Is he getting his picture made?

How old is he?

Is he Blair’s brother?

Why does he wear glasses?

Can he talk?

Is he in pre-k?

How old is he?

He’s cute.

Can he give me five?

This week, I stood in line holding Amos in my arms, as we waited to take his picture for the yearbook. My three year old son is surely the youngest person at our elementary school and probably the only one in a long all. It was okay though and the questions directed our way we’re a welcome distraction from the sadness that had tried to breach nearly every surface of my being. Not this time, though.

Say cheese, Amos.