Halala Mama

Does this angelic face

look like the boy who could have possibly…

• eaten parts of a fake plant
• pulled a 12 pack of Diet Coke off of the table to use as a stepping stool
• yanked the table cloth off the dining table to see what goodies were there
• gotten past his safety fencing to the entry way, then cried when he couldn’t get back
• refused all naps
• slammed his mother’s laptop shut multiple times when she was trying to work
• emptied the bottom drawer of his changing table onto the floor
• escaped into the kitchen to joyfully grab handfuls of trash
• shunned every and all toys
• drove his mama to call her mama and express utter frustration ending in a grandma-playdate at Barnes and Noble?

Does he?

Oh, he is.

Lorie is in town for the holiday and came visiting with her husband Michael and son Joshua.  After we enjoyed some mediocre chicken and noodles (an experiment on my part that I didn’t know was going public until I had reached the point of no return) and some yummy pumpkin turtle pie, we hung out, watched the parade on the DVR, and discussed Ismael’s odd recording habits (Lockup: Raw, Bait Car, Cash Cab, etc.).

Michael came out of the bathroom, laughing, before they left.  “Did you buy your husband a cologne called Unforgivable?”  The box is still sitting on his medicine cabinet.    “Seems like you are setting him up for failure.”

I think that when good ol’ P. Diddy named his cologne he was trying to be all cool and mysterious and didn’t think about the fact that some absent minded wife would pick that up, not reading the title, and give it to her husband for Valentine’s Day for Heaven’s sake.

Or maybe he did.

Diddy is a homewrecker.  You heard it here first.

We are on day 456 of The Sickness.

In reality, it’s only been since Monday.  (a Monday in August, I believe.)

Just when I think Adam is feeling better…he stuns me by throwing up on me at a friend’s Thanksgiving dinner, WHICH we would have stayed home from IF I had known he was still feeling so poorly.

These are the days that I cannot wait until he can talk and tell me what/where hurts, because he has looked like this while we are at home:

And if you look at his fingers, I think he’s trying to tell me he’s “oookay,” and also that chairs aren’t really for sitting…

Then… he climbs up on my lap, looks into my eyes, and vomits.

That, friends, was my Thanksgiving night.  And though it was gross, I am grateful.

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