Pink

The wind is still relentless, though it's finally gone down from the 30 mph gusts that have been tearing at everything. Now if we can just get rid of all the coughing...that would be nice. Ian seems to be doing better, though the cough is still there, a little.
Now it's Erin's turn again, to hack and hack, a dry then a wet cough that makes her choke and gag and wake up and cry. Last night was not a good night. Now I am just sitting here listening to the coughing/gagging. We were hoping that the allergy doctor would figure out a way to fix this. We're hoping the blood tests will yield treatable results. It's strange that you get so used to being sick all the time that it starts being normal. Then you realize that not everyone else makes weekly and bi-weekly visits to the doctor and pharmacy. I think those offices have our numbers on speed dial. The pharmacy knows us by our prescriptions and just may get a picture of the kids at Christmas. Not really, but it's comparable to being so familiar to the Chinese takeout place where you call and they say "The usual?"
It still stinks that our camera is malfunctioning because I got some prime shots of Erin after she decided to decorate her arm and legs with pink marker.
I think she knew she was naughty because she brought me the marker when she was finished. The cap, too. I scolded her like she expected and then she kept saying "stuck, stuck!" Ian was scandalized. "Ooooh, Mommy! Look what Erin do to her!"
I told them that it probably wouldn't come off (though Erin tried with wet wipes). The worst part is that some of it came off in the tub and now she has faint pink marks, like she's been scratched. It looks like she's recovering from being dragged through the briar patch. Except it was a marker and not a pen, so the lines are thicker. Anyway, it's obvious enough that you want to inform everyone of it before they decide to call a social worker on you.
Big fun tomorrow. I am trying a new hair stylist, the praise leader from church. She is so busy by herself that she doesn't often take new clients, so I am relieved. Or I will be relieved if I leave her studio without a bowl cut, a puffball or a mullet, which seems to be the specialty around here. For females, anyway.
Ian's pre-k program is also tomorrow. He has to dress up like a cowboy (please, no guns or spurs). He will receive a blue bandana when he gets there. I know there are songs involved because he's been singing a garbled version of "Thank God I'm a Country Boy" that took me a while to translate from "Mommy, do you know that song, "Tha-Gadda-ma-Kutchy Boy?" He looked a little confused and then happy when he understood the real words to the title (I can't help him with the rest of the song, unfortunately). I think he inherited that skill from me. Though I have JD, my very knowledgeable step-dad, to thank for revealing, after 20 years, the real words to "Take On Me," even though there is one line still in dispute.
We'll try for some camera phone pics, and maybe some video. Cross those fingers! And pray that God sends us a camera that works.