At Church, when a hymn starts, Brandt always wants to join in: "Me sing with you, Mommy!" And you'd better agree or he'll keep asking till you do. And when you say "Okay!" Brandt opens a book and starts singing out. Nevermind that he doesn't know the words. He just makes them up. Amazingly cute. And out of the blue, he'll turn to me and say: "Mommy, do you know I love you?" Sweet boy.
London feels directly responsible for keeping Khyah happy. When we set her down and she starts to fuss, London will go lay down next to her and sing. He, too, makes up the words as he goes. Usually it's something like this: 'Khyah, don't cryyy! Don't CRyyyyyyyyy!!!! Don't CRYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!! Cause we'll keep you forever! Foreeeeeeever!!! FOREVER!!!!!!!!" And she loves it. Grandma and grandpa who could hear it over the phone thought it was pretty cute too.
We should have found the Hebrew word for "happy" to name Khyah. She is so happy. If she's crying, it's one of three things: dirty diaper, hungry, or tired. Of course she'll squeal to let you know that she wants to be part of the family, too. She wants to be in the same room as the boys. And she's just so pickin' cute, that you have to pick her up when she throws her little smile at you. And she already has a favorite toy. Cute. Cute. Cute.
Rick had last Saturday off. Joyous occasion, since days off are so rare when on wards. The second time Khyah woke up that night, he zombied out of bed and offered to take her. I hedged, cause I know how tired he is, and that come morning, the boys are just as much a task master as his work. "Are you sure?" I asked. But he held out his arms, eyes squinting to stay open: "No! But you'd better take advantage while you can." What a sweet man. And the big thing I really appreciate is that he never gets upset about the messy house when he gets home. I knew there was a good reason to be a sugar mama the first 8 months of London's life. It has definitely paid off!
Okay, not the best picture of Rick, but it's what I had. And it's truthful . . . hand in the cheese . . . I don't call him "mouse" for nothing.