The Last 48 Hours

Our dog thinks he's human and is very comfortable with himself (and not allowed on the furniture).

Andrew had a gnarly asthma attack on Thursday night and is still wheezing pretty bad so we are nebulizing him 3x/day per doctor’s orders.

David played 3 full soccer games today (1 in Goleta, then 1 in Oxnard, then 1 in Goleta).

Johnny got to have quiet time in his room during dinner because he belched like an infamous truck driver.

I sorted through 20 decks of cards (yes, TWENTY) while purging our "stuff". I'm also on a cussing fast. Clearly I'd much prefer to say another s-word for "stuff".

Chris got to use his BB gun to kill a rat that wasn’t quite dead in a rat trap. He shot it 4 times before it finally breathed its last.

That sums up our last 2 days. How are you?

The #1 Bonus Child

To put it lightly, Johnny is a character.

He's hilarious,

passionate,

boisterous,

and strong.

These distinctive traits in his personality can translate into

inappropriate potty humor,

hissy fit tantrums,

make-your-ears-bleed-loudness,

and unyielding stubborn opinions.

One of my closest friends says he reminds her of me.

Nice.

Johnny is about to turn FIVE (how can it be?) and I wanted to do a little photo collage of my baby (who if he heard me say this would wrinkle up his little nose and strongly inform me that "I. am. not. your. baby.").

As they say, a picture is worth a thousand words.

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We sure love you, silly Johnny boy.

Authentic Poetry

I'm not a big fan of real poetry. I don't think I'm artistic enough or cultured enough or something enough to appreciate it. I am able to write it though. Today, when I held Andrew over a barf bowl while he puked his guts out, I was reminded of a poem I wrote about 7 years ago, in the middle of the night, after nursing my sick baby back to sleep. This was when we were a family of 4 and had no idea we would be receiving a "bonus" child (further post on him coming soon).

So, with no further ado, I submit my original poetry entitled...

"And Chris Makes Three"

I'm completely exhausted, yet wide awake
thinking about my kids' bellyaches.
The washer and dryer have been going non-stop
cleaning up barf and all kinds of slop.
It's been 48 hours. "We've been through the worst!"
Or so I thought til my bubble burst.
Andrew cried out from where he lay.
He barfed on me twice -- we'll be okay.
I laid him back down and prayed for us.
God likes that more than when I cuss.
I removed my pajamas (the second pair)
and took a bath with lots of fresh air.
It's 1 a.m. and I'm back in bed
when I hear a noise and lift my head.
My poor Chris is running down the hall
to upchuck his dinner, soup and all.
To hurl, ralph, or puke... it's all misery.
David, Andrew, and now Chris makes three.
Who knows? Will I make four?
Nope. I'm needed to mop up the floor.