Playing Defense

I play defense all day long. If the kids are awake, I'm on high alert. I have to protect them from doing anything to harm themselves and each other. You know what is referred to as "common sense"? There is no such thing. Because you are born with very little sense and parents teach kids everything they know. Seriously, they're like feral animals you're trying to tame and talk some sense into.

If I could only use 10 words in a day, I'd need these:

No.
Stop.
Don't eat that.
For the love of God.

It's not easy because they totally gang up on me. One distracts me while the other is getting into something completely dangerous. Like Avery will be getting out the front door and at the opposite side of the house Owen is splashing in the dog dish. Or Owen's doing flips off the couch while Avery is stripping down to her birthday suit. Or Avery is grabbing a bag of chips off the counter while Owen is pouring my coffee all over the house.

Because this seems like an excellent idea.

The other day, Avery let me know Owen was waving his giraffe lovey around. I thought it was an odd report, but I was trying to get dressed like a normal human being that day, a day I put on a belt for the first time in like, two years (seriously, it had a tag on it, and I don't remember purchasing it). Next thing I know, Avery is telling me, "But the giraffe is wet," and I find Owen dunking the giraffe in the toilet and flinging water all over kingdom come. That's what I get for putting on a belt, people.

I'm so busy lately; I took on another writing job, so I'm writing an additional three articles a week with I don't know what time. I'm getting things figured out, but it's been a lot of juggling and stress. Around our neighborhood we do this "Boo" chain thing at Halloween where you'll get treats from someone and have to put together goodies to pass it along. Well, for the past two years I've gotten Booed, but hadn't passed the torch on. In fact, last year I got Booed twice, the second time before I had the chance to put up the "We've been Boo-ed!" sign. So I've felt super guilty. So this year? I Booed myself. That's right: I printed off a Boo ghost from the internet and stuck it up preemptively, so as to not get a bag of treats and to save myself the guilt of not having the time to do a Boo basket for someone else. Some may think it's slightly Grinchy of me; I think it's genius.

We've been going to the gym a lot, and now that Owen is great at the child care center, it's actually hard to tear them both away from all of the toys. I use the gym for both working out and for a quiet moment to work in the café, so it's been nice. We always hit the potty when I drop them off, and for whatever reason, Avery was terrified of the toilet the other day. So she kept getting off, I kept putting her back on and explaining that these aren't automatic toilets, while Owen ran amok in the bathroom. Guess where you don't want a 20-month-old running amok? A bathroom. So I'm chasing Owen, putting Avery on the pot, back and forth, back and forth. Then we have to switch stalls because, 3-year-old. Then Owen's crawling out of the stall, and into another stall. By the time I get out of there I a) don't feel guilty at all about leaving them for an hour and b) am already warmed up for my workout.

Look closely and you'll see this is the first day of the season they wore pants.

Owen is now at a stage where he thinks it is hilarious to run from me. One of the few times I remember getting in trouble as a kid was when I was running away from my mom. We were fishing or outside, and I'm pretty sure I got a swat on the butt. Now I see why: Because it is the most annoying thing when your kid is running away from you because they're likely running directly into danger or an otherwise inappropriate situation. The kids conspire against me so that I look like a totally crazy person on the way out of the gym sometimes. Avery will be running off or heading into an open office door, while Owen is heading into the men's locker room. Twice I've had to retrieve Owen from the men's locker room, and twice I've felt like I should have shielded my eyes just in case. He gets a little faster and turns a corner, and I'm going to have to yell for everyone to take cover while I go grab him.

The only place he plays it safe: the slide.

The mission right now for both kids is to touch everything, climb everything, and destroy everything. If I'm being driven batty by the amount of laundry needing to be put away, I know I have to sacrifice something to get it done. If I block them from our bedroom, it's a guarantee that every book will be on the floor in Avery's room, every blanket will be off Avery's bed, and they'll be in Owen's closet, unfolding every piece of clothing that is out of season.

