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.
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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.
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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!
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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.
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