Ahh, tag. Brings back such
traumatic fun memories from childhood. Tag and all its variants—line tag on the basketball court in P.E., stuck in the mud, ghost in the graveyard…Yeah, I pretty much hated them all. Why, you ask? Well, let’s see. I’m slow. I hate running. I hate confrontation of any sort. And I get very anxious when I know I’m going to get “tagged” (I can’t do jack-in-the-box, either. Just knowing that clown is going to pop up at ANY…MOMENT…makes me about jump out of my skin!).
But fortunately, this is one game of tag I can actually play—WITHOUT getting winded or having to put my head between my knees so I don’t pass out.
Amy posted the cutest photo of one of her daughters in a game of bloggy tag, and then she tagged ME! I was supposed to go to my photos and post the 6th photo in the 6th folder. Well, I had to go with my 5th folder because I only have 5 folders on iPhoto and my other photos are being held hostage in some hard drive of my husband’s, but hopefully I am allowed to bend the rules a teensy bit.
So the “tagged” photo is this one of Boy #3 at Easter this past spring. We’re at Grandma J’s and Papa’s house, and the boys just found their Easter baskets. I love how disheveled Boy #3 looks. Dirty shirt leftover from the day before along with his pajama pants…Peep hanging out of his mouth…And if you look closely, you can see he’s got either a horn growing out the side of his head or some really bad bedhead.
And now, I’m going to tag Jody…and Bec…and Wendy…and Kellyn…and KMom…and Melody! You are now IT!