We Were Supposed to Get a Dog for Christmas...

A few months shy of six years ago, we talked about getting a dog. Banana Girl would be two, which as we understood, was a good time to introduce a puppy. And the older girls were really hoping they could finally have a dog now that we had our own home and our own yard. We talked about size, type, who would be responsible for what... all that good stuff.



A few nights after the Dog Talk, we all sat in beach chairs at the end of the cul de sac watching a lunar eclipse. It was an absolutely beautiful night. After all of the peering through telescopes and the sipping of hot cocoa, one of the big girls said, "Well, now it's going back to a full moon, right?" Yep. Full moon... full moon... Wait a minute! Full moon? Shouldn't I have had my...

Oh crap!

The next morning, after the big girls went off to school and Banana Girl stayed behind to hang out with her visiting grandma, The Pilot and I went out for a very quiet breakfast. We stopped at CVS on the way back home to pick up a test, just in case. The results were immediate. We got even quieter. The Pilot finally eeked out, "It is what it is." After the initial freak out (understatement), I picked out a lovely name for my presumably fourth daughter; Lily.




I was as wrong about that name as I was about getting a dog that year. That Christmas five years ago, instead of getting a puppy, we welcomed the only boy to our family. His name means "Little King." And it's only completely fitting...

Happy Birthday, Monkey Boy. We all love you to bits!