Today was picture day at the boys' school.

My phone reminded me half an hour before it was time to leave. I was simultaneously packing lunches, cleaning breakfast dishes, gathering the various bags and papers on the corner of the counter closest to the door, and sprinting toward the shower (as I do every Monday and Wednesday), and I yelled in the general direction of the rest of the house, "Hey! It's picture day! Will you make sure the boys brush their hair?"

Hair brushed. That's as good as it gets around here.

We were 6 minutes late for carpool, but we are always 6 minutes late for carpool. More notably, half the school seemed to be running behind as well. Everywhere I looked I saw ... well, the courtyard looked like this:



This is standard Southern Dressy fare.

As I peeked in the first room, I saw little smocked dresses everywhere, more collars than usual, and a number of sweater vests. I looked down at my own little boys, in their (clean) shorts and t-shirts, hair freshly brushed, and hoped they wouldn't one day resent the fact that they are never quite as dressed up as their peers at school.

At the end of the morning, I sat in carpool line, noticing again all of the cute dresses and plaid sweater vests. As I rounded the corner I saw my little Asher, in his Star Wars t-shirt, knobby knees and cowboy boots, sporting a paper ladybug hat from the day, antennae radiating from his curls. And I couldn't help but smile, because he was the most perfect image of a little boy I have ever seen. He wasn't wearing anything smocked or frocked, but he was just so perfectly Asher.

I hope they got a good picture.