Lately

We're alive!  

 You know the thing is, you go to Italy one week, and then your daughter gets her tonsils and adenoids out immediately after you return, and then you know what happens???

Italy all of the sudden feels like a MILLION years ago!  

Because real life done-did slap us across the face when we returned.  

(And then suckered punched us in the belly when we were down.)

A little more than 2 weeks after the surgery, I can (almost) safely say that we have survived.  

But barely.

Because that surgery is no joke.  And it knocked our Pearl out for more than 2 weeks.  

She was miserable.  She was tough.  She was sassy.  She was sad.  And quiet.  And hungry.  

And she couldn't get enough of her mama.  

She just started feeling a bit better in the last 24 hours.  She doesn't sound like our girl yet, and she is certainly far too skinny.  (Insert sad face!)  

But she smiled, played and slept through the night.  

Thank God!

And Brian + I need another vacation like this one.    

Lincoln was so good the last 2 weeks.  We didn't get out of the house hardly at all.  His sister was either too sick or too grouchy to play, his mama was carrying a 35 pound baby on her hip 24 hours a day and his dad was working round the clock.  

So what did our son do?

Play happily by himself, enjoy the extra sweet snacks around the house, patiently help his mama, work in the yard with daddy and grow like a weed.  

Seriously this kid has grown so much lately. (Insert sad face.)

I can honestly say that in all of my 3 years as a mother, these were by far the hardest 2 weeks.  

And I was alone with twins from the beginning people!!!

Motherhood humbled this week, but I must say, I am just ever-so grateful to be a mom.

And to be able to be home with my sick girl, not at 'work'.

And even though I'm all kinds of tiny, without any 'cushion' to be found, I'm the coziest source of comfort for my gal when her world is spinning.  

And that feels like a million bucks. 

A Swisher Declaration

But as for me and my house,

WE WILL NOT EAT HOT DOGS!

(Also Mom, we will serve the Lord. Obviously.)

Seriously. For Reals. End of story. Yo and Word.

We are a pretty healthy-eating family. Not too extreme, just really healthy. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a snob about it. For example, I love french fries. Always have, always will. I especially like, get ready for it, McDonalds fries. I would choose fries over dessert any day of the week. I just choose to hardly ever eat them.

And once upon a time I used to love to eat an occasional hot dog. Usually at a Mariners game or a barbecued wiener over a camp fire with our buds the Marcus'. But about five years ago, they started grossing me right out. And then when I got pregs, forget it! I was just over them. And I haven't had one since. And I haven't fed them to my kids until...

...this weekend.

We were at family BBQ and hot dogs and hamburgers were offered. I thought, what the hey, it's a special occasion, I'll give them a hot dog. I had one too.

On the ride home I told B, I had a feeling I was gonna pay for eating that dog.

Lincoln woke up in the middle of the night in all-out Barf City. He has not puked once in his little life, but this time more than made up for it. All over his bed, jammies, hair, blanket, face, neck, etc. And he kept crying, 'Mama, I can't like hot dogs.' and 'Hot dogs are icky.'

Now as bad a hot dogs smell coming out of the package, let me attest that they smell approximately 10 million times worse upon regurgitation.

Long story long, the next day it was my turn. Lost several pounds in 24 hours. I didn't even chuck that much when I was pregnant. It was horrid. And all kids of wrong.

All of this leading to, my previous enforced, and now reinforced ban of the dog .

'No hot dogs for you.' (In my Seinfeld voice.)

Not in this house. Nope.

And Lincoln agrees.