Oh, let me be present in these fleeting moments of tenderness....

I was home alone last night (and by "alone," I don't really mean "alone" - Jay was out, so I was alone-with-the kids) and after the girls were snuggly tucked into their beds, I lay in my bed thinking about my wonderful kids: how they are starting to play together; how Aida can get Claire laughing so hard; how they both love to curl up on a blanket and look at books together. As they play together more, they don't need me to play with as much. Sure, they definitely need me to break up the hourly epic battle over a specific blue felt pen to which they have become particularly attached (even though we have 3 blue felts in the felts box...), but I am starting to see them have little secrets and giggles of thier own.

Again, this brings me great joy and sadness at the same time. I read an article before bed, which probably brought about this night time discourse, written by a dad whose 9 year old son does not want to hold his had anymore. Not hold his hand? One of my greatest joys is walking down the street holding one elegant, delicate little girl's hand and one chubby, sticky littler girl's hand. But, the other day, Aida opted not to hold my hand, but hold Claire's, sandwiching Claire in between us.

As I lay in my own spacious and comfortable bed (that is, spacious when I am alone), I suddenly felt the urge to go curl up around one of my girls like I did in those weeks and months after they were first born. "Well, why not?" I thought to myself. So, I decided to bring both sleeping girls into my bed with me for a midnight snuggle. Neither girl woke up during the transfer and as soon as I stealthfully slid under the covers between them they both inched their way towards me, this time sandwiching me firmly in the middle. With each of their sweet sweaty heads on my shoulder I couldn't help but pray, "for this, I am truly grateful."