mama:  Attitude? Good grief, well that's not how I learned ...

I'd like to thank my Mama for this week's photo of the boys. It's kind of a cheat since they are both in the same photo, but it shouts so many truths about life at this moment, it's worth breaking the rules over. The basketballs. Madness is upon us, and y'all, Trey's head is about to explode. Kid is swimming in sensory overload. At this moment he is a proud 14-2 on his bracket. The same bracket that took him almost an hour to fill out. The last 15 minutes of which he was mustering up the courage to pick Kansas over his beloved Hoos to win the championship game. The guest photographer. It's Easter drama week. Or, week s . This past Wednesday through Easter Sunday are killer for us, exhausting but a spiritual high like none other. There may have been a few moments this week where I could have snapped a couple of pictures. But my brain was too full to realize it needed to be done. Hence my gratitude to Giga. Church. Home away from home, never m...

They take to the driveway, er, court and in a frenzied flourish of warm-ups and player intros, the game tips off. It may as well be summer, which means their already-impressive skills can now be honed in the wide open, instead of around the kitchen table. They don't play against each other, but take turns with our one undeflated ball. Each commentates the contest going on in his own mind, where of course each is the star player, always coming through with the nasty no-look pass or clutch three. As they pretend to be Malcolm Brogdon or Steph Curry, their lone spectator is doing some pretending of her own. My camera is my happy place. I'm decent at best with it, and everything I know I've taught myself. Too busy and impatient to become the expert I wish I was. So for now, I'll welcome these playtimes where I can act like a photographer. Sit on the ground and twist the knobs and shift focus and point the camera directly at the sun, because holy moly, look what I j...

Open window perfection. Too early in the year for pollen or bugs, mid-sixties with a heavy breeze. There is nothing that compares to the smell of a house with windows open. Or maybe just our house, since its default smell is boy . Oh, but it is happy heart weather. Excepting the singular pout you'll witness below. We are soaking up the front-yard baseball while we can, since apparently more wintry weather is on the way. One photo (plus a few) of each boy, every week, doing their thing.