He'll either sit in it or throw folded clothes. Either way, I lose.

If I make it sound like they're heathens, it's because they are. But not all the time. They do have their delightful moments. The moments that have me doubled over because they say something funny or melt my heart because they do something totally cute. Those moments make up for toilet splashing and throwing rocks at bunnies.

 

Adorably checking out bunnies. And then Avery threw rocks. You thought I was kidding about throwing rocks at bunnies.

Can I also just say that the Terrible Twos are a joke? I scoff at the Terrible Twos. Parents keep three a secret because they don't want to scare the pee out of you as you're dealing with the "Terrible Twos." They don't want to say, "Oh, boy, you think 2 is bad? You are IN FOR IT, SISTER." Because three is a whole other ballgame. Three is opinions and language and love and hugs. But three is opinions and language and attitude and make-you-wanna-do-drugs. You'll get "I love you soooo much" followed by "You're a stupid Mommy."

She'll put a hex on you if you're not careful.

Three brings so much goofiness.

Goofball.

...but also EMOTIONS.


Post-nap, feeling all the feelings.

Another mom recently said that at this age it's like they walk around as one big raw nerve, and it's so true. You just don't know what will trigger the crazy.

Luckily for both of them, they're pretty cute. And we love them to bits. And well, there's just no sending them back.

Happy Halloween!

It has been decided that there is nothing cuter than a preschool Halloween program. Look for the Dalmatian.

Hold the Sauce

Whenever Alan and I go "back home" to visit, we overdose on Mexican food. In New Jersey, or at least our immediate vicinity, you just cannot get good Mexican food. And just fuggedabout getting a margarita to go along with it; many restaurants are BYOB, which is cool for Italian restaurants and wine, but not so cool when you want a 'rita, on the rocks, with salt.

I ordered a margarita when we were in Top City. A margarita that I'd been pining for, for like, ever. I didn't get my drink because I was without a driver's license and I totally look 20, but I did get a lecture about government spying, 1984, Snowden and "Are you watching TV....or is it watching you?" It would have been a better conversation had I been tipsy, but it was interesting nonetheless.

So seeing as how we never eat Mexican food around here ---

Time out: Seriously, one of the passable restaurants has an hour-long wait any time we ever go near it, even at 4 in the afternoon. Let me use my Spanish: Two kids + hour wait = no bueno. Another serviceable option is in an area so questionable Alan said I was never allowed to go there by myself. And our worst experience was when we went to a "Mexican" restaurant attached to a hotel. And they served MARINARA SAUCE passing as salsa. For shame.

--- Owen hadn't really been exposed to a whole lot of salsa. He knew exactly what to do with it, however, and proceeded to dip chips in it until he decided it would be more fun to splash in it with his whole hand. That left me no choice but to take away his salsa and ensure a tantrum, which got him a ticket right outside the restaurant and me a shirt with salsa handprints all over it.

Thinking he'd mature in a day, we went to another Mexican restaurant for lunch the next day. We made the mistake of letting the salsa get in his line of sight. He was like Cookie Monster: ME WANT SALSA. Then he'd eat it, want to splash in it because SO GOOD, and then he'd freak out when he wasn't allowed to act like a heathen. Even Owen knows that the marinara and Jersey salsas just aren't cutting it in comparison.

So we get home and all of a sudden Owen is a sauce guy. He always pitches a fit when he sees my dinner. It can be (and usually is) the exact same thing he's eating, only bigger portions and bigger pieces. But if he sees I have a sauce he doesn't have? You better get him his sauce. I had A1 tonight with my steak, so he had to have some too. As did Avery.

Avery has been watching Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood, and in it, they sing a song that goes "Grown-ups come back." That's basically it but here's the song online. You don't have to worry about it getting stuck in your head because Avery's version is way better.



Love how Owen is also musical in the background. Daily, I crack up at these two.

Blowing Kisses, Eating Peas

Owen is gaining skills like a champ.

