My sons

I have spent various snatches of this morning attempting to organize my and Jack's desks. We traded because I needed a desk with drawers and he wanted a white desk to better go with the new vision he has for his room. A win-win, but it prompted the removal and unpacking of half a room (because we also switched the location of his desk and dresser); I am flabbergasted by all that child has managed to sock away in there since we moved in in February. And I thought Oliver was the hoarder.

Anyway, I got out my label maker, turned it on, and was greeted by the last phrase printed: USS Anus.

People, I am still laughing. I have no idea which child wrote that or for which ship it was destined. #boys

I would also like to share with you the latest persuasive writing exercise by which I was tested: a 4-part manifesto on all the reasons Jack needs yet another Fitbit.

Let me first say that unless your child needs to track his or her steps for health purposes, a 4th grader does not need a Fitbit. As such, T and I insisted that Jack purchase his own Fitbit, and so he searched and found a "bargain" one. It arrived, and we returned it one week later. You really can't cheap out on some things.

The second was a branded FitBit from the very low end of their price spectrum. It's the one you clip to your pocket rather than wear on your wrist. Jack swore this was the best choice because "then I can still wear the watch I bought at Cinecittà. I don't want to wear two things on one wrist or one thing on each wrist." Fair enough.

For who knows what reason, my dear son has recently gotten a burr in his butt about needing a new Fitbit. "I'll pay for it, Mom," he wept recently. "No, son, this is where I save you and your hard-earned money from yourself. The answer is no."

Which resulted in this:

He's good, isn't he? Even though my answer remains a resolute "No!" I admit to being momentarily swayed by all the sweetness and light.