4 is a very sad number

Allow me to explain.

1. Trevor
2. Me
3. Rye
4. Rye's stomach virus

Hence, 4 is a very sad number.

#4 snuck up on us Saturday morning and was going strong by Saturday night with a high fever (103) all night long, which had two worried parents calling pediatricians and making late night runs to WalMart for infant medicine. Good times. #4's fever finally broke Sunday am and we thought we were in the clear until Sunday night when the projectile vomiting started. Is there a more unfriendly statement then "projectile vomiting"? I submit that there is not.

So, that, on top of the fact that Trevor's flight back home had to make a 'medical emergency' stop in Denver, thus delaying them for 2 hours, thus making them miss their connection, thus our last minute trip to the Atlanta airport, thus waiting 3 hours at the airport for them to get through customs, cancel, their flight to Chattanooga (which they had already missed) and going through security twice to get their luggage, thus Rye taking a late nap at his regular bed time, thus waking up and wailing for the last 40 minutes of the drive back, thus messing up his bedtime, thus making it a late, frustrating night and then leading into Saturday morning and the arrival of # 4.

Perhaps the drama of getting Trevor home should be referred to as # 5. Thus changing the previous statement to: "4 is a very sad number, and 5 is just darn frustrating."

I think that about sums up our weekend. Sigh. Well things don't always go the way you think/hope they will, huh?

However, all that said. I can still revel in this statement: He is home.

Can I get an amen for that?