Throughout the day I am often exhausted and dream about 6:00, the time when we put the childs to bed and I can lay on the couch comatose and behave like a dad from a sitcom circa any decade. But after about twenty minutes of recuperation I start thinking about how adorable they are and Brett and I will start talking about them, and I have the insane thought of wishing they were awake so I could grab their cheeks (don't worry, Harper would never let me). At times like that I look at pictures of them like this:



and I die a hundred deaths about how cute they are and how lucky we are that they are so great and so good to each other. And then maybe Clyde will make some noise in his sleep and I will pray to God he stays asleep and wonder what the hell I've been doing with the six minutes I actually get to myself every day. Isn't my life great?