Anna and I have sung to the boys at bedtime since they were wee high. Not sure how we settled on it, but we quickly worked up a not-half-bad a capella version of "Good Night Sweetheart." Way better than Selleck, Danson, and Guttenberg. We harmonize, dammit.
Lately I've been tinkering with a solo version of one of my personal favorites. Someday I'll work up the harmonica line and really do it up right.
I still have a tough time making it through that one without an inconvenient throat lump. Stupid Muppets and their nostalgia.
No matter what the song, however, my favorite part is the fleeting moment when whomever I am holding gives up the fight and puts their head on my shoulder and begins to drift...off...to...sleep. Their fine motor control has improved to the point where they put their little chubby arms around my neck when they start drifting.
My sons, they hug me good night.
I could get fired, mugged, called ugly, have my Chipotle spill all over my J. Crew clearance khakis, and get into a car accident, and my day would still be good as long as I get me a tiny little good night hug.
PS: Someone recently asked why the boys don't share a crib anymore. This is why.
