A poem about Josh that doesn't ryme...and maybe isn't even a poem.

He is the M and Ms in my trail mix. Unless there happen to be yogurt covered raisins in the trail mix....then he is those. Bascially, whatever is the best part of the trail mix is....he is that.

Even if he doesn't paint straight lines, he still makes me laugh and helps me not cry over my cookies that I think are hard.

And even if he gets paint on his new shirt that we just bought...I can't deny that he still looks pretty cute in a shirt with paint on it.

Even if I am SO not one of the girls who has a pretty cry, he tells me I am.

I messed up cooking a hot pocket when he was really hungry and he still smiled. I mean, who messes up hot pockets?!

He kisses me on the cheek during church. I am not even sure if that's allowed.

If I was making cookie dough and used an electric mixer I would at least give him one of the mixing things to lick and possibly both of them, I love him so much.