Why I love my husband.

Coco here. Last night was not a banner night. My son woke me up no fewer then 6 times last night. Not a tiny little helpless infant baby. A five year old. Was he sick? No. Sigh. I don't thrive on limited sleep. In fact, my *bare* minimum required is about 8 hours. When I don't get my nine hours in I am a cranky, frazzled, mess. So this morning I was rushing out of the house to go teach a music class to the most *active* bunch of four year olds ever, plus a tassle of adorable three year olds, and I apparently failed to notice the ENORMOUS truck, belonging to my husband, parked behind me in the driveway. Oh yes. That is exactly where I am going with this. I backed right into the truck. Tears and a few choice words later, I rushed off to preschool, after backing out, past the truck, at approximately one inch per minute.

It took a while.

A little later, upon returning home, I was greeted by this:



I love my husband. :)