My middle born....well, he definitely falls into the category of 'marches to his own drum', even if his marching is on crutches.
We (and yes, I use the royal 'we' in this case) are entering week 7 of healing. And no driving. And barely leaving the house.
Seven down; two to go.
Thankfully, the one who makes him smile is home from school.
The babe of the family is now brace-less. He looks so different to me...and I'm his mama!
Not winning means I will have dishpan hands for a while longer.
There are worse things, but still. A girl can dream, can't she?
Seriously, I am truly the mother of all males.
My neighbor sent me this picture of Brian...oh, how I miss that red hair. So fun in the early days to see the looks people gave us...a brunette, a tow head and a ginger.
They've all darkened up quite a bit (even Matteo, who was dark to begin with) and the traces of red are there, but not like this!
Let's see...5 concerts. 4 parties, two of which we almost saw the sun rise.
Sleep. We need sleep.
My oldest is funny. Like really, really funny.
He's also coming home for Christmas! Hooray!
Happy Monday morning. Work is expected to be nothing short of a nightmare this week...seatbelts are fastened and my team is ready to go. Five days until vacation begins...I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.