In mid-December, we enjoyed a wonderful weekend visit from our dear, dear friends, Andrea and Andreas.  Yes, we mostly like them because their names match way worse than ours.

I’m kidding.  Andrea was my very first work mentor, way, way back when Ebay was the darling of the dot com boom and we were selling data centers full of million dollar babies.  I’m all about selling a few big, expensive things versus hundreds of little cheapies.  I just made it out when big hardware went out of fashion and was replaced by disposable paper plates.

Back in the day, I clicked with Andrea immediately.  Not only did we share the matchy-matchy name connection, but we also both had been named after our mothers.  Our lifetime friendship deal was sealed the day we discovered we had the same birthday.

When their kids were little, I babysat on occasion.  I established myself as the Queen of Orange Cows (also known as root beer floats with orange soda)… a trick at perpetual infamy I’d picked-up from my own babysitter.

One day three-year-old Maddy came to visit us at work.  I remember her big blue eyes and her Cindy Brady hair.  At some point, it was just the two of us in a sea of cubicles overlooking Great America Parkway.  She took one look at me and asked, “Do you have money?”

“Of course!  What’re you thinking?”

She takes me by the hand and leads me to the big vending machine in the break room.  “Lemon Heads, please.”

And a bond was forged forever.  I love reflecting back on twenty-something-me.  Did I think, “Hmmm, I should ask your mom?”  No.  Did I pause to consider whether little hard candies were a good idea?  Negative.  Did I regard her health, her teeth, whether to stall or redirect or talk her into a better choice?  Absolutely not.  If I’d been in food service I’d have been one of those server dingbats that loudly proclaims, “Who wants soda and dessert?” Then cluelessly misreads the parental dagger eyes and wonders why my tip is so low.

Today some college kid refilled Jacob’s “special drink” Shirley Temple without even asking.  Despite it being in his favor, even Jake proclaimed it “bad service.”  Winning.

One of my favorite Maddy stories is when I dropped some coins into the hot tub for her to dive down and retrieve… she loved swimming.  But she was so little she just floated to the top.  And no, I didn’t abide by her request when she told me to “Hold her down” so she could reach them.  Appears I had a thimble of common sense.

So anyway, the kids have grown-up and gone off to college and we enjoyed a lovely day and a half with Andrea and Andreas.  We had a late lunch in AG and then a feisty game of Connect Four and Battleship at the coffee shop.  Andrea and Jake both share a competitive streak and an intimidating game face.  Later that evening, we walked the Avila promenade and enjoyed a nice sunset dinner over wine and several rounds of hangman.  As an onlooker, I especially appreciated how far Nate got with the name “Bob,” and how long it took for him to recognize the answer when faced with __ A T E.

Over dinner we got to hear about Andreas’ job as Dean of Athletics at a Junior College on the Peninsula.  He told us about the various sports and curricula he overseas, including dance.  Knowing his esteemed background as a soccer coach and the fact that he’s at least 6’3″, I pressed him on dance.  So, “What kinds of dance?”

He lists them confidently… “Modern, creative, tap, jazz, ballet…”

And with impeccable timing and a poker face, Jake asks, “Line?”

Life Skills

Nate is six-going-on-seven and let’s just say, he pretty much floats through life.  Maybe it’s a youngest kid thing?

He’s never entirely sure where he is in time and space.  Most mornings he asks, “Is it a school day?”  He still references things that happened months or years in the past as “yesterday.”  Most things he’s looking forward to are optimistically “tomorrow.”  There’s a lot of asking, “The tomorrow after tomorrow?”  Minutes and hours and weeks are essentially decades and eons and millennia respectively.  He requests things like going to Granddad’s or going to Pennsylvania on a weekend afternoon.

So James has us focusing Nate on life skills.  There’s a lot of emphasis on clocks and calendars and being aware of the body language and emotions of those around you.  His questions are generally answered with questions.  The kind of questions meant to promote critical thinking, thinly veiled by just a smidge of eldest child snoot.  Poor kid is outnumbered by a bunch of bossy first-borns.

Today we were discussing finishing up our Christmas shopping— we’ve had a plan to split-up the boys and let them pick something out for each other.  James lays-out two options: get our lists crossed off today, or wait until next weekend.

Nate votes for before Christmas.

We explain that both options qualify.

So then he chooses next weekend, because that’s closer to Christmas than today.

I try to explain to him that it’s better to get your Christmas shopping done early, rather than waiting to the last minute.  Procrastination is not a Fucillo family core value.

A beat… “Why?”

