Thank you

Bradley and Keryn, summer of 2001

I have to say, one of the cutest things about the "mommy blogosphere" is the adoration many of these women have for their husbands. Often, a mommy blogger will talk about how she is the luckiest woman in the world, about how marvelous her husband is, and about how said husband in the best in the world. It's adorable.

Of course, they are all delusional, but they are darn cute nonetheless.

I really don't want to brag, or to go into unseemly detail about the luckiness/blessedness of my life, so I will just say: My husband actually is The Best. Of all.*

And it's okay if everyone else wants to think they have the best, too. Whatever floats your boat, you know?

Like I said, I don't want to brag, or make anyone else feel bad. So instead of talking about the insanely amazing qualities of my husband, I will, in honor of his birthday week, thank his parents instead.

I have no trouble bragging about my mother- and father-in-law. (Oddly, not as many people think their mothers-in-law are the best in the world. Poor things.) Eva is an amazing mother--and I know amazing mothers, having been raised by one myself. She is beautiful, amazing, funny, compassionate, and very wonderful to be around. George is such a great father and grandfather, an honorable, hilarious, comforting, fabulous man.

As I sit here, feeling very pregnant with my own number five (only 1340** weeks to go!), I feel very grateful for Eva's sacrifice in having six children, and their shared sacrifice in raising them. Bradley is the fifth, and each one of the Ross children is smart, caring, and funny. (Especially Bradley.) They are all really good looking, too. (Especially Bradley.) And they are all amazing to be around. (Especially...oh, you get the point.)

So, thank you, Eva and George. Thanks for raising a considerate, intelligent, strong, and marvelous man. Thanks for sending him to BYU so I could meet him and convince him to fall in love with me. Thanks for welcoming me into your family. Thanks for loving our children.

And happy birthday, Bradley. I love you.***

(*Truth hurts, darlings.)
(**Okay, only 16 weeks to go.)
(***Too sappy? I was afraid of that. Tough beans, though.)