He can blow a kiss.



Or he can "blow a kiss," which is a slobbery, open-mouthed version.




And he can get a pea from plate to mouth in a couple of different ways.



And he can also walk as of a few weeks ago. It is life-changing for all of us, and my arms thank him.

School's Out for Summer

Things are pretty awesome right now, and not just because I'm eating an inappropriately sized slice of lemon meringue pie. The first edited draft of our 108,000-word book has been sent off.* I yanked the kids out of daycare. So, not only have the many, many plagues** left the building, finally, but I've got my kids back with me full time. I seriously just could not deal with this any more:

And as crazy as they can make me (just yesterday, as they were both screaming simultaneously for no apparent reason, I found myself yelling, "CAN WE PLEASE STOP YELLING!?"), I'm so, so glad I can be home with their crazy selves. Besides, Owen has dropped down to one nap and I don't think anything has improved our quality of life this much since we got a mini van. IT IS LIFE-CHANGING. And deserving of all caps. Because now instead of book-ending Avery's nap with his naps and being a prisoner to the nap schedule, the two kids nap at the same time. It is at least an hour of quiet awesomness, usually an hour and a half, and sometimes more than two hours. I don't get to enjoy mindless TV or anything, but at least I get some work done.

Now that I'm not watching the neighbor twins any more either, it's like summer. We've got free time in the mornings and the afternoons. We can go places because we aren't foaming at the mouth and don't look like sickly beasts. We can go on walks around the block and to the park.

Owen veers into the grass a lot.

Also life-changing? The car cart.

Grocery shopping is now an EVENT.

Thank you to the corporate grocery geniuses who thought, "Hey....if we make kids happy, moms can spend money." Because Avery gets giddy-excited for the car cart, Owen loves it, they're content for at least half an hour, Owen can try to steal candy bars in the checkout lane, and I can actually concentrate on my grocery list rather than speeding around like a contestant on Supermarket Sweep. And though it's a bit unwieldy, I don't think I will ever shop without it again.

Owen, bless his little heart, is getting hilarious with his walking. Or rather, with his refusal. He'll stand on his own a bit, but isn't really interested in showing off his balance. He's taken three or four steps several times, but just isn't that into testing the walking waters. He'll go limp if he's not in the mood to try, so he'll just crumple to his crawl position. He instead scurries like the fastest bug to get everywhere. So when we're at the park, it means a lot of this:

Planking. All the cool kids do it.

It means seriously grubby hands and knees now that we're outside a lot in shorts.

You love me even when I'm grubby.

It means my arms are getting wiped out daily. But even though walking is still in the future, he's gaining in other areas. For instance, he recently learned to identify his nose.

He's also added "car" to his vocab, he'll wave and say hi, bye and night-night. He understands every word I say, I swear. He knows when he's not supposed to do something; he'll look at you as he's doing it with a little grin. And he's so sweet that he usually stops doing it instead of going through with it. This will change. But it's nice at the moment.

Also noteable? Holy freaking cicadas. The 17-year cicadas are coming out right now, and they are thick. They litter the ground under certain trees, and it makes for a lot of side-stepping on the sidewalks. They're not making noise yet, but seeing the numbers already, I'm sure it's going to be deafening as they get going. And as creeped out as I am about bugs, I'm weirdly fascinated with this phenomenon. I mean, I actually saw one as it was molting. Check out this nod from Mother Nature to Alien:

I mean, excuse me? This happens? (Enlarge at your own risk.)

I'm just praying that neither of my kids puts one in their mouth.

So yes. I'm trying to enjoy a moment of relief. Relief from book, from illnesses, from endless winter. And even if a plague of cicadas has replaced the plague of viruses, it's a small price to pay for all of this:

I think Cabbage Patch needs a safety harness. And maybe clothes.

Happy face.

*Pre-order it! And if you haven't gotten this one by now, what are you waiting for?

