The other day it really hit me that I am going to spend the next 15 or more years in a war zone.
I was sitting peacefully on the couch in the great room. Without any notice, Vincenzo whacks a ping pong ball directly at my face with a hockey stick. Yes, it hit me square in the face.
Even though I constantly tell the boys (including Andy) that there is no ball playing or throwing in the house except for the basement, I still have to dodge flying objects on a regular basis.
I ask for no toys on main floor of the house, yet I am constantly stepping on toy machine guns, hockey pucks, wii remotes, darth vador figurines, etc.
With another boy coming, I don't expect it to get better.
The best is when we have dinner and somehow I have to change clothes and/or take a shower because food can lodge itself from the plates of the boys into my hair. Amazing, isn't it?
So, the best I can do is keep up with the demands of a somewhat sane home and hope that one day it actually happens.
Don't be surprised if you come over and I am watching t.v. in full hockey gear in an attempt to protect myself while balls and hockey pucks fly through the air.