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The weather was perfect today. I packed a picnic lunch, made sure the cameras were charged, and headed to Riverside Park. The wildflowers were in bloom as were the roses in the rose garden.

After we got back, my nine year old and his big sister began to fight over pillows. She thought he had too many and she wanted one. He tried to convince her that he needed all seven of his pillows in order to sleep at night. The unfair child to pillow ratio was news to me. I asked him, "Where do you put seven pillows when you sleep?" He showed us.

Eventually, a compromise was reached. Before he would give up one of his seven pillows (and pillow-pets didn't count), he told us that he needed to take a nap on each one to decide which pillow he could give up. "Let him take a nap on each one," I said. I was curious as to how long seven naps would take. He's nine years old, after all.

I suspect he gets the pillow-hog gene from his dad.

My nine year old is my last child. I want him to stay my little baby. I nursed him longer than the others, and it seems that I have spoiled him more, too. So when he said that he liked "chest," we just started to refer to Chess as "Chest" in this house.

When he was still a little "nursling" he excitedly told us, "I love titties! Black titties, white titties, orange titties..." I have caught myself calling Sylvester, "Titty." (Sylvester is our family tat.)

My nine year old took this picture today of the "blue vomits," as he called them:

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His pictures at the duck pond:

On your marks! Get set!
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Go!
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Here is one I took of him in the rose garden:

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This is a shot we worked hard to get, and it's a shot that caused him to be out of water before lunch. We like the water droplet:

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