**If it hadn't happened to us, I wouldn't believe it was possible for a family to be sick as much as we were. Since January, I've had pink eye twice, three sinus infections, one ear infection, the achy/fever terrible flu, the 24/7 awfulness of stomach flu for three days, bronchitis (undiagnosed but I've had it before and the telltale cough-until-you-practically-puke-all-night-long pretty much had me convinced) and numerous colds in between all of this wonder and delight. How I wrote half a book in this time? I do not know. 

14 Months a Cutie

While I'm busy adding to the list of "Hilarious Things Avery Says," I thought Owen needed an update. His baby book is sadly emptier than Avery's, so I've got to document a few of his milestones somewhere so he knows I at least tried to keep track.

The little guy is great. With rampant sickness in the house (seriously, even now I'm pretty sure I have bronchitis), he actually had to go back in for an ear and weight check a few weeks ago. Ha! A kid with trouble gaining weight? Funny. But he improved so all is well. It's understandably tough to gain weight when you don't eat normal amounts of solids for several weeks. Or when you do, you're barfing it all up, sometimes down the front of your mom's shirt. I get it. I didn't eat much for a month either, so we're both working on putting the lbs back on. It's easier for some of us than others.

Holy sweet face.

Owen's pretty laid back still, and that's the approach he's taking to walking, thus disproving the "the second child does everything faster because he is chasing the older one." He is 14 months today, which is the day Avery started walking. Owen is not even standing on his own. He's perfectly content to speed crawl, cruise around and have me pick him up if he wants up higher.

He spied the camera, a new target.

He does however want to climb...it makes him a little nervous though and he wants supervision. If I mistakenly leave the baby gate to the stairs open, he'll head that direction and go up one or two steps. Then he'll look for me and get all mischievous when he sees me coming and high tail it up the stairs.

I don't need to pay attention when I climb! I'm a Dinosaur Train-watching music table-climbing pro!

He's of course a pro at Mama and Dada, dog, uh-oh and is working on an "A-e" version of Avery. He's babbling a lot, I'm just not able to make much sense of it. He can sign "milk" (which pretty much means "gimme gimme gimme any sort of food"), dog and fan. He does a cute little point and likes to reach out and touch his pointer finger to mine. He does a smash-face kiss, which is pretty much like it sounds: He smashes his face into mine. It makes him very happy.

He absolutely loves Marti. He hugs her and cuddles her. They take over Avery's bed.

Forced snuggles.

 
He was pretty proud of himself when he discovered he could get into Avery's bed.

Beds are for fun, not for sleeping!

I took both kids in for a haircut the other day, Owen's first. Owen was looking a bit like a disheveled old man that had let his hair go too long. Avery loved her experience and was smiling and telling boob jokes from the moment she sat down. (I can't make these things up.) Owen was slightly more apprehensive, but he was still a champ.

I'm a little nervous, I'm not gonna lie.

And now just look at him. With a few snips, he morphed into a big boy.

I'm a distinguished gentleman now. Without a shirt. And with peanut butter on my face.

I keep reminding myself to enjoy this time before he starts walking. Because once they walk, they manage to get into even more trouble. But seriously Owen, mama's arms need a break!

The Things They Say

I've been meaning to write down some of the things Avery says because...well...the things that come out of the mouths of babes. We've got quite the talker, and it's really fun to see what she'll say next. And sometimes really scary to see what she'll say next. Some of these are several months old so they seem like baby talk, but they were still hilarious.

Probably about to ask if she's eating poop.

On getting alone time...
"Mommy, you don't need be here right now."
"Go sit on Marti's couch."

On breakfast...
"I don't want toaster. I want toaster!" (Where toaster equals anything that comes out of the toaster, obviously.)  

On testing out new words...
"You need that, HUH?"
"I fall and trip myself, what am I do?"
"I love to eat candy so much...I need candy...what's candy mean?"

On the plunger in the bathroom...
"What's that mean?"

