Poop in the tub.

This week started with H1N1 finally hitting our home and my husband simultaneously having to leave for a work trip. Nothing completely unordinary about the week, except that it finally hit me last night, as I stood in my bathroom with my two-year-old son, Henry, pooping in the bathtub; my six-year-old son, Jack, upset because I was attempting to cut his hair; and our dog, Striper, sitting on my feet, so full of ticks from her romp in the woods chasing deer that they were falling off onto the floor. This moment, that became suspended above me, made me realized that it was time to write ALL of this down. Every minute of raising these two phenomenal boys. Maybe because it is so fleeting, and I know I am bound to forget, or maybe one day for Jack and Henry to read when they are fathers - allowing them to see the humor that is so entwined in making them men. But most of all for my sanity.