I realized last night when my oldest son smiled with pride and squeezed my neck cuz he was so pleased with himself for bringing up his dismal grades and when my youngest son put in the Weird Al CD and began to sing along word for word that I have a small crush on my children.

Which is actually a nice change of pace for me, since in the not too distant past, I’ve contemplated killing them several times.

I guess that fine line between love and hate applies to motherhood as well.

And then there’s the Fishdog. Sometimes I wonder how I deserve him. Last night, when I was completely tired and cranky, he fixed me soup and offered to pack for my San Francisco trip. A trip he’s not even going on. Honestly, that was just the sweetest thing. I was tempted to take him up on the offer, but then I realized his good intentions would backfire because he’d probably pack nothing I would want to take. So, I declined and packed for myself this morning.

Anyway, it just dawned on me that love really is a funny thing. (could I fill this blog with anymore cliches today? I mean, really?) A day comes along like yesterday that makes me forget all the stupid things they do and all the reasons I want to smack them and abandon them on the side of a dirt road in the middle of Deliverance-land.

In honor of Rader’s fascination with Weird Al…I give you Close But No Cigar(hey look, another cliche!)…there’s nothing quite like watching your 9 year old sing this… what a goofball.