It's strange that:
there is some kind of button on all the toilets in the house that sends out a signal to both the kids and Eric. Instantly, I sit, the button is triggered and "Mommy" or "Nicole" is yelled.
silence is more terrifying than screaming.
the kids don't listen to anything I say, but can repeat what I whispered to someone on the phone.
there is also a button on the inside of my eyelids that no doctor has diagnosed that wakes up both of the kids the second my eyes are closed.
sweat pants aren't sexy to some people.
to listen to your daughter have an adult conversation with a baby because that's how she heard you talk. Oops.
to smell sheets to see if there was an accident during the night that may have dried (not in your bed, duh)
to say put the poop down, over and over and over and over.
to eat your words, over and over and over
Omg look at those thighs... this was right before he started walking- before the storm:)
to watch your son and daughter read all the letters and say all the sounds of the alphabet.
to watch your daughter write her name for the first time.
to see all the random people say hello to you son and daughter (by name) at church while they are racing into their classrooms.
to go into their rooms at night, right before you go to bed, and tuck them in one last time.
that they love you so much.
that you are the example that they look up to.
to watch them grow everyday.
when they tell you, "Good night, I lub you, sweet dreams".
They were so little!