Would Smell as Sweet

I am not in Lisbon this week.

As it goes with all best laid plans, something came along to change them.
This time the something is spelled P-N-E-U-M-O-N-I-A and the affected set of lungs belong to A-N-D-R-E-W. Which is to say, we've had a very sick boy on our hands since last Friday. On Saturday we huddled and fuddled and finally decided wellness trumps tourism.

We stayed home.

Thankfully, there is the magical world of A-N-T-I-B-I-O-T-I-C-S and I am happy, nay thrilled, to report that Andrew has rallied and is getting better almost as fast as he descended into rampant-fever-heavy-coughing-ragged-breath-purple-extremity-lethargy hell.
What I mean to say is he's sassy as ever.

And to prove my point, a scene of silliness, conversation in two farts parts:

"Woah, what was that Mom?"

"What was what?"

"What was that I heard? Did you fart Mom?"

"No, baby. Mommies don't fart."

"Yes they do!"

*mama suppresses giggles*
"No, really they don't. I would never."

"You did! You farted!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

*boy begins to wave hand in front of nose*
"Oh, mom, yes you did. You farted! And it smells disgustin'!"

* the mama sheepishly slinks from room*