Wild

That Band-Aid?  It was Little Guy's desired treatment for a crick in his neck.  Poor thing...a crick that lasted three long, pitiful days.

I took the crew to a children's museum the other day.  All three children poopied their pants in the few hours we were there.  I was theoretically prepared for two of them to do that, but nothing--and I mean nothing--could have prepared me for the magnitude of Baby Girl's blowout.  Shoulder. to. toe.  I exhausted our wipe supply just preparing her for the sink.

 Little Guy's preposition mixups make for some of his best phrases.  My favorites:
     upside over
     right side down
     underflowing

Buddy Boy got hit with his first case of croup.  Little Guy gets it at least five times a winter {and I do realize it's June now, but apparently croup season isn't over?}.  I'm hoping Buddy Boy won't have it that rough.  He was a trooper at the ER.  Shed not a single tear.  And last night, he was throwing chicken nuggets and edamame all over the den with the best of 'em {the best of 'em being his older brother}, so I guess he was feeling better.  Yay?

On the pediatrician's recommendation, we tried weaning Baby Girl from her Zantac to see if she needs it.  Yep.  She needs it.  I've never had a spitty baby before.  Wow.  It's a whole new level of laundry.

He's a lover of bacon.  A maker of mischief.  A scaler of heights.  A destroyer of books.  And a crasher of tummy time.

Things are kind of wild around here.  This morning, around 5:15, Little Guy showed up at my bedside to be taken for a bathroom break.  We returned from the bathroom and he crawled into bed with us.  He was sooooo hu-uuuungry, so I got back out of bed to fetch him a piece of bread.  We settled in, with him smacking away, me too sleepy to care and just glad that he hadn't woken up his brother when he left their room or his sister when he came into ours.  Then, the Mister stumbled out of bed and returned with the whole loaf of bread, thinking I had offered the bread, but not gone to get it.  Finding Little Guy already munching on a piece of bread, he got back in bed. A few minutes later, Buddy Boy started fussing from his crib.  The Mister went to get him, but returned to our room to report that Buddy Boy had a fever and the Tylenol was all used up.  I got up to search the medicine box and then went out to the den with a new bottle.  Even though the medicine was within its expiration date, the liquid suspension had become unsuspended, so I spent a good while shaking the bottle and scraping down the side to get the mixture to re-mix.  As I was finally measuring out the dose, Little Guy came bounding into the den with a message: "Major spitup!  Major spitup, Mama!  All over her crib!"  And the boy don't lie.  So, I changed the sheets, changed the baby, and then settled back into bed to nurse her.  It was 5:58.  

And there's some permutation of that scenario practically every night.

Wild, I tell ya.  But really and truly, all-consumingly, heart-stoppingly fun.