Looks like 2018 will also be about life skills.


It’s December fourth.  And almost unfathomable that it’s been 360 days since our little world changed.

James left for Stanford last night for a series of appointments and scans today.  This generally coincides with the soles of my feet prickling all day with anxiety and me recommitting to meditation instead of listening to political podcasts.  The promising news is that these days are much fewer and farther between, and last year’s Christmas week of entirely silent nights is beginning to fade.

The San Luis Obispo sky was crystal clear today.  And so was James’ scan.  Dr. Sung said things look so good that he doesn’t have to go back for his next check-up until June.  Rainbows, hummingbirds and hearts.  It is sweet, sweet music to our ears and my tears are pure relief and gratitude.

Earlier this week, Jakey was telling me about all the things his after school program leader, Skylar, has been telling him about her favorite show on Netflix, Chef’s Table.  He was literally able to recite every highlight and the entire storyline of the hour-long episode about one of the most famous chefs in America, Grant Achatz, including his infamous rosemary scented pillows.  He knew the story about his cancer and his inability to taste and that he still topped the charts as the best restaurant in America.  His restaurant is called Alinea, meaning “the beginning of a new train of thought.”

After much begging and my PG warning of potential swear words, the three of us cozied up and watched half the episode last night, and the rest of it tonight.  What an hour.  The boys and I talked about innovation and creativity and the adventures and risks of trying new foods.  As we watched the show with the subtitles on (usually our weak grown-up attempt at minimizing the 3 s’s: swearing, sex and shooting), Nate learned that slow is not spelled SLO and asked, “Why is the food so little but served on such big plates?”  Jacob took away that if the doctors recommend a drastic surgery and give you abysmal odds, you talk to more doctors.  And I ask him, “Did Miss Skylar know about your dad when she was telling you all about this particular episode?”

And he says, “No.  It never even popped into my mind until just now!”

And it’s another precious, little gift… served on a rosemary scented pillow.

Lightning, Piper, Princess & Perfect

What’s in a name?  There are entire books written on the subject.  I read once that the names you choose for your kids are mostly about the image you’re trying to project as parents.  I never really could wrap my head around why our boys ended up with old-timey biblical names with short modern nicknames, until upon further reflection, I admitted that James and I are all about old antiquey things with a modern sensibility.  And there it is.

Now our new pointer puppies, Lightning and Piper, were formerly known as Lightning and Lambchop.  And of course given the fate of our foodie namesake chicken, Chicken Nugget, we could not have any squirmy little puppies roaming around with tasty nicknames.  Plus Lightning and Piper shorten to Lights and Pipes, and based on our life of self-inflicted, perpetual house projects, that just seems fitting.

Given Jacob and I are eyeball deep in our seventh Percy Jackson book, I looked to these exciting tales of teenage, Greek demigods for inspiration.  How about Percy and Piper??  How cute would that be?  Guys?  Hey guys?

Despite the two-pronged trident on her forehead and thus her potential lineage to Poseidon, Zeus won-out and Lightning stayed Lightning.  Plus Granddad reasoned, it’s not a good idea to have two dogs with the same syllable starting their name.  You get confused when yelling at your dogs… I mean the dogs get confused.  Which is exactly why his puppies evolved from Butterfly and Bullet to McFly and Bullet to MacFly and Geronimo to Mac and Mo.  The “M” in Mo is more of a soft n…

I can totally picture Granddad’s exact response to that bit of teenage sarcasm.

The same weekend when Lightning and Piper joined our family and tipped the scales in favor of girls rule, boys drool, Chicken Sando also got two new beautiful step sisters.

Now these chickens, these new chickens are something else.  They are fluffy and pristine fashion model chickens.  One wears those fringed boots I see babies wearing on Instagram.  They prance around and roll their eyes at James and flip their hair like girls on the CW.  Meanwhile Sando is friendly and fun-loving and down-to-earth.  She’s a bohemian who loves to roll in the dirt and once jumped on top of a garbage can to peer eagerly into the dining room window.  She’s a people chicken.

Sando is Cinderella… before the ball.  Covered in ashes and sand and looking a bit like she was just attacked and had all her ribbons ripped off by two evil stepsisters.

Fittingly, I floated the names Anastasia and Drizella, but I couldn’t get a single taker.  Instead the boys have named them Princess and Perfect.  Hard to argue with that.

