For all his masquerading as a blender with the top off, Michael continually surprises me. He can be so rough-and-tumble one minute, leaping off couches, throwing toys and punching the babies, and the next he'll throw his arms around me and ask for a kiss, or pick up the dirty diapers I've just changed and take them out to the garbage without my having to say a thing.
On Monday, after tossing her cookies on the carpet, Leah was slammed with a fever and spent the rest of the day in my arms or on the couch, staring into space. Michael had the utmost sympathy for her, remembering well his own case of the barfs a few months ago and how awful he felt. "She's so sad because she's sick, Mom," he said.
In the late afternoon, I walked by the couch where Leah was resting and observed Michael sitting on the floor next to her, alternately patting her hand and her cheek and saying in soothing tones, "I'm so sorry you are sick, sweet girl," and "I love you, little sweet pea."
Suddenly, his slate was clean and my heart was full.
I love you, Little Blender.