I do not think I actually grasped the severity of the word pneumonia until I saw the number of comments, texts, and personal contact I received once I shared the news that our li’l man had it.  The concern in people’s voices made me realize the severity of the diagnosis.  I can imagine years ago that word sounding worse; I remember people always being hospitalized for it, but Goob was seen at a doctor’s office with instructions to rest at home.  So somehow, as written above, I did not grasp how serious this really is.

A few people have noted that Goob seems to get sick a lot.  I disagree.  I do not think he has a frequency of illnesses; I think it is that he gets sick with intensity.  Like, Goob cannot just get a cold or a stomach virus.

He gets things like urinary tract infections that get him hospitalized for two {separate} weeks as a newborn.

And then there was that lovely failure-to-thrive experience as a newborn as well.  Always fun to have your parenting skills questioned by social workers.

And bronchiolitis?  I cannot even remember the amount of times that landed us in the E.R. and subsequently admitted, until there was a doctor smart enough to diagnose him with asthma so that we could get a nebulizer for our home.

And just recently, not only did he get strep throat (which was about the 3rd? 4th? time he’s had it), but then got ulcers in his mouth as a result.  Ulcers.  Who gets ulcers in their mouth!?

My kid.

So all of the above should have been a tell-tale sign that my kid is never going to have just a “simple” cold.

It’s a trait that I  like to think he inherited from me and my side of the family.  Us Paim’s go big or we go home.

So, no, Goob is not sick often.  But when he is, he makes it count.

On that note, someone really needs to tell that kid to stop shouting:

I’m on vacation!

No, Goob.  You have pneumonia.  Start acting like it. ;P



Sundays are for

worshiping with other believers, in spirit and in truth;

Sundays are for

food shopping for the week;

picking up pork after six years because it’s really not fair that just because you don’t like to eat it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t make it for your husband;

coming home and pre-cooking all your veggies and cutting and marinading all your meat

so you have no excuse to be lazy or whine  say  “But I don’t FEEL like cooking.

Sundays are for

relaxing; watching football;

hallucinating, Did the Dolphins really score that many points?;

playing Apples to Apples

Sundays are for

ending with a movie,

Toy Story 3 to be exact.

Does every mother with a son cry the way I do at the end?

Every. Single. Time.

Sundays are for

remembering; that with a son turning 8 much too soon

my Sundays may only last but another decade

if he decides to see the world.

Guess who’s back?

Back again.

Now that I safely have Eminem stuck in your head, let me say hello.


I’m tweaking and getting used to this new site, so I will be back with a real post soon.