A few sentiments that come to mind when I remember M "washing" the dishes this morning: My hero. Bless his little heart. Mmm-hmmm, sweet and helpful just like his daddy. What a champ. I love you.
As my son toiled away at the sink, J was underfoot. Causing trouble. As usual. What's new.
Look at that face. That is the face of someone plotting. Plotting, no doubt, how best to get mommy to acquiesce to offering a sweet morsel of something before lunch. Such devious conniving. How could I resist those saucers of brown (hazel?). Or that half smile on her little rose-petal lips.
I love my kids.
I also love that I've found a minute to paint. It's pretty small and insignificant. But it's something! Part of a fun project I'm trying to finish before M's birthday. April 20th deadline. Bring it on.
PS - Someone inquired about my baby blankets. After ripping out x number of rows, I'm now seeking group therapy for the trauma. Will resume work when my psyche has recovered sufficiently.