SHOOTING STARS

Ugh. More stars.

I mean, yay! and wow! and all that. Truly.

But, my Lord, these kids are gonna bleed my fingers dry. And that damn sewing machine that I just HAD TO HAVE soooo does me absolutely no good at all for sewing stars upon thars. Or at least, not that I've been able to decipher from the cryptic manual that you must be over 80 to understand.

And these things, these stars, are coming home in droves every. single. week. It's practically an infestation, I tell ya.

An orange one for every 10 books read. The kids, of course, take that as a challenge, and try to fill in 20 before returning their sheet.

Purple for perfect attendance. Blue if they bring a buddy. Gold for an excellent report card.

I've got stars coming out of my ass!! But that much you already knew, I know.

And of course it might help -- I'm just saying might -- IF I sewed them on AS they come home versus collecting them in a bowl like my own personal little rainbow galaxy and then frantically trying to stitch them on the night before they belt test.

But, it's difficult to be frustrated when I look at their faces, when I watch them standing so proudly, so straight and tall, and we're called up to stand beside them, prouder peacocks (or peahens, if we must be technical) there never were, and they're smiling from ear to ear, all bedazzled and bedecked in their star-laden gis, as they channel their inner Ralph Macchios and earn their next belt level.

Bring on the stars, baby!!!