children

he happily sports a milk mustache.

he worries about everything.

he thinks it's weird that i take pictures of my food.

he's right.

yesterday i watched him sort through his g.i. joe playing cards.

nine piles, four cards a pile, each pile the same card.

he laid them down with the back of the cards facing up, he could not see which pile was which.

by memory, he sorted them perfectly.

i spend the better part of every meal telling her to eat her food.

when asked what she did at her friends house she told me they drove the four-wheeler to dance.

i told her to not tell stories.

she started crying and said, you don't like my words.

i felt bad. 

i love your words.  especially the ones that hold truth.

we painted her fingernails green for st. patty's.

he has a snotty nose.

always.

every time he gets hurt or falls down, he tells me sorry.

he loves his blankie.

he really needs a haircut but i just can't.

he's still perfect.

except for that time he put the whole roll of tp in the toilet.

or when he ate molly's food.

or squirted the toothpaste all over the counter.

my children.