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The Worst Part


I always grumble and complain to Chet that I don't ever get out to ladies' evenings because of my work schedule.  I took matters into my own hands and invited ladies or girls, whichever we are, over on my day off.

We stayed up until 2am, visiting and laughing and crying from laughing and eating too much food.

I gotta love the flash in the window that accents the dirty fingerprints of my beloved cherubs.  We had the blinds open to watch the crazy March thunderstorm that roared through just before company came over.

I made an appointment today with an ENT out of Children's Hospital for Tucker.  All I need is an answer.  I don't care, and I prefer, if they tell me he's fine.  That's all I need.

Avery spent the day yesterday at her cousin Gwen's birthday party.

"Mom, do you know what the worst part was?"  she asked.  "It was playing the vampire game with Andrew.  And do you know what else was the worst part?  Gwen wouldn't share her new Barbie.  And do you know what else was the worst part?"

I halted her.

"Did you not have any fun?"  I asked.
"Yeah, I had tons and tons of fun."  she said.  "I want to go there every day."


I asked her how her trip to Cabela's went with her dad later on in the evening.

"Well, do you know what the worst part was?"  she asked.  "It was when Dad and Dan wouldn't let us go see the fish for hours!  Ugh, it was just terrible."


What an optimistic little child I'm raising.  What a way to see everything half full.

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