Nobody probably wants this gooey stuff, but a few hours ago I took these two photos, which are my kids at rest. My girl, Casey, is 5. My son, Emmett, is almost 2.
As any (honest) parent will admit, having kids is an absolute beast. It tries your patience, zaps your energy, reduces a lot of potentially fun activities to burdens. Sometimes you wanna strangle the little boogers or—even worse—put them in front of a TV for the day.
But then you have those moments—those singularly dazzling moments—that make it all pay off. Tonight, for example, before I put Emmett to bed I held him in front of the bathroom mirror and blew into his ear. He giggled and giggled and giggled, and it gave me such a euphoric feeling. And a few hours before that, I was at my in-laws’ house when Casey came up to me and said, “Daddy, you want some fruit salad, don’t you? I can get it for you.” She was being sly—she wanted me to have the fruit salad so she could steal the whipped cream topping she knew I’d inevitably place on top. Five-years old, and sneakier than her old man.
