Mr. Talks A Lot

© shoutingforha

We have finally recovered from our whirlwind trip to New York. I would be lying if I told you that it was a breeze to get back into the old school routine. We had a mere two weeks to adjust before we skipped town, which made it entirely too easy to fall back into summer mode.

Sigh. If only it could be summer vacation all year long. Except not as hot and muggy... And maybe there could be a little snow tossed in for fun.

The boy has jumped back into school full force. He is getting good grades, working hard and spending entirely too much time talking to his neighbors. Some things never change.

Remember the Family Circle I wrote about a few weeks ago? My boy's head, and various other body parts, have been hanging out in the red. Apparently, the child has lots of incredibly important things to say and feels his very life depends on his ability to share them.

This is one defective genetic trait that I am sadly unable to blame on the hubby. I was always chatty. I even developed the marvelous talent of raising one eyebrow from watching my second grade teacher do it daily.

The hubby and I are using a variety of creative techniques to gently encourage the boy to keep quiet during class. Our plan, in short, is to hit him where it hurts. Well, not literally hit him. Before you call DHS, allow me to explain.

The boy has currently lost the use of all screens (T.V., iPod, PSP, computer, video games...), is not allowed to buy lunch at school and has to be in bed by 7:30. He is also unable to enjoy orange juice, yogurt and all breakfast items that involve syrup. Oh, the humanity.

In despair, he howled, "You can't stop me from drinking orange juice. It's my favorite." As the past two days have proven, indeed we can.

This, according to the boy, is "the worst punishment of all." The hubby and I are hoping that the boy will grow tired of his sad T.V. free and syrup-less life and be motivated to zip it. So far, it seems to be working.

In other news, my hand seems to have healed enough that I have been able to ditch that attractive brace I was wearing. I don't know if I could have worn that sweaty apparatus much longer. Yes, my appearance has taken a hit, but I will survive.

I'm off now to go slather some anti-wrinkle cream on my face. In my effort to get the perfect picture for this post, I had to give Photo Booth the "evil eye," as the boy calls it, approximately 40 times. I'm certain that I have added no less than three new creases to my forehead.