Morgan says this is his “Sure-you-can-call-my-daughter” face (taken in front of the church

It’s hard to use a nickname for him because Morgan shortened to Morg just doesn’t fit. So for  I call him “MK”. He’s that guy I spend my life with. You might have seen him before. He’s in lots of my picture, although usually he is the one taking them. He’s the guy Emily and Avery call daddy. He’s the guy that fixes our computers and remembers to check the oil in the car. He’s the guy that complements me on my ugly-self days. He’s the one who has coffee with me in the morning. He is the one who laughs at my jokes. He is the guy with the rapier-like wit. He is the one who takes out the trash…um…segue. He is the one who sings the girls to sleep. The scraper of all gag inducing molded fridge items I can’t bring my self to deal with. He is my shoulder to cry on. He is the guy who routinely forgets the toilet seat up and leaves the peanut butter container on the counter causing land wars in Asia. But he is also the guy who considerately changes a poopy diaper or makes sure Hulu works so we can watch Top Gear, Castle and Modern Family! He is my sharp-shooting, tech nerd who doesn’t own stinky hockey gear. He loves running and walking with me and the girls. He sings like an Angel. He vacuums. He cooks like the Iron Chef. He is MK. My Guy.