Benny is certainly growing up. He looks more and more like Chuck, he has accomplished all his goals in Speech so he's ready to start another objective (two months early) and this morning he offered to fix his own hair. I think he did a great job!

Super Spikey!

He was pretty pleased with himself and asked me through lunchtime if "his hair was still up."

He did something else that seemed especially grown up this morning. While going Number 2, he asked if he could look at my phone.

I was inclined to simply say no seeing as how I have a strict no-phone-near-the-toilet rule. It seems like it's just a matter of time before it falls in.

But I was curious so I asked him, "What do you want to look at?" And he said: Facebook.

Oh Benny, you're a little young to be checking Facebook on the can.

Yowzer it's been a long time since I blogged. And yowzer it's been an even longer week!

This seriously has been one heck of a week. Let me explain why I am currently wearing an enormous sweatshirt that says, "My cat walks all over me."

At midnight last night, I realized this was the only clean option:

Just in case you were wondering, there is
no photographic evidence of me ever wearing this shirt.

When I got up this morning, Chuck said, "What are you wearing?!" (Yes, we were so busy and so tired we didn't even see each other before going to bed last night.)

I turned to give him my most humble explanation and that's when I saw him. "What are you wearing?!"

He was clad in a 1992 Nascar shirt... with checkered flag sleeves.

Chuck says, "I love the checkered flag sleeves!"

We stood there. Stunned. Terrified. Both thinking, "After seven years of marriage, yeah I want surprises, but this is awful!" I actually told myself: "Count your blessings, it's better than a gambling addiction."

The laundry is piled high and these were literally our only options. In my case, I not only had to sleep in this historic and fashionably offensive sweatshirt, but also had to wear it the next day - at least until at least one load of laundry is done.

Why is the laundry piled so high? A tummy bug swept through our house. It started with Susanna on Sunday afternoon. She was crying when she got up from her nap and when I opened the door I could immediately smell why.

She had thrown up all over her bed. This means all of her friends, blankets and books that she insists on sleeping with needed a bath. But first priority, baby needs a bath.

We go straight to the tub and scrub her clean. I pulled her out and she was covered in goose bumps and shaking so I put some warm clothes on her fast. She immediately threw up all down those.

Back to the bath. Wash. Dry. Clothes. Puke.

Repeat that two more times before I got smart and asked Chuck to bring a bowl. It seemed like pulling a shirt over her head was like pushing a puke button.

She was sick a few more times that evening, but slept through the night Sunday and Monday everyone was fine. I thought I was out of the woods. I could not have been more wrong.

Tuesday night Ben sneaked in our bed as usual, but then I heard a loud belch and a heave. I sprang up and caught it just in time. The only thing worse than middle-of-the-night-puking is middle-of-the-night-sheet-changing.

We got Ben a bowl and from 3:00 to 7:00 am - approximately every twenty minutes - he sat straight up, heaved in the bowl, declared, "Hey! My tummy not hurt anymore! I'm all better!" Fell backward and was snoring 90 seconds later.

Although that is not an optimal night, it's not that awful either. The mess is contained. The child was reasonably content.

Then Susanna woke up. Knowing what was happening in my room, I ran to grab her and got to her just in time to catch another handful of throw up.

I hollered at Chuck to bring a bowl and wipes. He came running, looked like he didn't even know where to begin so he handed me the bowl.

Uh, okay. I deposited the handful of puke in the bowl while he busied himself cleaning up the tiny specks of mess on the carpet. While that's helpful, please grab the child covered in puke so Mom can go wash her hands.

Then we had alternating Thrower Upers from 5:00 to 7:00 am. Sigh.

Then Chuck got sick. And Tuesday and Wednesday were pretty much a blur of washing bowls, changing laundry and alternating Toy Story 2 and Mary Poppins.

Thursday I thought we were all back to normal so I sent Ben to school and went to work. During an important conference call, I was handed a little yellow Post-it that said, "Call Chuck. Ben burnt hand."

Huh?

Ben put his hand on our electric range while it was turned on. I don't know the details, but he had blisters on the pads of his fingers and palm of his hand. He was scared and screaming only calm with his hand in a glass of cool water.

I scooped him up and off we went to urgent care. Glass and all.

When we got there, a man checking in. I waited and watched as a trainee asked a dozen questions. One minute went by. Then two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

"Mommy, I need to go pee pee."

There is Ben standing with his hand in a cup of water doing the potty dance. At this point, a line has formed behind me. Hmmm.... I don't want to lose out spot, but I can't risk an accident. What to do?

At that moment it was our turn. "My son burnt his hand and he needs to go pee, can we make this quick?"

Blank stare from trainee. (I'll take that as a no.)

Name. Birthday. Yes, we've been here before (seriously like three weeks ago). Driver's license and insurance card just in case.

We run to the bathroom to get there behind a little girl and her daddy. There are two single-person restrooms (the kind where you close the door and lock the whole room not just a stall): Men's and Women's. The dad is walking in the Women's so I go to use the Men's and a receptionist tells me I can't do that. Really?

There's a dad with a daughter and a mom with a son and a bossy receptionist and no one really knows where it's okay for us to have our children of opposite gender deposit their pee pee. And the situation is obviously becoming more urgent for both families.

Dad goes to Men's leaving Women's for me and Bossy Receptionist seems okay with that. Whew!

We see the nurse practitioner. She says he has first-degree burns and she's actually seen worse. She gave us an antibiotic ointment and wrapped it.

I will skip the details here because I love Ben and don't want to embarrass him. But it took three of us, a sucker and ahem - physical restraint to bandage that hand.

Now it's in blue vet wrap (I don't know what they call it in people, but in the veterinary world it's vet wrap) and we call it his paw or mitten. Ben shortened it to mitt and that seems to be sticking.

I got home at 6:00 pm, finished supper, put the kids to bed and then got started on payroll (what I had planned on doing at work that day.)

I finished at midnight only to realize my only clean shirt option had pawprints. Sigh.

But, as I tell Benny, let's count our blessings:
1. Ben's hand looks really good today and he isn't in near as much pain.
2. We're past the tummy bug and I didn't get it!
3. At least I had one shirt left :)
4. The scary cat sweatshirt doesn't seem to have sent Chuck running for the hills.

God is good and I wouldn't trade a single pukey moment with these three! I love them.

My sweet little family. 

My brethern, count it all joy when ye fall into many afflictions;
Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience.
But let patience have its perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing. 
James 1:2-4

* I would like to note that I do not consider this experience as an actual "affliction", but it definitely did work to teach me patience - at least a little more than before.