Four – how many days it takes a marble to pass through the digestive system of a six year old.
Three – the number of months we managed to go before someone spilled something on the new couch. In her defense, Olivia didn’t actually spill anything, it was more of a spew when she projectile vomited all over it last night. Ick.
Eight – the number of hours I left the hair color in Alyssa hair to achieve the red at the ends. She slept with her hair in a ponytail and the ends of that ponytail in a baggy. No linens were stained in the process. Go me.
Ten – the number of shopping days before Christmas.
Five – the number of those ten days that I have to work. Bummer.
Two – the number of payments I have left before I pay off my student loans. Whoo freaking hoo.
A mom, a dad and two daughters. We're living ordinary lives with a twist of 5p- (Cri du Chat) for spice. But we're about so much more than our younger daughter's genetic diagnosis.
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