Imagine this little boy, just three years old, snuggled in his bed under a poof of down comforter, his face nuzzling into his soft stuffed puppy. Now imagine his tired mother, nearly forty-three years old, weary from a day of discipline, snowball fights, a million repeats of "no, don't touch that", silly dancing, and cleaning pee puddles. She kneels beside his bed to tuck him in and, teasing, flops her head down to use his belly for a pillow. He laughs and begins to play with her hair. Soft, gentle touch, stroking her hair, undoubtedly creating a style fit for a beauty salon book, sweetly caressing her aching head, and rubbing away the stresses of the day. When she finally kisses and hugs him goodnight, he doesn't want to let go.
Let me never be too busy, too unaware, too unthinking for the grace of such moments.
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