On Owen...and cupcakes...and all objects...
"Oh no, baby Owen. Oh no baby cupcake! Oh no [insert any other object here forever and ever and ever]."

On Marti...
"Where's Marti? I only lost her; now she's gone."
"It's just the bowl...you don't have to freak out."
"Your hair's like a porcupine, Marti."
"Marti's drinking her privacy."

On toothpaste...
"Ooh, spicy."

On pineapple and other fruits...
"I want some porcupine."
"I need fresh fruit."

On months of the year...
"We have to say bye to March. I learned that at school."

On cheese...
"Mozzaumbrella."

On magazines...
"Mazagine."

Just playing a little "tocar."

On guitars...
"Play the tocar."

On trampolines...
"Bounce-oline."

On busdrivers...
"Screwdriver."

On waffles or Mommy...and outsmarting her parents
Us: Do you want mommy to go get waffles or do you want her to tuck you in?
Avery: Mommy tucks me in, daddy gets waffles.

On Owen saying Avery...
Us: Owen, can you say Avery?
Avery: Owen, can you say puppy? (Every single time.)

Trying to teach Avery to say "I don't like your attitude..."
"I don't like my YouTube."

On violence...
"I'll kick you in your freak head."
(Parental note: A) She was abbreviating freaking (is that better or worse?) and B) Maybe we shouldn't threaten Marti with violence so much? We say it so we don't actually do it!)

On humor...
"Is that poop?"
(Parental note: If you don't want a joke repeated a trillion times, don't laugh. We made the mistake and now poop is the biggest joke ever. She asks if everything is poop, calls everything poop and told the neighbor I made her poop for breakfast. I may not be a chef, but I've never served poop.)

Speed Demon

One of the best things about being a parent is seeing the world through your kids' eyes. You also get to act like a kid again. Over Christmas (yes, the one that was several months ago) we went to the mall. We skipped the Santa line and rode the train instead. Avery's eyes lit up on the train, so much that my face hurt from smiling as we went around and around the tiny track. Then, near the train, there was another family fun option. Ever ridden a motorized stuffed animal? If not, you're missing out.

These things are seriously stuffed animals that you can drive around. No track, no limits. The open road, baby. It was hilarious. I will say that I felt like we were going much faster than we were. Alan and Owen were sitting on a bench, and Avery circled them over and over. She was pretty determined to run into something, so I was always steering her away from people and walls.

 

Pretty much the best $5 I've ever spent.

Happy Birthday, Owen!

So yes, it is a couple of days past Owen's birthday. Do I get a pass because he was born 5 weeks early? Do I get a pass because I'm in the midst of my busiest year ever?

Ooh, cake.

So Owen's birthday was a couple of days ago, or shall I call it Avery's Second Christmas? Because all of the presents? She pretty much opened. There was no stopping her, she was like a ravenous present beast. But she is sharing his presents with him, sort of, so there's that.

Owen continues to be adorable and good-natured. He's crawling up a storm and decided one day that stairs were made for climbing, so climb he does. And of course, Avery likes to encourage it, so if he even thinks about the stairs somewhere in his baby brain, never mind if he's actually going that direction, Avery is heading there: "Owen's going to the stairs!" as she climbs up herself and encourages him to follow. One day I had to throw a diaper away and I told Avery to yell if he got to the stairs. I know he's a speedy little demon, so I literally ran to perform the diaper task. Avery yelled alright, but by the time I got there the little guy was on the third stair. You'd think we'd get a baby gate or something. 

Yes, that is drool on my chin. I still drool less than my sister.

Like Avery, Owen loved the inchworm mode of transportation for a long time, but at long last he turned it into a real crawl. He totally blew the theory that the second child does everything faster...he took longer than Avery did by a few days. For the longest time he would crawl a foot, army crawl, do a downward dog, and a few belly flops to get to where he wanted to go. And as inefficient as that sounds and was, he got to be quite fast. He reminded me of a little zombie, dragging his way to his next victim. Now he's truly crawling like he's been doing it his whole life, like it's no big deal, finding his next victim with ease. His victims are always The Dangerous Thing in the Room. I don't even know how it's possible that in a room full of toys, babies will find the one thing that they shouldn't, like a long piece of thread and then shove it hurriedly into their little mouths.

