"No, these are."

On the weekend, Morg and daddy dress the same. It's darn near the cutest thing I get see all week long. They wear blue hats and t-shirts, and Morgan goes around pointing to himself saying, "Dad. Dad!"

I say, "Yes, Morgan. Just like Dad."

(He has no idea.)

We go to thrifting and to Cal Ranch, and if there are no melt-downs, we let someone else cook for us.

Weekends are grand.

In the car on Saturday, we played 'Remember when?' and traveled back to when we were younger and childless. We slept when we wanted, ate what we wanted. We were skinnier, hotter. We stayed up later. We spent more money. We did our own thing. And it was nice, it was.

But this is better.

We both agreed.

When I caught myself saying, "Those were the days", I stopped.

Jared said, "No, these are."

And they are. We realize it when we see there's nothing warmer or more sunny than the face of our child. When he plops his little knees to the floor for family prayer each night. When I bend down for our long 'night-night' hug and he sighs and melts in my arms. When he tells all the babies in his books 'No, no! Pee pee! Potty!', or like this morning when I actually got dressed for the day and he pointed to me, smiled and said 'Pitty!' (pretty).



My life is pretty.







.