Back to school. Not the Rodney Dangerfield movie where he runs a chain of Tall and Fat stores, and donates money so he can attend college along with his son the diver, and knocks out walls in the dorm to make himself a suite with a hot tub and other good stuff. No. We're talking about the #1 son making preparations to head off to college next weekend. Let's hope it's not a case of seven years down the drain. And that he knows fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life.
He has been amassing a stockpile of supplies. A box of bedding. Underbed storage containers. Theme books. Folders. Pilot pens. A bulletin board and push pins. A kickin' backpack. New shoes. Two plates, two bowls, two cups. So little to fortify him against the big world.
#1 has always enjoyed back-to-school time. He is a major fan of school supplies. It's like nerd Christmas. When he was in kindergarten, he declared that he wanted to work at Office Max. That was the year his teacher asked what he wanted Santa to bring him, and he said, "A fax machine."
That's my boy. I'm really going to miss him.