Now he's graduated to pulling himself up on everything and taking a few steps along the couch, so he'll be cruising on land before long. He just has to figure out how to get his butt back down to the ground.

He's also starting to show more of his little personality, and while he's laid back, he's forming opinions and preferences, oh yes. He loves the bath, and forces me to alligator wrestle him to bathe him. I usually throw him and Aves in together, so I try to minimize his kicking to minimize his splashing Avery in the face, which is impossible, so all three of us end up drenched. He loves it, and kicks madly before rolling over and splashing a few times and then getting an eye, ear and mouth full of water. Drives me bonkers, but he's so pleased with the whole experience.

Owen hits his birthday party limit.

The new crawling experience means that his sleep gets interrupted by crawling practice. Every time I go in his room in the night, which is often, I know exactly where his little head will be. It's like he's got an internal compass, because even in the pitch dark of night, he angles himself directly toward the door, no matter which way I put him down. And boy howdy, the non-sleep. With illness, I'll just say that the sleep got way off track. My awesome sleeper turned into an overnight nightmare only worse because a nightmare means you're actually SLEEPING, which we weren't. So for his birthday, after his 12-month well-baby visit that declared him ear-infection free, he got a little dose of crying. As opposed as I am to the ignore-the-crying baby philosophy, it did earn me one of the best nights I've had in months. I only got up three times! It's sad that that's truly a good--nay, amazing--night of sleep.

Making sure mama's following.

He loves his big sister, although he fears her. Which is necessary. So at least he's got some good survival instincts. He's got the cutest little face scrunch.

He's saying mama and dada and, of course, dog. I can see the little lights turning on. This is when it really starts to get fun.

The face that makes up for the lack of sleep.

2.5

Avery is now 2.5 years old!

 

Fun fact about 2.5-year-olds. They are simultaneously the funniest little people in the world and the most maddening. Avery is gaining skills, vocabulary and independence by the day and that combination adds up to all kinds of fun. One moment, she wants to do everything herself. The next minute she wants to be carried everywhere and sit on my lap. Changing into clothing for the day? "I need help...NO HELPING ME GET DRESSED." Ok, psycho.

 

They've gotta be funny to hide the crazy.

 

Playing right now consists of getting out every single blanket, pillow and toy on earth. You wouldn't want to miss one, lest there be a square of empty carpet. There appears to be some sort of method to the madness, as she will be playing with a toy or series of toys and all of a sudden run to another room or the toy box and grab a necessary addition to the game. I see no correlation between the objects most times, but what do I know.

 



Celebrating 2.5 with her friends.

 

We went to Sonic yesterday. I thought that after almost a month of not leaving the house except for doctor visits, we deserved a special treat. Plus, Owen wasn't napping and I was hoping he'd fall asleep in the car. Even the promise of ice cream wasn't enough to prevent a screaming meltdown on the way out the door. But we were all smiles when the ice cream arrived.

 

She's adorable. You can't hear her saying, "You're not getting my ice cream, OWEN."

 

We recently converted her bed to a toddler bed, so now she has the powers of escape. She's usually very good about staying in bed, but not always. I tucked her in for her nap today, with Golly (the Dolly) and a few new friends she wanted to sleep with. I told her that if she got out of bed, I was taking away the extra animals.

 

I went down the hall to do the Keep-Avery-in-Bed/Put-Owen-Down-for-a-Nap Juggle. Sure enough, minutes later I hear her door creak open. I go down to her room, and to stay true to my threat, took all of the extra animals, leaving her with only Golly. I told her that if she got out of bed again, I would take Golly away, too.

 

I sit back down in the glider. Crreeeaaak.