Yesterday we spent close to an hour trying to get Princess and Perfect to come up the hill and go back into the coop so we could go to the movies to watch Coco.  Sando was the perfectly little trained puppy we wish our puppies would be.  Meanwhile Princess and Perfect kept flouncing down the hill, further and further into the depths of Tartarus (sorry, another Percy Jackson reference).

Jacob has a lot of poultry practice planned with these two prissy pea-brains.  Another night like last night, and they’ll be remembered as Dinner and Dessert.

Double Trouble

Two to wash, two to dry
Two who wrestle, two who cry
Two to kiss, two to hug
and best of all, two to love

Jacob and Nathaniel are ecstatic to introduce

Piper Annabeth Aphrodite Fucillo
Perseus Lightning Hazel Fucillo

Piper and Lightning were born with their seven brothers in the early hours of
Thursday, August 31st on Chanticleer Farm in Santa Cruz, California.

Lightning & Piper

Jake, Lights, Nate & Pipes

No It All Gift Guide for Boys (Ages 6-9)

Santa is a girl.

You know it.  So is the Easter Bunny.

And since I’m assailing assumptions and trashing traditions, I’m also getting a little bored with the Want Need Wear Read Christmas categorization of the mommy blog world.  It seems like this is just the year to blow ’em up and start anew.  The whole point of gift giving is to put oneself in the shoes of the receiver, right?  And if you put yourself in the little crocs at our house, all you want is an Xbox.  And if you can’t have an Xbox, then you want money for video games, Star Wars Legos, Minecraft and Pokémon.

But Santa doesn’t just take orders from little dictators sporing cutie eyes.  She likes to be creative.  She likes to give the unexpected.  She likes to give orders.  And so in the spirit of little boys, I’ve come up with four new categories for 2017:

Fight, Flight, Write & Sight

A little background behind these new categories that will undoubtedly sweep the nation, and Pinterest, in a little boy pitchfork mob protesting Want Need Wear Read.  For better or for worse, the current administration will undoubtedly be working this into their next press conference…

FIGHT: There just seems to be something about testosterone that drives an insatiable need for inventing, finding, fashioning and testing all manner of weapons.  Somehow these little people emerge from the womb with a sixth sense of projectiles.  The trick is to harness this sensibility for good, like developing skills in physics and engineering, keeping them occupied outside for blissful hours of mama time… and watering plants.

FLIGHT: What’s better than running at top speed with a new weapon?  Swooping down on your opponent from above, with said weapon.

WRITE: Despite the allure of keeping them illiterate and thus powerless, the benefits of paper entertainment tip the scales.  Reading and writing projects actually work these days, unlike those delusional attempts at airplane coloring books during the toddler years.

SIGHT: It doesn’t seem like it, but they’re actually beginning to care about how they look.  Mirrors and reflective windows at night still provide endless hours of fun.  As they say on the soccer field, “You gotta look good to play good.”  Grammar shmammer… how’s my hair?

And now, the 2017 No It All Gift Guide for Boys (Ages 6-9):


Slackers Danger Toys: OK, that’s not exactly the official brand; I may have embellished a bit.  Our local toy store recently exposed us to all kinds of intriguingly high priced adventurous backyard danger… enter the Slackers line of various ninja training contraptions: ziplines, slacklines, ninjanets, swings, water toys… everything your little martial arts monkey’s heart desires.  I now have a whole new vision for our back meadow.  ER doctors rejoice.

Chess set: It’s not as violent as Harry Potter wizarding chess, but real chess still lets you simulate fighting under the guise of developing strategic thinking skills.  I’m kind of digging these vintage Russian chess sets… election interference not included.

Hose nozzles: What more can I say?

Pet paraphernalia: Toys, leashes, collars, cookies: Oh do I have a delinquent doggie drama drafted for you.  Puppies appear to be an endless pit of cute-induced consumerism.  Little boys just eat it up.  So do pointer puppies.  Literally.

Tackle boxes: Granddad had the brilliant idea of putting together tackle boxes for two aspiring fishermen.  We’ll see if they follow in their mother’s waders.  Oh the thrill of fighting unseen fish.  In any case, the beauty of this present is that all tackle boxes are environmentally and fiscally responsible as their contents simply spawn from the rusty, questionably sticky, overflowing and dented depths of other tackle boxes.  It also appears that even with all the hipsters and artisans these days, no one is making a new version of a vintage metal tacklebox.  Portland, are you listening?

Rock em Sock em Robots: Solid giggles.  We pretty much only patronize wineries, coffee shops and burger joints with complementary robot fighting games to pass the time while you wait for your food.  The link goes to Amazon, but after reading the reviews, I’d recommend finding an affordably priced old timey version on eBay.  Looks like it was originally made by Marx, not Mattel.


