The boy likes himself some good smelling hair.

That's right.  He's a hair sniffer.

This amusing gesture has been reserved specifically for lucky, little old me.

His presence reminds me of the faux fox stole I would drape around my neck at my great aunt Sarah's house.  I'd strut around feeling quite glamorous but the truth of it was I smelled like moth balls and I had a dead fox head jouncing around on my shoulder. 

I've been assigned new visiting teachers recently.  Last month one of them looked me right in the eye and said "Tell me about Nick."  That's akin to asking someone to describe taste, wind or touch.  Describing my son is something I don't often have the chance to do.  I was glad for the opportunity.

Yesterday as I sat visiting with a new friend she said "I don't know if this subject is taboo but can I ask you about Nick?"  I struggled to know where to begin or where to end but she listened intently and insisted that she and Nick would be good friends someday.  They will be.

How lovely to have someone ask

instead of just wonder.

Go ahead.

Talk about the fox head in the room.

Parent's appreciate it.