Sleep

It's a quarter to nine in the evening.

I look at my tired husband as he patiently speaks to our daughter, who has been throwing a fit for a half hour. Something small blew her fuse.

The truth is that she is probably exhausted, too, but that is no excuse for her behavior. She has already received several disciplinary measures for throwing things, but now things are calming down.

Dan is staring her down, looking lovingly in her furrow-browed face. He's obviously tired, but he's more concerned with Morgan's character than sleep. He's wearing his graduate school t-shirt tonight; I don't think any of his business school degree will help him here. Nope, it's just pure love + patience.

My idea of tucking her in bed this evening was completely opposite from his: I wanted to congratulate her, "You've won an evening for one in YOUR bedroom! DING! DING! DING!" I would give her to the count of 5 to bed down for herself or I would escort her there. "Escort" is an entirely wrong word for what I would have to do: there would be the picking up a 4 year old and telling her to stay in her room. There would be yelling on her part. It would be chaos.

But Dan, dear Dan, chose the longer route, the more patient one. He's already working his magic on her tired tantrum.

In the end, I am completely humbled by these two people who I love dearly:

I'm humbled that my daughter is so dearly strong willed; I'm humbled by every judgmental thought I ever had of other people who have had strong willed children.

But I'm also humbled by my husband's patient love.

As I finish this post, I hear Morgan quieting down. He's done it again.

Goodnight, dear Dan. You have certainly earned your sleep.