Now we jump to the present (everything up to now has been a few years old-just catching up!). I had to get a thought out before it all becomes a vague memory in my mess of birthdates, book report due dates, Dr. appointments, and other important things I can't seem to remember. So I hurt my knee working out. It's been over a week, and it's not getting better, so I went to the doctor yesterday. She wiggled my knee this way and that, commented that it looked swollen, until she looked at my other knee and decided my knees both just look swollen. Yes, I have puffy knees. Whatever. She wants me to stay off it for a couple weeks. She asked, "what do you do?" to which I replied, "I'm a stay at home mom." She says, "Perfect". Clearly not a mom. So her words-rather word-has stayed with me the last 24 hours. Let me walk you through it.
I took the kids to Jungle Jim's Playland. Within the first 20 minutes, Andrew got hurt. He was crying which means he's really hurting, so I got him a soda to take his mind off it while the other kids got some play time in. This same 44 oz cup of soda got spilled and refilled 3 times before I got embarrassed enough to throw it away. (We're talking carpet. Not the sidewalk.) Perfect. Andrew's still upset, so we head home. When we get home, Jon looks at Andrew's arm and says he should go to the hospital. Perfect. Three hours, a $100 copay and a broken arm later, we're all asleep. I wake to Reese crying hysterically and the kids saying she's burning hot and all red. Perfect. I give her a bottle, which she immediately throws up, but I am eventually able to get some Motrin into her. She is really hot. She falls asleep in my arms, so I am stuck on the couch with a burning hot sleeping baby and 3 other kids who want breakfast. (Don't forget, the oldest has one working arm. Not a whole bunch of help there.) Perfect. I still need to make an appointment for Andrew to get his cast (I don't even want to think about how I'm going to do that appointment) and the house smells like throw up. Nothing more very eventful, until I put Reese down for a 9 am nap, gather up the dirty laundry upstairs and about halfway down, fall down the stairs. One-armed boy comes to my rescue, and we both get a pretty good laugh. Yeah, it is perfect.