A style all his own.

Before Mark moved in, he'd been around the block with us enough to know the real deal. He'd already seen the good, the bad and the ugly well before the subject of living together even surfaced. He's seen so many tantrums, fights, meltdowns, and general hullabaloo; he knew exactly what he was getting into by moving in here.

One of the things I like most about him is how he handles the good, bad and ugly behavior that's typical of a houseful of kids. Though Mark doesn't have kids of his own, he's assumed a paternal role quite seamlessly. His parenting style, though somewhat unconventional, is for the kids, highly effective and, for me, quite entertaining.

His secret? An unshakable sense of humor with an occasional dose of apathy sprinkled in, as appropriate. Really. Watching him interact with the kids is a sight to be seen.

As an example, Mark is the self-appointed chair of The Committee of No. As the kids lobby hard for various ridiculous requests...

"Can I stay up all night?"

"Can't I just skip doing homework this once?"

...he suggests they make a formal request to The Committee of No.

The kids know that when this committee is involved, they're getting a thumb's down. There's no need for a lengthy hearing, the answer is, was, and always will be, "NO!"

But even Mr. Apathy has a tender side. And last Saturday night he showed me just how sweet and deeply committed he is to this family.

It all started at about 12:30 a.m. We were sound asleep, when all of a sudden, Crowbar started crying. Somehow, Mark beat me out of bed and into his room. I was surprised by how quickly he got there. Normally, I'm the one who hears every tiny whimper and then springs into action. Mark must've sensed it was serious before I did.

I stumbled along in the dark to Crowbar's bedside.

"Aw, what's wrong?" he asked, gently, reaching out to stroke Crowbar's hair. "Did you have a bad dr---." He stopped mid sentence.

"What the? What's on his head?"

Sadly, little Crowbar had thrown up. It was everywhere -- in his hair, on his pj's and, when I flipped on the light, Mark was sitting right in it.

A lesser man would've turned tail and run. But, undaunted, Mark sprung into action. And he never once winced, flinched or gagged.

We worked together like a well-oiled machine. Mark took care of Crowbar and I tackled the mess. When I came back from the laundry room, Mark had already had him cleaned up.

Even though he was wrapped up warm and snug, the poor little guy was still crying. He was scared, upset and still nauseous. His little body shivered in Mark's embrace.

"It's okay, Buddy," Mark said, holding him close. "Don't you worry about a thing. I've got you. It's going to be alright."

The sight of Mark in his puke-covered pajamas, cradling my son blew me away. He was so calm, so tender. And he had love in his eyes -- despite all the ickiness.

I think Mark is exactly what this family needed. Someone to make us laugh at the ridiculousness of it all and someone to hold us close when we need it most.

And when he says it's going to be okay, I believe him. We all do.