Andrew's 8th birthday

Andrew Rockwell turned 8 years old the week before Christmas! 

I went into labor the night the Provo Tabernacle burned down, I slept at the hospital with the epidural, and he came the next morning. And they brought him back to us after his bath in a stocking.

For his birthday dinner, we went to Chick-Fil-A and he got a kids meal as a special treat. James howled at the injustice of it, and insisted he have his birthday right then and there, too.

Here's our kissing picture, taken by Max.

Then we had cake at our house with Nona and Papa.

Andrew is a joy. He gets attacked by a jealous James, bossed around by two older brothers, and Millie has him always doing her bidding. But he remains cheerful and optimistic. Except when he's a puddle of tears over something that seems inconsequential to me.

I had a bad mom moment when on a typical Saturday, when I was hollering for him to hurry up and finish his chores and FOR THE LOVE get dressed, and he started to cry. Then I had a good mom moment and stopped everything and sat and held him and apologized for yelling.