Shorts

from Warren as I lay in bed next to him after reading "Geronimo" together:

"The only hard part about staying awake is my eyes; they just want to shut. My body is full of energy but my eyes can't stay open."

from a stranger as he held the door for Avery:

"She is a really beautiful child."

I used to worry about Avery because she looked so much like me.

A sweet moment with Abigail:

We went to Maricopa Stake's Evening of Excellence to hear some music I helped notate and ended up staying. We sat side by side for an hour. I had my arm around her. After a few minutes, she freed her arm from my side and stuck it behind my back. It didn't even reach all the way across. I can still feel the warmth of her small hand.

Madeleine is talking so much, but her singing is even better. She sings along with the kids' LPM CD's, and not just on the normal words--she does the sol-sol-do and mi-re-do parts. She loves to sing. She is fearless. I took her on the climber at the Children's Museum of Phoenix and she went all over, gaining confidence to go further each time, despite seeing the ground 15 -20 feet below, or being up against a wall of clear glass.

This reminds me of family night on Monday. I blindfolded each of the kids one at a time--in the dark, outside--and walked them at least 100 feet from our house. In Warren's case, across the street by a cactus-filled yard, then asked them to find their way home. I asked each if they wanted help and offered directions. As I watched them stumble in the dark, hands outstretched, W with a goofy grin and Abigail with tiny nervous steps, I was suddenly overwhelmed with humility for the trust these children place in me. Not one of them gave up or got angry with me; they trusted every direction I gave them, even when they didn't understand. I wondered if I was worthy of that pure trust.

Why am I blogging again? I can't let these moments be forgotten.