A lot of people see me as this rock. I don't openly cry in front of people, and I tend to be pretty laid back about a lot of things. Heck, I didn't even cry when Bambi's mom died. Sure, I got that catch in my throat, I am human after all, but I didn't think the death of a pencil sketch actually warranted tears.
Husband, on the other hand, is the total opposite. He cries over everything. And when I say "everything" I mean EVERYTHING. He cried while we were watching Spiderman 2 a few nights ago. Yeah, I know.
There is one thing that brings me to my knees though and that is the little spawn that are running around our house. I can barely stand it when they have to get shots, and between the three of them, they have given us some pretty good scares. Like didn't know if they were going to live through it scares.
Lately though, oldest spawn has been doing something that is so adorable I just want to mush him up and put him in a box in my pocket, so I can always keep him with me. He has been "writing" things for me, and drawing me pictures. He proudly brings his creations to me and says "I made this for you." Aww. How can you not love that? It's not even a holiday where some teacher forced him to make something. He really just wanted to make something for me.
I now have a growing collection of manilla papers with nonsense written on them and stick figures playing video games, but I tell you it's better than the crown jewels.
I never knew what a sap I could be until these little midgets came into the picture. It's been quite a shock.