The boys awakened before this morning. Five-year-old Joseph scampered into my room, crawled into my bed, and snuggled his little body under the covers and up next to me. His hand gently reached up and patted my face. In his sweetest, still-sleepy voice he said, "Mommy?"
"What is it, sweetheart?" I asked him, pulling him even closer, nuzzling my face next to his.
He whispered tenderly, "In the morning your hair kind of looks like Frankenstein."