Tree swing: Now if you’re not quite ready for all out American Ninja Warrior, may I suggest a nice tree swing or rope swing?  Some pretty cute choices available on Etsy (tree not included).  Looking for a middle of the road choice between your average swing and Slackers?  I’m considering the Swurfer.  Note to Swurfer: You’d sell more to Santa if your models wore their bike helmets.

Chicken swing: Urban farming is all the rage these days.  And what could be better than watching your ninjas swinging next to your chickens?  Extra points if you make it.  I also see an unmet business opportunity on Etsy… not one single handmade chicken swing to be found.

Terrariums: Their plastic cages for capturing and studying nature are cracked, lost or no longer secure jails, I mean habitats, for creepy crawlies and airborne anthropods.  Just be warned, you may find yourself raising 19 tadpoles into young adulthood.


Star Wars Lego Advent Calendar: This will undoubtedly be a hit (and yes, I mean to your wallet).  Keep in mind, it’s more of a Thanksgiving present.  Carefully consider your roll-out strategy and how you might leverage this daily reward system in relation to the training programs on toilet-seat lowering and pet chores to which they are already enrolled.  Maybe, just maybe, your six-year-old will finally begin to grasp the concepts of past, present and future.

Avatar: the Last Air Bender Library Edition Series: Interested in less ninja sparring and more ninja reading?  Look no further than these five oversized hardback graphic novels.  Buy yourselves many a lovely restaurant meal as the big ninja reads to the little ninja.  Plus carrying it around makes their nunchuk-chucking arms tired.

Plants vs. Zombies: Some little boys just can’t seem to get enough of these.  I know I sure can, but I’m not the target audience.

Quarter Collecting Portfolio: The boys have had a grand old time dumping mountains of coins into little piles all over the living room, searching for elusive state quarters.  Tell yourself they’re absorbing a smidge of geography.


T-shirts from Unusual Places: Insert some variety into their wardrobe of Pokémon and Minecraft t-shirts sourced from your usual weekend haunts.  A recent trip to my local Parks & Rec uncovered a file cabinet full of what can only be described as “Little Boy Cool Approved” SLO Skate Park t-shirts and stickers.  Our beach-side coffee shop has a display sporting two designs: graphic octopus and Bob Jones Trail tees.  The only caveat?  Buy ’em when you see ’em… inventory management is not their strong suit.

Used wetsuits: Last year’s Gift Guide brought you the gift of the year for coastal elementary schoolers.  Boogie Boards.  But unless you live on the Gulf of Mexico, this gift is almost useless without a skintight thermal blanket.  Be vigilant.  Never let your guard down.  You may find it on Craig’s List.  eBay.  In that granny antique store on the corner.  At the flea.  $20?  Buy it.

A big mirror, hung down low: I recently read an article on Houzz that really got me thinking.  This is brilliant.  Most nights I find we’re talking at the dinner table and they’re busy making faces at themselves in the reflective windows behind me.  How do we think Jim Carrey got so good?  Mystery solved.

Great American Root Beers 10 Pack: Jacob recently spotted this variety pack while running errands with his dad.  What could make you look cooler than casually drinking a flight of root beers to determine which one you like best?  Uh… a flight of root beer floats… duh.





This year it seems Halloween materialized in our rearview mirror, out of nowhere, tailgated us at 90mph and then passed us on the right.  By the time we realized what had hit us, it was Wednesday.

Our school doesn’t allow us to wear costumes to celebrate Halloween, which is worthy of an all out open letter to our principal Mr. Mayfield… if such a letter can be written in disguise?  I’ve never been in trouble with a principal and I’m not about to break my perfect record.  In any case, that means we have to pack a lot of hallow into the eve.

This year Jacob decided he wanted to be a Zombie Hunter.  We’d seen the costume last year, but it wasn’t available in our size at the time.  Apparently eight-years-old is the threshold for killing mythical monsters that eat brains.  Fortunately, this year we had no problem getting a plastic bullet bandolier, bloody axe and mini zombie head holster.  It seems zombie hunters are from the outback, as it also came with a nice Crocodile Dundee hat and duster.

Historically, Jake has been the kid open to costume repetition, but this year Nate got creative.  He decided to follow in his brother’s stealth ninja footsteps and wear Jacob’s ninja costume from last year.  Only this year, he was a zombie ninja.  Of course I was game as I like little boys in matching outfits and families with costumes that “go together.”

