“You know something? Some human throw snowballs at my face… and… I’m hungry.”

So says Wesley.

Is it a sign from God that we should continue procreating when the doctor scheduled to perform Chris’s… ahem… snip snip… cancels the appointment because he’s come down with the flu?

As an ice storm plows through the Midwest, we here in Nash-vegas have been enjoying tolerating very unseasonable weather. Yesterday the kids were playing in the yard without a jacket. And today the high is 75. I’m feeling the need to change into capri pants and sandals.

What gives, December?

Wes has been melting my heart with great regularity as he keeps requesting kisses and hugs. He’ll just appear out of nowhere and say, “Mom. Kees. Ug.” and then after getting his lovin’ he always asks for “nother kees” which just further puddles me.

But then, today I noticed he was making his trips to see me more efficient, as he showed up saying, “Kees. Ug. Poop.”

That’s OK. Even stinky hugs get me melty!

“If we’d have come home and seen the babysitter tied to a chair with firewood at her feet and the kids digging through drawers looking for matches, I’d have said that’s about par for the course.”

-The plumber who was regaling me with tales of raising four sons