Charlie has been shooting hoops in our driveway recently, on our regulation-height basket, with a regulation-size ball. Because even though he’s only five, he’s tough.

(And the mechanism that lets us lower the backboard isn’t working and we keep forgetting to pick up a kid-sized ball. That too.)

The other day, he was playing and he wandered into the garage and came out in his bicycle helmet. “Whatcha doing, buddy?” I asked.

“Playing basketball,” he said, “but the ball keeps hitting me in the head when I shoot, so I’m going to play in my helmet.” And he did.

And then last night, when we got ready to leave for basketball practice, he was digging around in the shoe closet. “What do you need, Charlie?” I asked, exasperated because we were running late.

“My CLEATS!” he said. “To play BASKETBALL!

New post at The Working Closet — this time with a PHOTO ESSAY. You heard me. With professional-quality photos like this one.

If I close my eyes maybe I won’t think about how stupid I look here…

That?  Is hott.