We threw our kale salad together, barbecued our burgers and headed down to the Squire Canyon Halloween Headquarters at Matt and Jean’s house for our second annual neighborhood potluck and tractor ride trick-or-treating train.

After last year’s experience with Jake’s stealthy black ninja costume and his actual disappearance into the landscape come nightfall, I came prepared this year with a big tube of 50 premium glow-stick necklaces in various shades of cool and pretty.  And got to meet every kid in the neighborhood.  I wish I could say I’d strategically planned this as a friend-making tactic… but alas, I’m just a zombie mom with an overactive imagination.  The necklaces were a runaway success.  I’m two for two following the 2015 breakout hit of my witch fingers and noses.

As I gaze upon my zombies with their bloody axe and crooked tooth (perfectly timed for a mouthful of zombie… no make-up needed), I can’t help but feel nostalgic for Halloween’s past.  The evolution has been so fast:

2009: It started with the softest, fattest giraffe on record.
2010: Followed by the girly ducky.
2011: Jake went with lion and Nate doubled the cute factor.  Nate went with lion, too, opting for a wardrobe change to zebra.
2012: Encore of Jake the lion.  Nate let me dress him as a sock monkey.
2013: All of my voting powers vanished.  Superman and Supahman make their strength known.
2014: Hiccup and Toothless, brought to us courtesy of DreamWorks’ How to Train Your Dragon.
2015: Weapons become the number one criterion in choosing a disguise.  Swords dressed as identical ninjas hi-ya onto the scene.
2016: If it’s not broke… Jake is a ninja again.  Nate is a Star Wars Storm Trooper.  Both feature weapons.

This year the creep factor has creeped in.  Although I have to say, there was one afternoon when Jakey and Nate conceived of the zombie ninja costume.  They gathered up some Scotch tape and markers and then suspiciously shut the door to their room.  All was quiet.

The door opens and Jacob has his arm wrapped protectively around his brother’s shoulder, ready to present their creation:

Nate as… Zombie Ninja… strategically covered in bits of colored tape cuts, scars and other various zombie wounds.

I have to admit, it was pretty dang cute.



My mom tells this story about one afternoon when I was little, baking with my grandmother, Sweetie.  I honestly have almost zero memories of my grandmother that don’t involve her cooking or baking.  There was one time I remember her yelling at my cousin Kimmy for dropping and exploding an entire gallon of milk inside our front door… but even that involved food.

Anyway.  So Sweetie and I are baking cookies.  I remember we would make these cookies with cinnamon and sugar that were little round pinwheels.  I think we called them snails… appetizing, right?  So she’s holding this big knife that she’s been cutting dough with and she turns to little three-year-old me and says, “Jaimie, let’s bake your hand.”  And of course I look bravely horrified as I hide my chubby little hand behind my back and use my best, stranger-approaching-in-a-dark-parking-garage, “No!”

She was appropriately, mirthfully, apologetic.

Turns out there was a family tradition of taking the extra dough, tracing my hand with a knife, sprinkling it with cinnamon and sugar and then baking it into a sweet little hand cookie.

Meanwhile, as I’ve mentioned, Nate has a mouthful of treasure and is in complete Jack-O-Lantern mode, just in time for Halloween.  His one front tooth seems to have migrated front and center, and perceptibly lower than the rest.

A couple of week back, we were all chatting around the dinner table, confounded that Nate had already spent his Tooth Fairy two-dollar bill on an after school sno-cone.  In any case, he’s really been struggling to eat just about everything.  We were having ribs for dinner which is really one of James’ specialties.  James is up for challenging just about anyone to a rib cook-off.  Do you hear me Bobby Flay?

So we’ve spent the majority of dinner talking about Nate’s dental situation when he refuses to eat his ribs.  I suspect a combination of not wanting to get his hands sticky, and it being a challenging meal for a little one-toothed beaver.

I get up from the table and say offhandedly, “Just wait a second and I’ll cut it off.”

Nate’s eyes get as big as saucers and he exclaims in his best, grandmother-approaching-with-a-large-knife, “No!”

Summer of Love

It’s true, the summer of 2016 was possibly one of the best summers of my life.  Minus the moving part of course.  What made it so good you ask?

First, I ate three and a half months worth of perfect peaches, sometimes two a day.  Not one single mealy bite.  Honestly, our local produce manager is a stone fruit genius.

Jacob and I also came to the joint conclusion that he was ready for Harry Potter.  Oh how I’d waited for this moment.  Years and years of suffering through The Big Book of Sea Creatures and Naked Mole-Rats, hoping that one day we could finally graduate to thousands upon thousands of pages of witchcraft and wizardry.

