I currently have a part-time job, three writing gigs, a workaholic husband, two kids (who both play sports) and a son in speech therapy one afternoon a week. So, it only seems logical that we went out today and got this.
Daisy, this is everyone. Everyone, this is Daisy.
My son will be seven in a few weeks, but he looks more like a four year old. The cardiologist says it’s because of his GI problems, and the gastroenterologist says it’s because of his heart. The geneticist threw her hands up and said, “It’s not us!” All we know is that he’s small.
Lately, however, he appears to be going through a growth spurt. In order to boost his confidence I mentioned it last night.
I eyed my boy, then looked at my husband and said, “Doesn’t he look bigger?” Then I turned to my son and said, “You’re huge!”
Taking this as a valid compliment, my son looked up at me and said, “YOU’RE huge!” and in order to one-up my comment, he added, “Actually, you’re HUGE-MONGOUS!”
I tilted my head towards my husband and said, “Uh-oh.” I backpedaled and explained that calling a woman “huge” isn’t really a compliment, but it’s okay when you are talking about a boy’s muscles.
My son looked at his dad and said, “Yeah. Like Daddy’s.”
Somehow this whole thing completely backfired on me.
There are some amazing photography bloggers out there. I am not one of them. As much as I would love to have classic and beautiful pictures of my family, most of them are blurry, or too dark or every subject has a nasty case of red-eye.
I do not own a fancy camera, because I’m sure it would do no good. It’s not about the equipment, it’s about the operator. However, it doesn’t stop me from trying.
This is what happens when I try to set up a nice shot of my sweet dog, Blue, in front of the fireplace. Yes, people who live in Ohio still have fires in April.
So bright I nearly blinded her.
Too dark and blurry.
She moved, AND grew tired of this experiment.
And, this? Is as good as it’s going to get.
My husband and I were recently discussing our latest attempt to obtain life insurance for our six year old son. Our applications for coverage are always futile because of my boy’s underlying heart defects.
My son and my 10 year old daughter were sitting nearby and heard us talking. She asked, “Why won’t the company give him insurance?”
We don’t hide the fact that he is different, so I picked up my son, squeezed him and answered, “Because of his heart.”
Then my son, in his dramatic fashion, replied, “What are they talking about? My heart is beautiful!”
Indeed, it is, son. Indeed, it is.