Thanks for the compliment

(MASTER BEDROOM) -- At four years old, The Middle Child is still prone to rising early, far before anyone else in the house, and moseying in to the master bedroom seeking to squeeze in next to mom and dad, not to carry on with the previous night’s sleep, but mostly to carry on a conversation, or watch TV, or play with an iGadget of some sort, or just to generally do whatever it takes to keep Mrs. Family Man Muser and I from sleeping.

Last Sunday morning was the same, with our little pint-sized princess prancing in just after six in the morning. She was her usual chatty self until I put a stop to it and let her know that on this morning, if she were to stay in bed with mom and dad she would have to close her eyes and go to sleep.

For a minute or two, she did, until it became obvious that while her eyes were indeed closed, she was fake-sleeping her way into an extended stay in bed with us.

It was cute, made even cuter by what came next.

First, she reached out to stroke my cheek, the soft tips of her itty-bitty toddler fingers rubbing up against the hard grain of my three-day-old scruff.

Then she crawled in close, snuggled up tightly against me with both arms wrapped around my neck, gave me a big, sloppy, wet kiss on the cheek, and said daddy, I love you.

Very cute.

Then she ran her same itty-bitty toddler fingers through my hair, back-and-forth, to-and-fro, a casual but concentrated effort to soothe me at the scalp as I tend to do when the roles are reversed.

Then she leaned in, drew in a deep breath from her nose as if she was leaning to smell the roses, and said daddy, your hair smells like puke.

Thanks for the compliment kid.

Signed,

The Family Man Muser

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