It was heaven.  The best part of every day.  Every night Jakey and I would cuddle up with our electronic tome graced with a few well-placed faceless animated illustrations.  We read one chapter every night, sometimes two.  We tried really hard to get Nate to join us but his five-year-old Muggle mind just wasn’t ready.

Jacob acted out almost every scene.  Each character’s emotions, battles, forgivable and unforgivable curses.  The only downside was when (spoiler alert) Dumbledore’s death unexpectedly coincided with some of our darkest, darkest days this past winter.  A strange twist of fate.  But it was also a wonderful, magical, intoxicating escape from reality.  And we really needed that escape.

Once it was over, we were desperate.  We read the Harry Potter stage play… and the screenplay.  We read How To Eat Fried Worms.  It wasn’t as good as I remembered.  We read five entire Calvin and Hobbes anthologies.  They were just as good as I remembered.  We read three Cynthia Voight novels I read in fifth grade.  And now we’re five books into a modern day series on greek gods and a young demi-god named Percy Jackson.  It’s not quite the same, but it’s as close as we can get to the magical summer of peaches and Potter.

This past week, we spent a beautiful autumnal weekend in Ashland, Oregon.  We stepped into the elevator of the Ashland Springs Hotel and the back wall has a glass case housing a leaf collection over one hundred years old.

And I say, “Hey Jake, look at that leaf collection.  It’s like yours!”

And Jake says, “What Mom??”

“That leaf collection.”

“Mom, that wasn’t me… That was Calvin!”

Mission Impossible

For several weeks now, we’ve been waiting for Nate’s top right front tooth to fall out.  Let’s just say, it’s been pretty disgusting.

Like a miniature garage door or the hood of a white slug bug… back and forth, up and down, twisting and turning.  It’s gotten so bad that you could tell his tooth had actually died and changed color… he looked like a little Chip Gaines.

As our records would indicate, it appears this is Nate’s third lost tooth.  Technically he lost his first lost tooth twice.  And his second lost tooth once, and now his third lost tooth… well, we’ll get to that.  Amongst all this dental detritus, I remember Jacob also losing a tooth.

I also remember the Tooth Fairy going to bed under an extreme haze of exhaustion and then bolting upright in her four-poster bicuspid bed at 5AM because she’d fallen asleep on the job.  She recounted the story to me the following day… do you remember that scene in Mission Impossible where Tom Cruise is lowered by a cable into the most secure vault in the world?  It was exactly like that.  Except instead of a vault it was a shared bedroom, and instead of a weight-sensitive floor with lasers, it was a weight-sensitive pillow with lasers.

The Tooth Fairy tried to pull the little teepee tooth pillow from under the big pillow from under the big head of the eight-year-old whose been plotting his future fame via the capture of the Tooth Fairy since before he had  teeth.

After an extremely tense moment with a lot of waking-up sounds and movement, she crouched down next to the bed, with her little tiny arm still trapped under the pillow, while averting her gaze and holding her breath for a full minute.  I know, I know… how did her fairy arm reach from under the pillow all the way to the floor next to a twin bed?

Magic… must be magic.

She somehow used her teeny tiny fingernails to eek out that tooth, throw a packet of Pokémon under the bed and bounce.  Fortunately, based on her last visit, prizes under the bed is becoming her new signature.

Meanwhile, today at school, Nate’s front tooth finally fell out, leaving a nice big gap and taking his look from Fixer Upper to Beaver.  Unfortunately, when I picked him up after Sun n’ Fun today, he told me not only about how he’d finally lost it, but how he’d then lost it.

Maestra Coronel had given him a “Tooth Necklace,” which is a little white plastic tooth shaped box, on a string.  Sometimes I kind of wish I spent my days in a workplace where having a stash of Tooth Necklaces was the norm.  Anyway, as he was running across the playground, the box popped open and his tooth went flying.  Cruz was the last known eye witness.  We re-searched the expanse of rocky blacktop and unfortunately, only found two white shriveled tooth-like rocks.  Or what we thought were rocks.  Who knows how many treasured teeth litter the playgrounds of America?…

Always the optimistic pragmatist, Nate wrote her a note and called it a night.  He’s confident that her little magnetic tooth detector will lead her straight to it, no problem.  Though a couple of days ago, he was seriously contemplating how she does it all… I mean, “Mom, how does she fit those Pokémon packs into her tiny little backpack?”

Must be magic.