One of the interesting things about raising quadruplets is trying to figure out who did what. For instance, a couple years back, I had to take Nick to the hospital for a gash in his forehead. He got it while we were in another room, and while he had a brother near him when he was bloodied, we’ll never know if Nick was attacked or simply fell into something sharp.
This morning, as I hustled the kids out the door for school, I spotted a pool of fresh vomit on the kitchen floor. We’ve had an illness or two running through the house, and it’s hard to predict who’s not feeling well without some detective work. The first question I had to ask is, “Who did that?”
Fortunately, Helen confessed, and all evidence corroborated her claim. Now she’s home with me while her brothers are off at school. I’m confident we found the right culprit though, and hopefully she’ll feel better soon.
