It's been a crazy month. The kids of course went back to school and the next week Andrew and I started preschool. Tuesdays and Thursdays I've got these cuties (+2 that didn't make the photo op, including Andrew who was off throwing a fit ). 

Then in the afternoon (Tues and Thurs still) I watch my friend's kids while she teaches a class. One Emma's age, one Andrew's, not a bad playdate arrangement.

Weston started baseball. For a Texan he's starting late in the game and these people take their sports seriously so we've got some catching up to do. The coaches have put these boys to work. They had a practice tonight, one tomorrow, one Sunday (well, we won't be there), and one Monday. Then a game Wednesday. He's already had a bloody lip and a black eye.

Andrew's doing t-ball. Ever seen The Sandlot? I think of that movie every time I watch Andrew throw.

His first game he covered his face with his glove while playing left field then he lay down in the outfield not even facing the field, doing what looked like the backstroke. And he tells me every day he doesn't want to go. Why am I doing this again? It is cute to watch though. Everyone cheered for him last night when he finally made it to first (yup, I'm the mom of that child :o). Then he got confused and froze between first and second until someone came over and tagged him out, baby steps.

Emma got put into the QUEST program (Texas' gifted and talented program) so she's got extra homework and still devouring books. I'm trying to continue Emma's piano lessons I gave her over the summer and keep up with my calling. I think about my mom and how the six of us kids were doing sports and piano and clubs and the rest while my parents did bishopric and RS president, and I have no idea how they managed!