Just Trot being Trot.

I'd like to think that way back when the Pilgrims and the Indians sat down for the inaugural Thanksgiving feast there was a young child who spent the entire dinner talking incessantly, antagonizing his siblings, getting more food on the floor than in his mouth, and needing to be hosed down afterword.

That would REALLY help me mentally.

A LOT.

Wearing his camouflage pants, his light up Buzz Lightyear shoes, and a rebellious streak a mile long, Trot's pre-school had it's annual Thanksgiving program today where they sang songs, did a skit, and just looked cute in general.

Naturally, Trot didn't sing a word, turned around at one point with his back to the audience and put his hands on his ears (I'm guessing to show his displeasure with the actual singing but it could've just been his form of protest for not getting to be an Indian. With him, who knows?) and spent about 3 minutes furiously digging with his right pointer finger in his left nostril for every child, parent, grandparent, and disgusted onlooker to witness.

Me?

I was just happy he didn't drop trou at some point.

It's 50/50 at this point whether we're allowed to come back next year.