How the rubber chicken rides

In a period of less than 30 hours:

We had an appointment with a neuropsychologist during which our oldest son told his Daddy to "pass gas" for Mommy. Except he used a different word.



Then during the long ride home, we endured the many sounds that accompany the dear-Lord-please-let-this-drama-be-over-soon moments of a child's first loose tooth. It was excruciating. For all of us.

A little orange hen was invited into our kitchen.

You all think you know where I'm going with this but you are soooooo wrong.

She sat calmly in the middle of the floor where the kids fed her popcorn and read her a stack of books including What's Up Duck. Apparently it was just what she needed.



She's feeling better now, thanks for asking.

The kid pulled his tooth out in the middle of the night. All by himself. Quietly. Then he repeatedly lost and found it in his bedding while he waited for morning. I, on the other hand, hardly slept because I was terrified of the horrors that I knew that loose tooth would unleash upon us the following day.

For once, I was pleasantly surprised.

But not for long.

Our impulsive four-year-old was viciously attacked by a toilet seat. He was lucky to have escaped with only minor injuries to the middle toe of his right foot. I'll spare you any further details of that one.


{ISO 25600, just because I can}

And, although the rubber chicken is that close to having beads explode out it's... ummm... rear end, still it rides on the rear view mirror. I'm starting to wonder if I should put it out of it's misery.