Those are the words my beloved should say before she bids me farewell for the night.  The last few days, the kids have been Flu Fighters and I tend to stay up later than she does anyway.  So she kisses me good night while I'm either rocking a baby to sleep on a snot/spit covered shoulder, or I'm making sure the littlest doesn't swap one of his eight-hours-straight for a thirty minute snooze.  As long as the baseball playoffs continue with West Coast night games, I'm okay wtih this.

One quick, cute Miles story before I spend an obscene amount of time meta-tagging photos in Lightroom:

He's been fussing a little after we tuck him in at night press play on his iPod.  Yes, my two-year-old has an iPod (filled with Disney soundtracks, Jack Johnson, John Williams, and John Mayer). Rachel and I are sitting in the living room and I hear him in his bedroom.  I hover outside his door for a minute, trying to decode what he wants...only to give in and check on him.  He's holding a round, Halloween, pumpkin bucket in his hand and asks me to "take this."  I comply and set it with his stack of drums.  Then he props himself on one elbow and says "I'm havin' a rough night."  First off -- you're in bed at 8:38, you're night can't be that rough. Secondly, your surrounded by stuffed animals and home-made quilts.  Thirdly, and it bears repeating, you're a two-year-old with an iPod!  Rough night.

A rough night is bouncing a virus in a onesie on my arm for two hours.

Finally...how great is this game right now?  Gotta love sports.

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