
Everett: Excuse me, Dad.
Dad: Yes, Everett?
Everett: Could I use your saw? Not your chainsaw just your saw.
Dad: Sure?
Dad: Yes, Everett?
Everett: Could I use your saw? Not your chainsaw just your saw.
Dad: Sure?
Like her brother and sister before her, this girl will only sleep in my arms when she's sick. The result is a very tired mama, still in jammies, typing this post with one hand while we rock and rock and rock.
Also noteworthy, I haven't managed to brush my teeth yet today but finished off some coffee ice cream. You know, for nutrients.
I'm rocking Ingrid before naptime and whispering sweet things into her ear, "you're smart. You're funny, Ru."
Her response? "I pretty."