 

"Avery! If I have to come down there I'm going to take away--"

 

Thump.

 

 



Before I could even get the words out, she threw Golly out the door. And went back and got in bed.

I thought I was going to die.

She preemptively threw her doll out the door. She decided it was worth the sacrifice to be able to get out of bed one more time.

I went to make sure she was back in bed and she said something about me taking Golly away. I had to try not to laugh. But after that, with no friends left to sleep with, she took her nap like a champ.

So tonight, Alan tucked her into bed so I could finish up something on the computer. I finished it, made a list for the store and had to run upstairs to check to see if we needed toothpaste. I was surprised to see the door to Avery's room open. A full 20 minutes after she'd been tucked in. I was even more surprised when I glanced into our bedroom and saw Avery, propped up in our bed, playing with our iPad. Just chilling. Watching some 'Tube. Again, I had to try not to laugh as I reprimanded her and chased her back to her room. Who knows how many hours she would have watched various versions of "Wheels on the Bus" until she passed out cold.

 

 

 

 

The Terrible Awful

Where did January go? Seriously. I don't even know. One minute it turned into January, then the entire family got sick and stayed sick and got better for a millisecond, got sick again, and now all of a sudden it's February.

Now, I know sick kids and viruses and vomiting aren't unique to me. I know all parents have been there and done that. But seriously? I had no idea. NO IDEA.

Avery's face says it all.

So it was a totally normal Wednesday. We had spaghetti for dinner. I told Alan to go to the gym after I put Owen down for the night, so I was getting Avery all ready for bed on my own. She got in bed and all of a sudden had to use the bathroom--the big potty, she specified. Not one to stand in the way of a potential potty break, we headed in. Then she started drooling ridiculous amounts. And before I knew it, she was vomiting and I was catching it with the toilet paper in my hand. I then grabbed her potty chair and she continued to heave into it.

Here's where I thought I was a total bad-ass for keeping all of the vomit contained.

So then Avery went to bed and I hear what I can only describe as a wet cough. And I knew. So I go in and there are pajamas that need changing and a kid that needs bathing and sheets that need changing and Alan is still not home. A couple of days later we hit up the doctor, who congratulates us on our ear infection. So we're sitting on the couch, Alan having gone to get her meds, and Avery says she puked. I didn't see puke anywhere...until it started shooting out of her face. It landed directly on Owen's back; he was crawling around on the floor. So nice job protecting the carpet, buddy. (Remember Disney World? I mean it.) My first thought? Alan somehow managing to skip puke No. 2.

Taking Mr. Head's temperature.

We proceed to have two full weeks of Avery not eating, feverish kids, ear infections and hell. No really, it was hell. I don't know how I survived it.  Any time it would appear that Avery was making a recovery, she'd be awful by the afternoon again. Turned out her first meds for her ears weren't strong enough, so she needed new antibiotics. Then we headed into the doctor for Owen, because he looked like the sickest sicko in all of the land. Ear infection for him too.

The saddest little sicko.

I got hit with it about the same time Owen was getting a little better, and I realized quickly why Avery didn't eat for a week and why she was content lying on the couch watching college basketball for two hours. I couldn't move. I had chills and a fever and aches and my face felt like it was smuggling a bowling ball I don't even know how a bowling ball could fit up there but it was there somewhere. I hit up the doctor when I finally came down with pink eye or some such nonsense that rendered my eye useless. A look in my ears also got me an antibiotic for an ear infection. And Alan? He made four for four ear infections in the house. IS THAT NOT RIDICULOUS?

Round 1 of the nonsense. Poor buddy.

It was* terrible awful.

We spent at least $200 on doctor visits and medications and chicken noodle soup.

So we were on the mend. But before I could publish this, Owen started vomiting like clockwork each night after dinner, starting Wednesday. Followed by me vomiting yesterday. His antibiotics for his ear aren't working either. I know. It sounds like a joke. It's not. It's terrible awful. Send saltines.

*is, still