or at least sleeping-crashed-out-on-someone-else’s-couch misery does.
Remember we all got sick again?
We drug (or dragged. Seriously, which one are you supposed to use?) our snot-nosed selves to my parents’ house on my Dad’s birthday.
(Remember this dude? The one who wont let me show his face on my blog?)
No worries… he was the one who shared his germs with us earlier, so we knew we weren’t going to get him sick for his birthday.
Happy Influenza to You!
An hour into the festivities, this was the scene:
Mr. Daddy had crashed. But not without Hoss the
Wonder Lap Dog.
A little while later, apparently Itty Bit had hit a wall too.
My poor mother had gone two days without sleep and can never resist a slumbering child.
Dad and I ate our respective ice cream concoctions, took ninja photos, and poked good fun at the snoring trio.
Apparently we really know how to party.
And in a bit of seriousness… happy belated birthday daddy.
I know I was a real bugger those first 14 years (give or take another decade). I’ve always known you love me. I hope you know that I do too.