Hey y'all. Yesterday marked The End of the Chimichanga Challenge:
Team Tamale (me): 25,641 words in 21 days.
Team Gluten Intolerant (Bree Despain): Excellent progress, until a trip to Disneyland sidelined her.Both great showings, but nothing close to the winner...Team Churro (Kristin Thetford): 40,222 words in 21 days.That is pretty amazing. So I asked Kristin to share a couple of her favorite lines from her WIP (Work In Progress):
Team Tamale (me): 25,641 words in 21 days.
Team Gluten Intolerant (Bree Despain): Excellent progress, until a trip to Disneyland sidelined her.Both great showings, but nothing close to the winner...Team Churro (Kristin Thetford): 40,222 words in 21 days.That is pretty amazing. So I asked Kristin to share a couple of her favorite lines from her WIP (Work In Progress):
As soon as I received that black envelope, I knew it would be bad.
I wasn't wrong.
I approach the girl in front of me. "You do know that you will most likely be killed."
She nods, and her smile is a sinister twist of thin lips. "I was born for this."
He knows that, despite my ultimate goal, I will have nightmares over what I have done here.
Pretty engaging lines, don't you think? So, if you get a chance, give her a holla in the comments. I will be personally mailing her the grand prize, which is a burrito. Why not a chimichanga, you ask? Well, because burritos are healthier, and I don't have a deep fat fryer.
On to the post.
I had a brush with the future yesterday. Kid B is graduating from his special needs preschool, and they sent us this photo to commemorate the event:
They obviously explained the solemnity of the occasion to little Kid B. He looks like he's 5 going on 18 in this picture. I imagine it went like this:
Picture taker: "Okay, Kid B. Try to look like you never had any fun."
Kid B: "But I want to smile!"
Picture taker: "Play time is over! Real adults never smile."
Kid B: "But I'm five!"
Picture taker: "Not for long! You see that thing around your neck? That's called a tie. And it's never coming off! Mwah ha ha ha ha."
I don't know how they got him in a shirt and tie. I can only imagine the whole get-up is an all-in-one sort of thing that they threw over him in the last minute.
What I do know is this: I am so not ready for him to grow up.
This is a new feeling for me. I never understood those mothers who cried on the first day of kindergarten. I was always the crazy neighbor raising my Diet Coke glass and shouting "Mazel Tov!". Usually, beginning in the labor and delivery room, I start counting down the days til they turn 18 and head off into the world.
I used to wonder why we couldn't be more like animals in the wild. Have the babies, make sure they survive their first week, chew their food for them, and then push them out of their nests to see if they could fly. (Why the baby tigers were in the nest in the first place was always a mystery.)
I even tried to do this at home. First priority was to get them to hold their own bottles. Next was to change their own diapers. Then my master plan was to push them out the door and yell, "Fly, little one. Fly!"
But seeing this picture? *sniff* Really, Pingree School, you're killing me.
