From the Mouths of Babes.

I sorted through my inbox the other day. It was a job long overdue. To combat the power of the paper piles that multiply on all flat surfaces in our home, I have implemented a little, tiny, small attempt at organization. Baby steps Heth, baby steps. So we have this inbox type thing and when the kids come home from school, their number one task is to empty their backpacks of all papers and put them in the inbox for me to sort through. This helps so that I don't lose any important papers and end up scrambling around on the morning of a field trip: "You need a sack lunch, bug spray, and fifteen dollars? Today? Ack! The bus will be here in three minutes! Why didn't you tell me?" The inbox rescues me from these types of scenarios.

It's the kids' job to get their papers into the box, and it's my job to go through the box everynight. Well, that doesn't always happen. This past week, the pile was getting higher, and higher, and starting to lean a little bit. On Saturday, I finally sorted through everything. No field trips missed, phew! But I did run across this little writing assignment by Noelle. I wish I had a scanner so that you could experience the genius of fourth grade handwriting.

Gemma and her dangerous teeth.

Gemma is a very dangerous baby. She bites at church, and if you put your
finger in her face she will bite it. (It feels like your finger is being bitten
off.) She crys at night she is very loud, and that's who my sister is.

Yes. It's true. Gemma is a little piranha. But I don't think I would base her whole identity on this one aspect of her little life. She might grow out of it. Or she might grow up and get a scholarship to vampire school.